ing her into hysterics.) A habit of moving quietly about the room, and yet not treading "on tiptoe" and making every board in the floor creak its loudest, is also very advisable; and nothing can be better by way of foot-gear than those soft, warm felt boots now so common; they both keep the nurse's feet from becoming cold, and make the least possible sound in moving about. Of course the manner of speaking in a sick-room is all-important. Oh, the horror of that dreadful "pig's whisper," which penetrates to the inmost recesses of the room, and wakes the sleeping patient as surely as the banging of a door!
I call to mind a case of fever—a very bad case, in which sleep was the one desideratum—almost the only hope. The sufferer had fallen into a doze—the terrible throbbing of the arteries in the bared throat seemed a little less rapid—the fire that was burning life away raged a little less fiercely—but, some idiot peeped in through a half-closed door, and with horrible contortions of the visage, intended to express extreme caution, whispered in blood-chilling tones, "How—is—he—getting—on—now?"
In an instant the patient had raised himself in bed, the poor hot hands were thrown out to ward off he knew not what—the filmy eyes stared wildly round—the parched tongue faltered: "What is it? Where is it?" And for hours the weary head tossed from side to side, and meaningless words fell on the ears of those who watched and waited, and almost feared to hope. And yet it was meant in kindness!
In some of the most severe diseases, such as cholera and diphtheria, the patient is often intensely conscious of all that is passing around him. The wish to know everything that is said and done is extreme, and nothing excites a patient so much as anything like whispering and mystery. The natural voice, only so much lowered as to be perfectly distinct, is, then, the proper tone for a sick-room. If silence is needed, let it be complete, and no whispering permitted either in the room, or, worse still, outside the door.
And now I must say a few words on a disagreeable but yet most important subject. In any case where operative surgery is necessary, it cannot be too strongly insisted upon that no one shall remain present whose calmness and self-control are not a certainty. I remember well a delicate and difficult operation having to be performed—not a painful one, but where success mainly depended on the perfect stillness of the patient. Scarcely had the first slight incision been made, when the room resounded with the moans and cries, not of the sufferer, but the friend who had kindly come to support her through the ordeal! With many a sob, and choke, and gurgle, the friend was assisted from the room, and then all went well enough; but great delay, and much increase of nervousness on the part of the patient, naturally resulted.
