007. Blood; Lancing
March, 1764.
Messrs. Joseph Warren, the foremost physician of the Adams’ Family, and Samuel Adams himself are fixated on Samuel, the son, and Hannah who awaited the razor quite favorably while seated patiently in their seats. The son had his linen shirt rolled up so that his bare arm was plainly seen. His sister mimicked him in practice, as her arm too was visible except that Hannah’s blouse was lifted past her shoulder.
“Forgive my departure, Mister Adams. I will return momentarily,” Doctor Warren said, than he turned around and walked briskly outside before the Elder Adams could comment.
Doctor Warren had his wooden-handled razor in his right hand and quickly made his way over to a boy lying in a wood cart. The lad clutched a maple cross tightly against his breast, praying on the Sabbath that the Lord would have mercy on his poor soul. Doctor Warren cocked his head and studied his previous patient who was not to be saved. There were flies feasting and taking pleasure in their soon-to-be corpse by means of licking the flesh – sampling all its goodness. The boy shuddered. His pupils directed their preferred course and twisted themselves straight up into the brain, which now offered Doctor Warren the most melancholy spectacle of two white but very human eggshells in the sockets. Puss oozed freely from the assortment of shapes and textures of the pox that grew on the dieing boy’s flesh – head to toe.
“I am so sorry I cannot help,” Doctor Warren remarked softly. He said a silent prayer to Christ that the smallpox would not affect further the people he cared deeply about, nor his friends either.
With the razor, he lanced a small slice into one of the pox. Fluid immediately presented itself, and with a cotton bandage in the other hand, Doctor Warren dabbed it until the puss soaked the material. Once he had collected what he sought, the doctor walked briskly again to the entrance of the house and stepped indoors.
“It is time,” Doctor Warren declared, then moved first to a small, round table. On top, lied a wooden box that held his surgical instruments. It had a large fork with two, six-inch prongs sharpened to a needlepoint and a pile of bandages. His razor was also part of the box. Nodding, satisfied that he had the precise tools for the procedure, Doctor Warren approached the son carefully. In the corner of the room there was a small oven, filled full of red-hot coals that heated a flat, iron spatula. Its purpose – to cauterizing the worst of the bleeding points if he should accidentally dig too deeply with the razor.
“I am frightened, Father,” the youngest Samuel said. Due to his credit he remained in his seat.
Samuel, who was squatting between his daughter and son, then shifted his weight and put his full attention to the meek voice that caught his attention. He reached out with both palms, gripped the tiny hand of his son, and held it firmly.
“Look away if ye pleases ye but we must all undergo the inoculation. The smallpox has taken sharply, the people.”
“I do not like it, Father!” Hannah shouted.
“Shh!” her father said sharply.
Without further delay, Doctor Warren walked to the right side of the son of Samuel Adams. With his left palm, he put it firmly to the face of the shaking boy. “Shh…,” he cooed sweetly. “Close your eyes. It will hurt, yes, but think how much more if the pox takes hold of your body.” There was a pause. “I am going to lance your arm now,” he said after a few seconds.
The boy tensed and shut his eyes tightly but kept his arm in place.
Doctor Warren who displayed a most solemn expression cut a thin line into the region of the biceps.
The son whimpered at first, most likely out of shock but than despite that he chewed his lower lip, tears emerged regardless. Head hunched over, young Samuel clenched the edge of the chair with his left. His father hesitated not, and stroked the palm of his son tenderly.
“You are behaving wonderfully. Your father shall be proud,” Doctor Warren said in a calm but pleasing tone.
“He already is,” the Elder Samuel said who was still watching his son intently.
The swab that carried the deadly pox was pressed tightly to the wound. With his left, free hand, Doctor Warren slipped it into the pocket of his frock coat and shortly produced a needle and thread.
“This will hurt too,” Doctor Warren said honestly.
The house temporarily went up in arms as Samuel’s son screamed. Doctor Warren thought the poor boy might burst a lung with the hysterics. Young Samuel’s arm had to finally be restrained by his father but that did not stop the kicking of a boy’s feet.
“Dear, brother. Cease on the melodramatics,” Hannah said in an imperious way. Reality speaking of course, she was just as nervous but chose to act in a false manner.
“Your brother thanks ye,” Samuel said before his son could utter a word.
“Finished,” Doctor Warren said in about thirty minutes. “Hannah, I am afraid child, your turn is next.”
She fidgeted in her seat but nodded regardless the fate that awaited her. Like Hannah’s brother, Doctor Warren preformed the exact procedure on her. Whimpering and mumbling escaped her lips as soon as she felt steel touch flesh.
“Shall I hold your hand too?” Hannah’s father asked softly.
She shut her eyes tightly also, and shook her head fiercely in response.
“As ye wish but ask and I shall assist in caressing the discomfort,” Samuel replied gently to her.
Hannah did not mutter one syllable.
“Finished,” Doctor Warren said, which took a mere twenty minutes instead of Hannah’s brother. Her demeanor allowed him to mend the wound in less time. “It is your turn, Mister Adams.”
Hannah hopped off her chair and scurried next to her brother, who had developed quite the fascination for stitches. Looking intently and occasionally stroking the closed wound, young Samuel thought of it as a badge of honor despite the pain he underwent.
“Stop staring at it! Stop!” Hannah hollered to her brother in morbid disgust, and stamped a foot angrily when he ignored her.
Samuel had already rolled up his own linen shirt and presented his right arm for the razor to do its bidding.
“Shut it,” Hannah’s father growled. “Ye are behaving unacceptably like an impudent child in front of the Good Doctor.”
Hannah curtsied. “I apologize, Mister Warren.”
“You are excused. Samuel, I am going to lance your arm now.”
Samuel’s son glanced up from his arm and stared curiously in his father’s direction. His daughter delivered to him a pleasant smile as if lancing had suddenly become a most favorable event in the Adams household.
“Do not worry, Father. It stings for a second,” young Samuel said inocently, solemn-faced.
Samuel snorted to his son’s comment. “Get on with it, please.”
As surely as God as his witness, he thought a great amount of pain had attacked the whole right arm. The hooting and occasional laughter only further embarrassed Samuel but there was little denying the discomfort.
“Let me hold your hand, Father! I can protect you,” young Samuel said.
“Leave… me,” he gurgled.
“But Father…,” Hannah objected.
“Go and tend to ye mother. See – Ow! - If she has improved – Be gentle, Joseph!”
“Stop wiggling and the dressing of your arm will be easier,” Doctor Warren retorted. He did not look up but remained focused intently on his work.
Hannah put a hand over her mouth and giggled.
“Go!” he barked to his children.
They began to run away but before Samuel’s children disappeared from his sight, “See if she has much improved from the pox!” he hollered.
*
Afterward: This story was spawned from photocopies of Samuel Adams’ actual Family Bible. In March of 1764, “They [Hannah and Samuel’s son] also had the small-pox very favorably, by inoculation.” S.A.
There is no record however if Elizabeth Wells, Adams second wife, and he had the same procedure as their children. However, it is positively true that Joseph Warren was not only Samuel’s physician but also his second cousin – John Adams – as well. In fact, Samuel’s son became Warren’s apprenticed but eventually was killed in the American Revolution.
Thanks for reading.
Gender:
Points: 22
Reviews: 365