The most important element in any cure or successful treatment of the disease is a favorable attitude of the patient's mind. He must be told at once that consumption takes away only the "quitters." People who give up the battle or who, though still hoping, do not hope actively—that is, do not make the exertion necessary to get out into the open air and to eat heartily—inevitably succumb to the disease.

Eating.—Eating is often more a question of exertion than appetite or anything else for consumptive patients. They have no active appetite and they simply must force themselves to chew and swallow. Their fatigue from chewing is, indeed, likely to be so disturbing that it is advisable to furnish patients as far as possible with such food as requires no chewing. Milk and eggs and the thin cereal foods, like gruel, and rather thin puddings are the best for this purpose. Patients must be persuaded that they must take these whether they care for them or not. Occasionally they may cough after a meal and vomit it up. The rule in the German sanatoria for consumptives is that whenever this happens they must, after a short interval, repeat the whole meal. Only rarely does it happen that a tuberculous patient vomits without some such mechanical cause as coughing. They must be made to understand that any food that stays down does them good no matter how they may feel toward it.

The actual state of affairs as regards their future must be put before them. It is a question of eating or of death. They face these two alternatives. Eating is objectionable but, as a rule, death is more so. The kinds of food they do not care for, if they are good for them, must be insisted on. Most people who think that they cannot take milk can do so, if it is only presented to them insistently, with at first such slight modifications of taste as may be produced by a little coffee, or tea, or vanilla, or by some other flavoring extract, which modifies its taste. Butter and the meat fats will be taken quite readily if it is only once made perfectly clear to patients that they must take these or else lose in the conflict with the disease.

It deserves to be repeated here that in many of these cases the disinclination to eat is due to the fact that patients find it almost intolerably wearying to make the effort necessary for mastication. This is particularly true if they are asked to eat meat frequently, and especially if asked to eat underdone beef, {356} which usually requires vigorous chewing. Such meat is excellent for them once a day, but it may be made much easier to take by chopping or scraping so that practically no exertion is required. Besides, it is by no means necessary that these patients should eat much meat nor that they should have to chew laboriously at their food. Raw eggs may be the basis of the diet, especially eggs beaten up, and these will be found not only to be very tasty, but eminently digestible. Their vegetables may be taken in purees, so that they require very little chewing effort, though patients must be warned to mix starchy substances well with saliva so as to facilitate their digestion. Their bread may be taken in the shape of milk toast, or in some other soft form—bread pudding for instance. All this helps, without demanding too much effort, to prevent loss of weight and to regain it when it has been lost.

Air and Comfort.—Next to food, the most important adjuvant is fresh air. Often patients find many objections to this. It is too cold for them; they are shivery and become depressed. Most patients need to be dressed much more warmly than is the custom at present, and hands and feet should be covered with woolen gloves and socks and even a woolen hood worn around the head if necessary. There is usually too much covering worn on the chest and too little on the extremities. With fleecy wool garments next the body and sufficient clothing, properly distributed, many a patient who complains of the cold will at once be more comfortable. They must be made to understand that fresh air is absolutely essential. Every extra hour they spend in the air is that much gained; every hour they spend inside is just that much lost in the curative process. If they are uncomfortable, however, they become discouraged, and a discouraged tuberculous patient never resists the progress of his affection. Not only does he not improve, but he inevitably retrogresses. It must not be forgotten, however, that the thin anemic patients who complain bitterly of the cold, when they first take up the habit of living outside, will grow used to it after a time and then will from habit and the accumulation of a ten-pound blanket of fat be able to stand the cold much better than many healthy persons.

Stimulating Examples.—Tuberculous patients need to have their courage kept up. It is true that the toxin of the tubercle bacillus has the definite effect of stimulating its victims so that they are likely to be hopeful, but very often this hopefulness is vague and does not tempt them to eat and to live in the open air, the two things that make their continued resistance to the disease possible. I find that the knowledge of how bravely and how successfully other sufferers from the disease resisted its invasion and succeeded in doing a good life's work is the very best tonic that sufferers from tuberculosis can have. Needless to say, there are any number of examples of heroes of tuberculosis who put to shame perfectly healthy people in the amount of work they succeeded in accomplishing in spite of the drawbacks of their disease. The unfavorable suggestion of the number of deaths from the disease must be overcome by the contrary suggestion of the brave, busy lives lived by those who suffered even the very severe form of the disease and often accomplished the full term of existence in spite of their handicaps from tuberculosis.

Robert Louis Stevenson.—The best example in recent years is undoubtedly Robert Louis Stevenson. In spite of tuberculosis in severe form which prevented his living in the ordinary climates for the last twenty years of his life, he succeeded in doing an amount of work that is simply marvelous and in {357} influencing his generation more widely than most of the perfectly healthy writers who lived in his time. There are over, 2,000,000 published words to the credit of Stevenson, and, when we recall that most of this, owing to his critical care, had been written over and over many times, some idea of the vast amount of work he accomplished will be realized. Perhaps the climax of his cheerful nature, the utter lack of discouragement in the face of what is usually the most depressing possible incident, is to be found in his famous letter to a friend telling him, as he lies in bed, that he cannot write at any great length now but that he will write a long letter next week if "bluidy Jock," his playful name for hemorrhage from the lungs, would only let him.

One of the most striking illustrations of his insatiable appetite for work and his complete refusal to admit that he was being conquered by the disease has been recently told with regard to his unfinished novel, "St. Ives." He had been suffering from certain severe symptoms and had been forbidden to do anything at all, even to dictate brief notes, or anything else that would make any extra work for his respiratory organs. The ideas for chapters of "St. Ives" were in his head and would work themselves out in spite of the doctor's prohibitions. He would not let the thought of his disease overcome him, and so he dictated these chapters to a secretary in the sign language, which he had learned so as to be able to communicate under such conditions. I know nothing that is more likely to make people realize how a brave spirit can overcome every discouragement of body, and how much such a spirit is its own reward, since it secures for its possessor a prolongation of the life of the body that would surely be worn out by depression, by discouragement, and by worry. Undoubtedly Stevenson's interest in his work literally gave him new life. It did use up some nervous energy, but if his mind had been occupied by thoughts of his disease, and its probably fatal consequences, much more of his precious store of nervous energy would have been exhausted in anxiety and worry.

J. Addington Symonds.—After Stevenson probably the most striking example among modern literary men is John Addington Symonds. Comparatively early in life he found that he could not live in England owing to the inevitable advance of tuberculosis when he tried to do so. He took up his residence then at St. Moritz and other places of rather high altitude in Italy and continued his literary work. When we see the row of books that we owe to Symonds' literary activity it is surprising to think that he, too, like Stevenson, had to watch his temperature, that every now and then there were discouraging developments and incidents in his tuberculosis, and that a return to the ordinary habitations of men away from the friendly altitudes of the Italian Alps was always followed by a recrudescence of his symptoms. Symonds' work was not merely literary, but his books are valuable historical monographs on many subjects requiring much reading and diligent study and consultation of authorities. There are few men in perfect health and with abundant leisure who have succeeded in accomplishing as much as did this hero of tuberculosis.

Thoreau.—There are other distinguished literary men of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the stories of whose tuberculosis has a special interest and tonic quality. One of these is our own Thoreau, another is Francis Thompson, the English poet, whose recent death has brought him even more publicity than did his great poems while he was alive. Both of them are typical examples of another phase of tuberculosis that is interesting to realize. {358} It is probable that if Thoreau had lived the ordinary, practical, everyday life, which those who lived around him thought he should, he would have died of tuberculosis before he was thirty. He had no use for money beyond his present needs and when he had made enough to keep himself very simply he refused to earn any more. He had not time, as he said, to make money. He wanted to live his life for itself and for the interests higher than the material that there can be in it. Accordingly, he set himself to learn all about the birds and beasts and the trees and plants and the waters and their inhabitants around his country home. He introduced the modern taste for nature study in its most beautiful way. He spent most of his time out of doors.

Undoubtedly this out-of-doors life prolonged existence for many years beyond what would have been his term. His biographers say that probably his being out of doors in all sorts of weather laid the foundations of "the cold which settled on his lungs" and eventually carried him off. Those of us who know anything about tuberculosis, as it has been studied in recent years in the tuberculosis sanatoria, are not likely to agree with such an opinion. Our patients in the Adirondacks live outside ten or twelve hours a day and then sleep with their windows open with the temperature sometimes down to zero during the severest winter weather. Rain and dampness are not allowed to interfere with the open air program. Colds that "settle on the chest" so that people die from consumption are not due to exposure to cold but to the bacillus of tuberculosis. Where this once gains a foothold the one hope of prolongation of life is out-door air and the more cold and stimulating that out-door air is, provided he can stand it without discouragement, the better for the patient. Thoreau is an example of a man whose life was prolonged by his out-door habits and by his refusal to live the humdrum, practical existence of other men, just to be like those other men and measure his supposed success by their standards.