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Title: Nervous Breakdowns and How to Avoid Them Author: Charles David Musgrove Release Date: November 16, 2014 [EBook #47366] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NERVOUS BREAKDOWNS *** Produced by Charlene Taylor, Fay Dunn, Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber’s Note Sidenotes have been moved to the start of the paragraph to which they refer. Inconsistent hyphenation and irregular grammar are retained. Minor changes to punctuation have been made without comment. Other changes are listed at the end of the book. NERVOUS BREAKDOWNS AND HOW TO AVOID THEM All rights reserved Nervous Breakdowns and How to Avoid Them BY CHARLES D. MUSGROVE M.D. NEW YORK FUNK AND WAGNALLS COMPANY 1913 Bristol, Eng.: J. W. Arrowsmith Ltd., Quay Street. CONTENTS. Page CHAPTER I. BREAKDOWNS 1 The shock. The kind of person most liable. The nature of breakdowns. Neurasthenia, the two types. CHAPTER II. THE DANGER SIGNAL 9 The signs of a breakdown. Each individual his or her own standard. Breakdowns preventable. CHAPTER III. HEALTH 19 Health, not illness, the standard. What health is. The motor-car. The human machinery. Interplay between the various parts. Combustion—Ashes or waste matter, and how got rid of. The nervous ramifications. Starvation and poisoning. Compensation. Cause of breakdown. The remedy. CHAPTER IV. THE VALUE OF HEALTH 31 Happiness. Efficiency of work. CHAPTER V. REWARDS AND PENALTIES 38 The health seeker. The reward of care. The inevitable penalty. Nature’s disregard of motives. The laws of health. Food, fresh air, exercise and rest. CHAPTER VI. THE HUMAN ENGINE, AND HOW TO STOKE IT 47 The locomotive stoker. The human furnace: (1) The sort of food to take, (2) The amount necessary, (3) How to take it, (4) When to take it. CHAPTER VII. WHAT TO EAT 51 Differences of constitution. Likes and dislikes. Good and bad cooking. Proteids or meat foods. Meat and gout. Starchy foods. Bread. The saliva. The slow poison of dyspepsia. Eggs. Soups. Fat. Milk. Sour milk treatment. Sauces. Hunger the best sauce. Tea. Coffee. Alcohol. CHAPTER VIII. HOW TO EAT FOOD 67 Mastication. The importance of sound teeth. CHAPTER IX. HOW MUCH FOOD TO TAKE 73 Personal requirements. As a rule people eat too much. Dangers of excess. Diet at middle age. Diet for the obese. CHAPTER X. WHEN TO TAKE FOOD 80 Punctuality essential. Interval between meals. The digestive troubles of a hundred years ago and to-day. CHAPTER XI. FRESH AIR 86 The human furnace always alight. Fresh air and the nervous system. Fresh air in the home. The two-edged sword. Consumption. Common colds. Sitting-rooms and bedrooms. How to obtain fresh air without draughts. Breathing through the nose. Breathing exercises. Cleanliness. Tidiness. CHAPTER XII. EXERCISE 100 Overwork or want of exercise? Exercise at middle age. Value of exercise. Regularity. Violent exercise. Cramp. Outdoor games, walking, cycling, etc. The pavement walk. Starting indoor exercises. Cautions as to dumb-bells, etc. Object of exercise. Swedish drill. Imitation of games. Massage. CHAPTER XIII. BATHS AND BATHING 112 Hot baths. Temperature. Effect on various ailments. How they act. Cold baths. Outdoor bathing. Turkish baths. CHAPTER XIV. REST 121 The spirit of unrest. Modern life. Periodic rest. What rest is. Recuperation. Power of self- repair in the body. Bodily rest, and how obtained. Rest of mind. Change is rest. CHAPTER XV. SLEEP 130 Beauty sleep. Ebb and flow in human system. Remedies for sleeplessness. CHAPTER XVI. HOLIDAYS 137 [Pg vi] [Pg vii] The shock. The annual holiday. Where and how to go. Continental trips. Preparations for a holiday. Diet and exercise. The restful holiday. Tired eyes. The return. CHAPTER XVII. RECREATION, HOBBIES 147 Games and hobbies. Hobbies and home life. Hobbies in the prevention and treatment of breakdowns. Choice of a hobby. CHAPTER XVIII. WORK 156 Necessity for it. Mental exercise. The cry for young men. Conditions of work. Before. Bad effect of hurry. During. Hygiene. Noises. Telephone. Bad light. Midday rest. Meals. Nature of work. Working against time. Public work. After. Exercise. Rest. Recreation. CHAPTER XIX. WORRY 169 Worry, not work, that kills. The effect on the mind. Worry and neurasthenia. How to avoid worry. The influence of the body on the mind. Anticipation. Beset by work. Stimulants. Overwork versus worry. Hobbies as a remedy. CHAPTER XX. THE STRONG MAN 182 What strength is. Find out the weak points. Know your own temperament. Adjusting the mind. The secret of preventing breakdowns. Nervous Breakdowns and How to Avoid Them. CHAPTER I. BREAKDOWNS IN GENERAL. An express train was on its way from London to Edinburgh. It was running at sixty miles an hour, and the passengers, as comfortable as if they had been sitting in easy chairs by their own firesides, were engaged in reading, sleeping, talking or looking out of the windows. Not a thought of any impending trouble crossed their minds. Suddenly they felt a jar, followed by a jerk; the train slowed down, and within ten seconds had come to a standstill. Then there was general commotion, and heads appeared at every window, to see or inquire what was the matter. There was no station in sight, and no signal against them. Yet that train, which a few moments earlier had been speeding along in all its power and pride, had come to a dead stop. And when those passengers alighted from their compartments and began to investigate matters, they were no nearer a solution of the mystery. The train had not left the rails, the carriage wheels were intact, the engine was undamaged, the fires burning and the steam up. Yet something had happened, and whatever it was, it had rendered that train a useless mass of timber and steel for the time being. It was still a fine thing to look at, but as a means of locomotion it was of no more use than a child’s toy would have been. Yet, great as was the trepidation of those passengers, it was nothing to the shock experienced by the man who in the prime of life, and perhaps just when he bids fair to reach the heights towards which he has been striving with all his might for long years, suddenly finds that he is incapable of the very work of which he had prided himself he was master. It may be that he has toiled since youth in order to attain a certain position, and just when it comes within his reach his nerve fails him, and he cannot put out his hand to take it. The energy and ability which have carried him so far along the road fail him at the critical moment. Or it may be that he has struggled through laborious days and nights and amid many disappointments for fame. Just [Pg viii] [Pg 1] [Pg 2] The problem of the day. The nature of a breakdown. The two types. as he is about to realise his ambitions he breaks down, and becomes an embittered misanthrope. The genius which has enabled him to climb so many rungs of the ladder becomes inert, and he cannot mount the last step. Another spends his life in a good cause—philanthropy, religion, public work of any sort. At the very time when, by the experience he has gained, his years of greatest usefulness stretch before him, he is cut off, incapacitated by nervous debility. And it is not only men who go through this experience; the same may befall women. Often has it happened that a woman has devoted herself so assiduously to the care of her family, regardless of her own disturbed meals and broken rest, that just when her children needed her most of all—and that is when they were growing up—her strength has failed her and she has become an invalid. The lamentable part about breakdowns is the fact that they attack those who can least be spared. It is not the clodhopper, the navvy or the labourer, the careless or the incompetent, who suffer from them. On the contrary, we meet with them among skilled workmen, business men of the greatest ability, professional men of the highest acumen and experience. The former can be replaced, whilst these others have carved a niche for themselves which no one else can fill. It is the natures of finest fibre which accomplish the most, and it is they who are most liable to give way beneath the strain. A common mug may fall to the ground unharmed, where a piece of costly china would be smashed to atoms. When a masterpiece of art is lost or stolen, the whole nation grieves after it. How much more so when a man of repute, either in great ways or small, is invalided and his services lost to the world. There is no doubt that breakdowns constitute one of the most momentous problems of the day. We hear of them on all hands, in different guises and under various terms. Go into any company you like, and it is safe to say that before many minutes have passed matters of health will be under discussion, and oftentimes they are nerves or breakdowns in some form or other. It is only natural, perhaps, that this should be so. Yet too frequently the only result of these aimless conversations is to accentuate suffering, instead of leading to the acquisition of any useful information which might help to relieve it. Unfortunately, the general public seems to have made up its mind that nervous disorders are an inevitable concomitant of modern life. They fear them just as they fear influenza, wondering who will be the next to be attacked. Yet there is no comparison between the two complaints. For the one is due to a germ which pounces upon the good and the bad, the wise and the foolish, the thoughtful and the careless, with absolute impartiality; whilst the other is brought about by a number of conditions, all associated with our mode of life, for which we are responsible, and over which we have a vast amount of control. Influenza comes like a bolt from the blue, attacking its victims with disconcerting suddenness. To be sure, breakdowns may appear, in many cases at least, to come in a fell swoop; but what seems so abrupt and unlooked for is usually the climax to a long-continued process of undermining, like the collapse of a house, which has succumbed to the ravages of time. Yet the events which have led up to it may have been spread over a large number of years. Occasionally we hear of someone who has been disabled all of a sudden by some definite form of ailment, paralysis, cancer or heart disease, it may be. Such cases are, however, the exception, and they are not the breakdowns with which we are now concerned. In the great majority of instances “breaking down” is the final stage of a long process of “running down.” There is as much difference between the two classes of cases as between an engine which has come to a stop because a wheel has come off or a connecting-rod broken, and one that has become useless owing to neglect or prolonged wear and tear. The period of running down may last for months or years, and it is characterised by various symptoms, physical and nervous. It is the former which are at the root of the matter, but the others predominate more and more, until, when the final breakdown occurs, they overwhelm the bodily symptoms altogether. On this account it is usually designated by terms expressing this nervous element: nervous exhaustion or debility, neurasthenia or simply nerves. Yet all these are only different phases or stages of the same complaint. What, then, is the nature of this complaint? It is one that has suffered from much misapprehension, chiefly through the use of the term “nervous exhaustion.” This phrase has given rise to an impression in the lay mind that there is a limit to the nervous force with which human beings are endowed, as though each one started with a certain quantity which must come to an end sooner or later. This idea is a fallacy, for nervous energy is in process of being manufactured every hour we live. And Nature stores up out of this supply a reserve from which we may draw in any emergency that may demand a special output. This reserve fund is constantly varying. It is replenished during the hours of sleep, it is called upon during the period of wakefulness. Sometimes an extra call has to be made upon it. A woman may have her night’s rest broken, or she may even lose her sleep altogether for several nights in succession. Or a man may have a sudden stress of work which cannot be avoided. Then the reserve may be depleted, but that does not constitute a breakdown. If care is taken to ensure sufficient rest afterwards, the surplus is regained. It is only when a constant drain is put upon it that serious damage results. And in many cases of breakdown the question of exhaustion plays no part. For most neurasthenics show no loss of energy; in fact, many of them exhibit an increased output. The crux of [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] [Pg 7] Signs of a breakdown. the whole matter is not exhaustion, but a loss of control over the nervous forces. This loss may show itself in two distinct ways. It may either prevent the energy from manifesting itself, or it may discharge it in a spasmodic manner. One market-day, in a country town, there were two horses, both of which, so far as their utility was concerned, were equally inefficient. Yet neither were lacking in energy. The one was excitable, plunging about to the danger of the public, and in any direction except the right one. The other was, on the contrary, perfectly quiet, standing harnessed to a vehicle, but unable to move it. This animal had strength and nerve force in plenty, yet it was incapable of making use of it. For a drunken ostler had harnessed it the wrong way round, with its head towards the cart. The same types can often be recognised in those who suffer from nervous breakdown. Some patients become fidgety and restless, rushing about from pillar to post, worrying their employees or their fellow-workers, and fussing around in the home until the rest of the household dreads the sight of them. Others are precisely the opposite of this. They become moody and taciturn, or disinclined to meet their friends or take part in a conversation. A woman will sit by herself most of the time, not caring even to have her children about her. A man will have a difficulty in making up his mind not only on important points of business, but it may be on the most trivial matters. He begins to look at his work as stupidly as the aforesaid horse stared helplessly at the cart he was supposed to pull. Where does the fault lie? Not in too much energy or too little, but in some derangement of the system, whereby the patient’s faculties either go astray or are rendered inert. And in order to discover the real source of the mischief, it is necessary to look, not at the climax, but farther back, through a long sequence of events which have been leading up to it. CHAPTER II. THE DANGER SIGNAL. It will naturally be asked by what sign is a man or woman to know when they are threatened with a breakdown. By no one sign in particular. One cloud does not make a wet day. It is only when other clouds begin to gather and we feel a certain change in the atmosphere that we surmise that rain is coming. The signs which warn us of the approach of a storm are almost too indefinite for words. The symptoms by which a man is led to think he is on the verge of a breakdown are equally vague. That is what makes them all the harder to locate and to bear. If he has sciatica, pleurisy or a gumboil, he can speak of his ailments and tell people what is the matter with him. The neurasthenic has not even this consolation. His symptoms are so indefinite that he can scarcely find words in which to express them; if he could do so, he would shrink from mentioning them for fear that his friends would laugh at him. For it must be understood that neurasthenia is a very different matter from hysteria or hypochondriasis. The hysterical subject craves for sympathy, and will imitate all sorts of ailments in order to secure it. The hypochondriacal imagines he has all manner of diseases and loves to talk about them to anyone who has the patience to listen to his tale of woe. The neurasthenics are the very opposite of this. They are usually people of refined susceptibilities, sensitive about themselves and their feelings. They have, therefore, to bear their burden alone. They see the clouds gathering on their mental horizon and their sky getting darker and darker. The future becomes laden with foreboding, and all around there is the presentiment of a storm that is about to break. Often they keep their feelings to themselves, until at last these become of such intensity that they can no longer be hidden. Such persons often welcome a definite illness, if only because it gives them something unmistakable to speak about, affording them the opportunity of calling in the medical aid of which—quite wrongly, be it observed—they had previously been ashamed to avail themselves. We are sometimes told that headache, giddiness, pains in the region of the spine, weak digestion and a host of similar complaints are preliminary signs of oncoming breakdown. Yet, whilst they often accompany the latter condition, they are also significant of many other ailments, which have nothing to do with it. Sciatica may be the result of a chill, spinal pains of an influenza cold, whilst headache may be due to biliousness, faulty eyesight or a variety of other conditions. The fact that we suffer from any one of them does not imply that we are threatened with a breakdown. For all that, it is not well to neglect these complaints, for it is certain that if we have any tendency to nervous trouble they will hasten it on. To suggest, however, that such symptoms are preliminary to a nervous collapse would be to inspire, in the minds of many people, a sense of terror which would precipitate the very disaster we are anxious to avoid. One thing, however, it is necessary to emphasise. If any symptom of this sort—and the remark applies especially to headaches—is found consistently to come on during the hours of work, alleviating after the work is over for the day, it should be taken as a danger signal. For when anyone’s occupation brings on a headache, the complaint is much more likely to be due to some weakness of the nervous system than to any fault in digestion or eyesight. And the same applies to many other symptoms also. [Pg 8] [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] Loss of strength. Worry. Memory. Pleasures pall. Change of The phenomena I am about to describe are those suggestive of nervous weakness, and any man or woman who recognises themselves in the picture I shall attempt to draw had better take warning. They need not alarm themselves unduly, but they will be well advised to pull up short. There is one point which must always be kept in mind. It does not follow that because a person is easily tired, or is irritable or depressed or dreads any ordeal awaiting him, or is nervous in any direction, that he or she is drifting towards a breakdown. It is when people who have previously been free from such weaknesses find that they are acquiring them that they must face the fact their nervous systems are on the down grade. Each individual must be taken as his or her own standard. What is natural for some would be unnatural for others. A person is ill when he falls below his own level of health, either of body or mind. The various signs of neurasthenia or breakdown depend, not on comparing a man with anyone else, but in measuring him by his former self. One of the most constant symptoms is a gradual decline in strength, either of body or mind, without any organic disease to account for it. If a man whose heart, lungs and kidneys have been proved sound begins to suffer from fatigue after an amount of exercise such as he would not previously have noticed, everything points to the fact of its being the result of some impairment in his nervous system. More particularly so if the tiredness is of an unpleasant nature. There is a delightful form of fatigue and there is a painful one. There is nothing more enjoyable than the gentle aching which a healthy man feels as he stretches out his limbs in a comfortable chair after a good day’s walking, shooting, golf or whatever else it may have been. He feels, in mind and body alike, a delicious sense of half-sleepy lassitude, which affords to a higher degree than anything else a sense of repose and well-being. That is very different from the weariness that dogs a man’s footsteps wherever he goes, or is even with him during his sleeping hours, so that he rises in the morning more tired than when he lay down. When that happens something in his organisation has gone wrong. Equally significant is the langour that attacks people when they are following their daily avocations. Of course, it is natural that as people grow older they should find themselves less capable of exertion than they were in their younger days. Most persons over forty years of age have to take things somewhat more quietly than before. They are not so well able to run, and perhaps have to walk more deliberately, but that is very different from feeling fatigued when there has been no justification for it. Yet even that is not a matter of such gravity as when a man who has taken a keen interest in his daily work, of whatever sort it may be, discovers that it is becoming more and more of an effort. Or it may be a woman, who finds her household duties, which had hitherto been a pleasure to her, becoming a bugbear. And when anyone, either man or woman, begins to look forward habitually with dread to the work of the following day, their health is in sore need of attention. Yet in most cases all that they do is to reproach themselves for their indolence and apply themselves to their duties still more assiduously, with the usual result that they worry themselves and everybody else. And the harder they try the worse things get, until at last the work in which they had taken such a pride becomes a nightmare to them. They begin to shrink from the thought of it, yet it forces itself continually upon their notice. Perhaps even the evenings, which should bring a sense of refreshing and repose, are spoiled by fretting over the events of the day that is gone and worrying as to the work of the morrow; the housewife in trepidation as to her duties in the home, the workman to his job, the commercial man to his business, the parson to his next appearance in the pulpit. The result is that in many cases the work suffers. Worry and anxiety are the common lot of mankind, at any rate in this age of stress and competition. Yet it is not the common cares of life which have a detrimental effect on the human system, but this useless, exaggerated vexation of spirit. When a man has lost the power of leaving his worries behind him, it is time that he began to take heed, for sooner or later they will affect his work. If he allows himself to drift, wasting his energies by futile struggling against his own disabilities, his mental faculties will begin to show signs of wear and tear. It may be that his memory will play him tricks, words and facts failing him at the critical moments. There is no surer sign of neurasthenia than when a man who has always been a ready speaker, begins to hesitate for words in which to express himself. The worst symptom of all is when people noted for their firm, decisive characters find themselves unable to make up their minds, either on some subject of general interest or on points connected with their own pursuits. An even worse phase of fatigue is that which intrudes upon the hours of recreation. It is bad enough for people to become unduly tired at their work; it is worse when they become tired at their play. When amusements cease to afford any gratification, and people lose interest in their favourite hobbies and pursuits, their nervous systems are perilously near a breakdown. This weakness has passed into a further and a more serious stage. Then social intercourse is apt to weary them. They find a difficulty in concentrating their attention on a conversation, especially if the subject under discussion happens to be one demanding close attention. Sometimes, however, even an ordinary chat will tire them out. It may be that they are unable to read the lightest literature, the effort to follow a story proves too much for them. In consequence of all this, they fall into a sad plight. For not only are they deprived of the solace of amusing themselves, but their friends are apt to fight shy of them. When people get into this state [Pg 12] [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] disposition. Increased nervousness. Loss of zest. Health, not illness, the standard. they become ultra-sensitive, and see slights and insults where none were meant. They are liable to lose their sense of humour too, and can neither appreciate nor take a joke. After that, it is not long before they see their friends deserting them, which means that they are driven back upon themselves. That, on the top of everything else, depresses them, and they worry still more over unnecessary trifles. Probably they become sleepless, and that will hasten on as nothing else can do the inevitable climax. Irritability of temper is often one of the first signs of this malady, not of course in those who are naturally quarrelsome, but in those who have hitherto been of a genial, companionable disposition. In fact, change of disposition is one of the most significant features in nervous breakdowns. A man who has always taken the greatest pleasure in the society of his children will begin to snap at them without any cause. Their very presence seems to fidget him. His companions find it out, too, for not uncommonly he begins to lose his temper when he is beaten at a game, a thing he has rarely before been known to do. But what is the clearest danger signal of all is when men or women see this irritability worming its way into the solitude of their own thoughts. In one case of neurasthenia the first sign consisted of the fact that the patient found, whenever he was alone, a tendency to have resentful and bitter thoughts even of his best friends. Once or twice he even cut his chin while shaving, simply because he was feeling so angry with a chum, who had not given him the slightest reason for animosity. Sometimes it happens that a man who has not been in the habit of swearing will find himself using bad language in the course of his soliloquies. Once he starts doing that, he may know, without any doubt whatsoever, that his nervous system has gone wrong. Increasing nervousness is a predominant feature of neurasthenia. It appears in various guises. A man who has never found any difficulty in holding his own in his dealings with others will suddenly find himself looking forward to an interview with fears and qualms. When the time comes he may be able to string himself up to the pitch, but it will only be by an effort such as he is quite unaccustomed to, and the nervous tension will perhaps leave him spent and exhausted. Others, who have never known the meaning of the word nerves, will feel ashamed and angry with themselves when they start at the sound of a loud noise or a banging door, or are afraid to enter a dark room. Not infrequently it happens that people who have been the first to welcome a friend in the street will commence to make a practice of crossing the road when they see anyone approaching. Or their nervousness may take the form of a fear of the unknown. The future becomes full of dark spectres. Visions of poverty, even of the workhouse itself, will attack a man whose financial affairs are on a safe footing. A common sign of disordered nerves is a constant dread of illness. If an epidemic of influenza is prevalent, the neurasthenic will feel certain that he is to be the next victim, and his sensations, purely imaginary it may be, will confirm his forebodings. In whatever way neurasthenia assails anyone, it has one certain effect. It deprives them of the joy and zest of life, and when once that has disappeared there is little left. People have their different temperaments. Some are of a sanguine type, and it is no effort for them to be blithe and gay. Others are cast in a more sombre mould; not that they are thereby miserable, for such people can enjoy themselves as much as anyone else, but in a quieter way. But when their nervous system shows signs of damage, they lose their sense of contentment just as the others lose their flow of vivacity. All these are the premonitory signs of a breakdown, and if they are neglected the crash may come. The man finds that he cannot face his work, the woman is unable to carry out her duties in the home. Life becomes dark and void, and all that made it worth living seems to have gone. Then too often they are assailed by the worst dread of all, the fear that they will lose their reason. For their comfort we may say that, tragic as a breakdown may be, there is a wide gulf between it and insanity. And those who are in the preliminary stages, and have not arrived at that of a breakdown, may console themselves with the fact that the latter is one of the most preventable of conditions. It is the aim of this book to show the different ways in which it may be avoided. CHAPTER III. HEALTH. It is surprising, in these days when everybody is an authority on matters of health, how few people there are who can tell you what it really is. The majority, if asked to describe it, would probably say that a man is healthy when he is not ill. Now when you come to analyse this statement, it conclusively shows one thing, namely that people take illness as the standard. Most human beings, in civilised countries at any rate, have something the matter with them—a weak digestion, tendency to sore throats or colds, or a predisposition to ailments of one sort or another. Yet the fact that most people suffer from illness is no reason for calling it a natural condition. It is health that is natural; illness is an anomaly. Medical men themselves are the first to recognise the truth of this statement. Animals as a rule are [Pg 16] [Pg 17] [Pg 18] [Pg 19] The nature of health. The human machine. Interplay. Combustion sound and vigorous so long as they are in a wild state. It is only when they are in captivity that they become delicate. Similarly savages are much freer from disease than civilised races. It is when they live in artificial surroundings that they become prone to sickness. Health is not a negative thing. It is a state in which every part is sound and acts in harmony with every other part. A motor-car consists of a great number of different parts—the gear, the engine, the petrol supply, the firing. It is not sufficient that each section should be in good order. For each must also fit in, both mechanically and in point of time, with every other. The petrol pipe may be clear, but unless the spark reaches the cylinders exactly in the nick of time there will be misfiring, and a loss of power in consequence. This loss of power is not the only harm done. It means that there will be unnecessary friction also, causing extra wear and tear to the engine and gear. If this occurs but seldom, and is put right at once when detected, little damage may be done. If repeated often, and allowed to go on uncared for, the whole structure of the car will suffer and the life of the machine be shortened. It does not follow that the car will come to a standstill. It will continue to run, but badly. For like every other engine, it has the faculty of compensation. That is to say, when one part is out of order other parts will take on some of its work, and help, for a time at least, to make good the deficiency. For instance, in a four-cylinder car one of the cylinders may cease to act. Yet the other three will take on a certain part of the work, and help to some extent to make up the deficiencies of the faulty one. This will be only for a time, however, for the additional strain will slowly but surely have a bad effect on the rest of the engine, and through it on the other parts of the machine. One by one these will give way, and have to be compensated in turn. If still neglected and left to take care of itself, there will come a time when so many sections are affected, that the remainder cannot overcome the mischief, and compensation will fail. The car will become practically useless. Perhaps, like the one-hoss shay, it will collapse en masse. It has gone beyond the stage of running badly, it has broken down. The human system is much like a motor-car, in that it consists of a vast number of parts acting in unison. Yet it is infinitely more wonderful, for it is much more complicated, and can create its own supply of energy. It is made, roughly speaking, of a framework of bone and muscle, a delicately- adjusted alimentary system, whereby it takes in and assimilates food, and of a circulatory apparatus which drives blood and nourishment to all parts of the body. It contains also a nervous system, compared with which these other parts are crude, mechanical contrivances. For it is on their nervous supply that they depend for their usefulness. Cut the nerves that go to a limb, and the finest muscles in the world are as helpless as the meat in a butcher’s shop. Deprive the heart of its nerve supply for a single minute, and it will never beat again. Yet we pay vastly more attention to a weak heart, as it is called, or still more so to a broken leg, than we do to a threatened failure in the nervous system, which outweighs them all in importance. Once that has got out of order, the driving power is gone. Not only the heart and muscles, but every other faculty we possess loses its energy and usefulness. So closely allied, however, are the different parts, that the nervous system itself, which governs all else, is dependent for its welfare on the very organs it governs. Like the power of a king, it rests not only on its own intrinsic qualities, but also on the strength and harmony of the units over which it rules. And there is a constant interplay going on between the various parts of the body. No one organ or system can stand alone. If it is working badly, it affects other parts, and disturbs the harmony on which the health of the whole depends. One of the most marked examples of this is to be found in the action and reaction which take place between the digestive organs and the nervous system. The presence of congenial company at meal-times is one of the best aids to digestion; a cantankerous discussion is the very opposite. Similarly, if a man sits down to his dinner with a grievance or a worry on his mind, it is safe to predict dyspepsia. A lady once received a telegram containing disastrous news just as she was finishing a meal. Up to that time she had never known what indigestion was, yet for the next couple of days she suffered from it in a most acute form. The nervous shock had thrown the stomach out of order, inhibiting the secretion of gastric juice. We cannot help troubles of this sort, but it is only once in a lifetime, perhaps, that we get a message of that sort during the progress of a meal. It is to be feared, however, that it is of almost daily occurrence for some people to sit down to table worrying over the business of the day. And the accumulated effects of these minor disturbances may in the long run prove more detrimental than one big one. Conversely, the stomach has an equally potent influence over the nervous system. Everyone knows that when their digestion is out of order, and they are feeling uncomfortable or bilious, their heads are not so clear as usual. And with this there is a feeling of langour and irritability, and a difficulty in doing work efficiently. This is because the body fails to get its proper supply of nourishment, and also because it is poisoned at the same time. In order to understand the manner in which this is brought about, it is necessary to know something as to the events which are taking place throughout the body every moment of our lives. When food is taken it is first digested and then passes out of the stomach, and is carried by [Pg 20] [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] and elimination. Waste matter and the nervous system. Starvation. Poisoning. Compensation. means of the circulation to all parts of the body. It nourishes the various tissues, replacing the loss which is constantly going on. For there is throughout the whole system a process corresponding to combustion, and this combustion, like the furnace of an engine, is the source of our energy. As in an ordinary fire, ashes are produced in the form of waste matter of a poisonous nature. This waste must be removed from the tissues, else it interferes with the process, as a neglected fire is apt to become choked up and burn badly. This removal is also accomplished by the circulation. In any community you may see on any ordinary working day two sets of carts, those belonging to tradesmen which distribute groceries and vegetables, and the scavengers’ carts which gather up the refuse. The same processes go on in the human body, with the difference that in this case the same agency which brings the supplies also carries away the waste. These impurities are eliminated from the body by means of the lungs, the skin, the kidneys and bowels. And in order that this elimination may be sufficient, the circulation must be maintained in all parts of the body. Unless the blood is kept moving, this waste matter will tend to collect somewhere or other and give rise to trouble. The way in which this motion is kept up is by exercise, which squeezes out the fluid like an automatic sponge. If the body was kept perfectly still for weeks, it would became loaded with this impure material, as a room that is shut up is found to collect, in such a surprising manner, dust and dirt. When it reaches the lungs it is purified by means of the air. For the air which we exhale is very different from that which is breathed in, the former being charged with impurities. The drowsy feeling which we experience in a crowded, ill-ventilated room is due entirely to the influence of these toxic gases. The purer the atmosphere we breathe, the more effective it is in carrying off impurities from the blood, so that fresh air and hygiene are essential to health, whilst exercise acts as a valuable adjunct by increasing the respirations. Yet exercise itself, important as it is, needs to be carried out in moderation. For the muscles, whilst fulfilling the vital functions just enumerated, produce a poison of their own, if exertion be too violent or prolonged. The severe cramp from which athletes are liable to suffer is due to an accumulation of this toxin. This poison is eliminated from the system during repose, and especially during sleep. Rest is therefore as requisite as exercise itself, and unless the body gets regular rest and sufficient of it, severe damage may result. The muscles will not only become permeated with their own peculiar poison, but will be so enfeebled as to be unable to assist in discharging the waste matter which is constantly being formed throughout the whole system. These impurities are the source of many of the ills with which mankind is afflicted—headaches, vague pains in various parts, languor, and the great majority of rheumatic troubles. But their worst effect of all is that which they exert on the nervous organisation. For the ramifications of the nervous system penetrate to every part of the body, including the internal organs. From its seat of honour in the brain and spinal cord it sends its messages to every tissue in the body, and receives messages in return. It may be compared to an electric power station, which distributes its current to every part of a town. But with this difference, if the electric light in a house goes wrong, it does not affect the main station, whereas if any portion of the body however small or insignificant gives way, it adversely affects the central parts of the nervous system. And if the various sections and organs do not work together smoothly, the nervous system, which governs them all, suffers along with them. The nervous system suffers in two ways when the internal organs and other parts of the body fail to do their work properly. First of all, it languishes from starvation. This does not mean that the individual is not taking sufficient quantity of food. He may be taking enough, even too much, but it is not being digested or assimilated satisfactorily, and though there is plenty of food there is a deficiency of nutriment. Secondly, it may suffer from poisoning. This may be the result of dyspepsia, for when food lies in the stomach undigested, it is apt to ferment, producing a poison that circulates throughout the body. Or it may be because the impurities, which are found throughout the whole body, are not being got rid of, owing to a want of exercise and fresh air. Or it may be owing to undue wear and tear in consequence of a lack of sufficient rest. Too often it is a combination of the two processes, the nervous system being attacked by starvation and poisoning at the same time. The whole of man’s structure is a marvellous automaton, and once the nervous element is disturbed the trouble which first upset the harmony is increased tenfold. Yet the mischief may not be apparent all at once, for the whole organisation is so accurately balanced that defects in one part will be compensated for by other organs. And whilst this is a safeguard in one way, it is a serious menace in another. For the fault is apt to be overlooked, until at last the process has gone on to such an extent that the balance is upset. The machine does not stop running, but, like a motor-car in similar circumstances, it begins to run badly. The man himself becomes what is called “run down.” It is a provision of Nature that the nervous system, being the mainspring of our existence, holds out longer than any [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] The cause of the breakdown. The Remedy. Health and happiness. other structure in the body. If it did not do so most of us would have been dead or broken down long ago. Yet it means that when the loss of balance reaches such a point that compensation fails, the breakdown is all the more disastrous. Then, when the crash comes, we blame our nerves, our civilisation, our worries and troubles, our heredity, anything in short except ourselves. Of course, there are cases in which circumstances have entered over which the patient has had no control. Sometimes neurasthenia follows a severe illness or a bad accident. Sometimes it comes on at critical periods of life. And in some instances heredity has played a part. There are some unfortunate individuals who have been born with weak frames and little stamina, so that even the ordinary conditions of life, however favourable, prove too much for them. Such cases are the exception. In the great majority of instances the faults which have undermined the system are the results of mistakes, either through ignorance or thoughtlessness, in the mode of life. Not necessarily, observe, a vicious mode of life. The victims may have been consistently sober and virtuous. Yet they may have been guilty of egregious errors in regard to the quantity or quality of the food they have taken, or the way in which they have eaten it or in their neglect of fresh air, exercise or rest. The fault may lie in any one of these elements, or in more than one; in all of them, perhaps. And it is only by close examination of the habits of life that the source of the mischief can be brought to light. In like manner the treatment of nervous breakdowns consists in remedying these faults, once they have been ascertained. Patients seldom understand this fact. What they particularly desire is a tonic to restore their jaded energies, on the principle, evidently, of whipping up a tired horse to make him go. They look for some patent food which shall build them up in marvellous manner. Articles of this sort are valuable aids in cases where starvation from lack of sufficient food has been the cause of the trouble. But where there has been an error in diet, it has been, in an overwhelming proportion of cases, an excess of food rather than a lack of it, and when this has been so, it is about as rational to give such remedies, as it would be to pile more coals on to a fire that was already choked. It is not sufficient merely to treat individual symptoms, taking phenacetine for headache, pepsin for indigestion, and so forth; for that is but to touch the fringe of the matter, leaving the real secret of the trouble undealt with. Neither is it of any use to tell the sufferer that there is nothing the matter, that all he requires is to rouse himself or cease his restlessness, as the case may be. You might as well tell a drowning man who cannot swim to buck up and be cheerful. The rest cure, so much in vogue, may have its advantages in some cases, but too frequently the patient leaves the institution only to resume his former mode of life, and repeat the very mistakes which brought on the illness. A consumptive might as well never enter a sanatorium if he is to return to a badly-ventilated house and unwholesome surroundings. Not uncommonly it happens that a man will make up his mind to have a course of treatment at some spa, even though it means a sacrifice of time and money. When he is told that it is his manner of life that needs overhauling, the commonplaceness of the observation affronts him. Like Naaman, he expects to be sent, if not to the waters of Jordan, at any rate to those of Homburg or some such resort, and he strongly objects to being told that all he needs he can get at home. Some time ago I was travelling from London to Buxton. There were two other men in the carriage, and one of them was telling the other that he was going there for his health. He said that he found it necessary to go several times a year, as he got so run down. The other man asked him what treatment he had on these occasions, did he have baths or drink the waters or what? “No,” answered the first one, “I simply get up early and go to bed in good time and take plain food.” “And why don’t you do it at home instead?” inquired the other. There was no reply. CHAPTER IV. THE VALUE OF HEALTH. The supreme value of good health is the fact that it is associated with happiness and a greater capacity for good work. It is not our environment but our state of health which handicaps us. Mark Tapley succeeded in ejaculating “jolly” under the most depressing circumstances. I know nothing as to Mark’s medical history, but I should not hesitate to affirm that he did not suffer from a disordered liver. Everything in this world varies according to the way it is looked at, and we are all liable to develop mental astigmatism when we are not feeling up to the mark. A man will say and do things that are foreign to his nature when he is waiting in impatient hunger for his dinner. Wives who are wise have found this out, and wait until the brute has been fed before they broach the subject of a new hat. [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] [Pg 31] Health and work. A man who has nothing special to worry him, and who if any difficult position arose would face it without flinching, will brood over his affairs during the hours of a sleepless night until he has created troubles enough to last him for the rest of his life. His business may be running like clockwork, but before morning he will have convinced himself that he is on the road to the workhouse. A good night’s rest, a brisk walk, even a cup of tea will work wonders in a careworn man or woman, who has almost come to the conclusion that life was not worth living. One of the most prominent symptoms of jaundice is the depression which accompanies that malady. There is a solid substratum of truth in the old saying, “Looking at the world through jaundiced eyes.” The most trying part of nursing sick people is the cantankerousness which even the best-tempered persons tend to develop when they are ill or in pain. The most considerate of patients are apt to become positively unreasonable at such times. Yet because of their sufferings they need all the sympathy and patience that can be bestowed upon them. And as a rule, so long as they are really ill and laid aside, they get it. What the world gets sick of is the croaker, who never ceases talking about his ailments. People may sympathise with him for a time, but before long they get tired of hearing about his complaints. It is only human nature to prefer listening to skylarks rather than to frogs. Perhaps the most serious effect of ill-health is the loss of confidence which it entails. Many a man of frail physique and little stamina has been left behind by others not nearly so richly endowed with skill or intellectual ability. He has the accomplishments, but not the power to use them. He is so afraid of making mistakes, that the ps...