Let me give you a case to illustrate this question of fear and to give you a word of warning. A young man who was my chum accepted an invitation to accompany me on a visit to my father and mother who in 1854 were living at the Shawnee Mission fifty miles west of Kansas City and close to the Kaw River. We made our visit to the mission and started on our journey back to Macon County, Mo., returning by the way of Kansas City where we heard much talk about the ravages of cholera on the boats and at all the river towns from Kansas City to New Orleans. Cholera was the leading subject of conversation with all persons whom we met as we traveled east. When we were about sixty miles from Kansas City and on the high prairie I felt that we were out of all danger and just like joking, so I told my chum that I had the cholera. I thought nothing of the effect of such a speech but before we had journeyed a quarter of a mile farther he turned as pale as death and showed all the signs of a sudden attack of cholera—perspiration, cold body, nausea and all. At this time I tried to reason with him. I told him that I felt so fine at our escape from the danger I was joking and that I had no cholera. But this had no effect upon him and I was afraid he would die then and there. He paid no attention to anything I said, and to all appearances seemed likely to go into a collapse in a few moments. Not knowing just how to bring him to himself, and remembering what changes would come over me when father would take a- strap of leather and strap me all over and how between my anger and the strap my body soon became quite warm, I was not long in coming to a conclusion to strap my friend to bring about the necessary reaction from the fright he was in. So I reached down and loosened my stirrup strap and began to lay it on him heavy. He paid no attention until I had struck him at least a half dozen strokes, then he looked at me and said, "you hurt." He was in his shirt sleeves and I continued to lay the strap across his back good and heavy until his anger was roused and he said, "If you don't quit that I'll knock you off your horse." Then I knew my medicine was taking effect and I was happy to know that my chum would not die there on the open prairie many miles from home. During the twenty-five years following this occurrence we often met and he always said and stuck to it that the leather strap well laid on to him at that time was what saved his life. This taught me a lesson that I have never forgotten and one that I want to emphasize to every osteopath—never tell a patient that he is in a bad fix, worse today than yesterday, or that he looks ill. I believe more patients suffer and die from such imprudence and fright than the world has ever dreamed of.
Andrew T. Still
Founder of Osteopathy.
