FOOTNOTES:
[4] The thermometer used for this purpose, called a clinical thermometer, may be bought for about twelve shillings, of any chemist or instrument-maker, and its mode of employment can be learned in five minutes. No mother should be without it.
CHAPTER III.
THE GENERAL MANAGEMENT OF DISEASE IN INFANCY AND CHILDHOOD.
The management of the child when ill is difficult or easy in exact proportion to whether it has been ill or well managed when in health. The mother who lives but little with her children, who contents herself with a daily visit to the nursery, and who then scarcely sees her little ones until they are brought into the drawing-room in the evening in full dress, to be petted and admired and fondled by the visitors, cannot expect to take her place by the child's bed in its sickness, to soothe its pain, and to expend upon it all the pent-up tenderness which, in spite of the calls of business or of pleasure, still dwells within her heart. She must be content to see the infant turn from her to the nurse with whose face it has all its life been familiar; or to hear the little one tell her to go away, for her presence is associated with none of those 'familiar acts, made beautiful by love,' which win the young heart: the mother is but a stranger who brings no help, who relieves no distress. Happy such a mother if she has found a conscientious and intelligent nurse to whom she can delegate her office; but she must remember that with the child, love follows in the steps of daily, hourly kindnesses, that a mother's part must be played in health if it is to be undertaken in sickness, that it cannot be laid down and taken up again at pleasure.
There is another mother who cannot nurse her child to any good purpose, she who when it was well spoilt it from excess of love, who has yielded to each wayward wish, and has allowed it to become the petty tyrant of the household. The child is ill, it is languid, feverish, and in pain; no position is quite easy to it, no food pleasant to it, bed is irksome, medicine is nasty. It knows only that it suffers, it has been accustomed to have its will obeyed in everything, and cannot understand that its suffering is not at once taken away. It insists on getting up and on being dressed, or on lying in its mother's or nurse's lap, where the warmth of another person's body does but aggravate its fever; it screams with passion at the approach of the doctor, it will not allow itself to be examined, it will take no medicine; the doctor is powerless, the mother heart-broken. Sickness is not the time to exercise authority which has not been put in force before; and, not once but many times, I have watched, a sad spectator, the death of children from an illness not necessarily fatal, but rendered so because it was impossible to learn the progress of disease, impossible to administer the necessary remedies.
What a child has been made when well, such it will be when sick.
One more point I must insist on before going into details, and that is as to the necessity of perfect truthfulness in dealing with sick children. The foolish device of telling a child when ill, that the doctor who has been sent for is its uncle or its cousin, is the outcome of the still more foolish falsehood of threatening the child with the doctor's visit if it does not do this or that. No endeavour should be spared by nurse or parent, or by the doctor himself, to render his visit popular in the nursery. Three-fourths of the difficulties which attend the administration of medicine are commonly the result of previous bad management of the child, of foolish over-indulgence, or of still more foolish want of truthfulness. It may answer once to tell a child that medicine is nice when really it is nasty, but the trick will scarcely succeed a second time, and the one success will increase your difficulties ever after. If medicine is absolutely necessary, and the child is too young to understand reason, it must be given by force, very firmly but very kindly, and the grief it occasions will be forgotten in an hour or two. If he is old enough, tell him that the medicine is ordered to do him good, and firmness combined with gentleness will usually succeed in inducing him to take it. The advantage of perfect truthfulness extends to every incident in the illness of children, even to the not saying, 'Oh, you will soon be well,' if it is not likely so to be. If children find you never deceive them, how implicitly they will trust you, what an infinity of trouble is saved, and how much rest of mind is secured to the poor little sufferer!
A little boy three years old was ordered to be cupped. The cupper, a kind old man, said to encourage him, 'Oh, dear little boy, it's nothing.' The child turned to his mother, saying, 'Mummy, is that true?' His mother said it was not, but that for her sake she hoped he would try to bear it well. And the operation was performed without a cry or a sound.
I have spoken of the moral conditions implied in the successful management of sick children. There are certain physical conditions no less important. The sick child should not be left in the common nursery, of which he would taint the air, while he would be disturbed by its other little inmates. He must (and of course I am speaking not of some slight ailment, but of a more serious indisposition) be in a room by himself, which should be kept quiet and shaded, and at a temperature which should not be allowed to fall below 60° if the chest is in any way affected, nor to exceed 55° in other cases, and this temperature should always be measured, not by guess, but by the thermometer hung close to the child's bed. The room is to be shaded, not by curtains round the bed—for, save in special circumstances, curtains should be banished from the nursery—nor by closed shutters which exclude both light and air, but by letting down the blinds, so as to have a sort of twilight in the room, and by shading any light which at night may be burned in the apartment; while whether by day or night the child should be so placed that his face shall be turned from the light, not directed towards it. The room should be kept quiet, and this requires not only general quiet in the house, but quiet in the movements of all persons in the room; speaking, not in a whisper, but in a low and gentle voice; walking carefully, not in a silk dress nor in creaky shoes, but not on tiptoe, for there is a fussy sham quietness which disturbs the sick far more than the loudest noise.
Little precautions, so trifling that few think of noticing them, have much to do with the quiet of the sick-room, and consequently with the patient's comfort. A rattling window will keep a child awake for hours, or the creaking handle of the door rouse it up again each time anyone enters the room; and to put a wedge in the window, or to tie back the handle, and so quietly open and close the door, may do more than medicine towards promoting the child's recovery. There can, however, be no abiding quiet without a well-ordered room, and the old proverb carried out, 'A place for everything, and everything in its place.' A table covered with a cloth so that things may be taken up and put down noiselessly, and set apart for the medicine, the drink, the nourishment, cups, glasses, spoons, or whatever else the patient is in frequent need of; with a wooden bowl and water for rinsing cups and glasses in, and a cloth or two for wiping them, will save much trouble and noise, and the loud whispers of the attendants to each other, 'Where is the sugar? where is the arrowroot? where did you put down the medicine?' of which we hear so much in the sick-room, so much especially in the sick-room of the child, who is unable to tell how extremely all this disturbs him.
One more caution still remains for me to give. Do not talk to the doctor in the child's room, do not relate bad symptoms, do not express your fears, nor ask the doctor his opinion in the