This month we are leaving the United States and heading to the Commonwealth of the Bahamas’ capital, Nassau!
The American Civil War (1861-1865) brought an unusual increase in affluent American southern tourists to the Bahamas when Nassau acted as a blockade for the exchange of American goods. The Bahama government, hoping to cash in on the industry, built its first luxury hotel, the Royal Victoria Hotel.
– by Julia Jablonowski
Most people in our contemporary society are familiar with anorexia nervosa –more commonly known as just “anorexia.” Yet few know the development of medical thought and the advancement of medical etymologies in the Victorian era that led to the emergence of what we know today as anorexia nervosa.
Prior to the pathological conception of anorexia nervosa, its fundamental symptoms, which are grounded in self-inflicted food aversions, were not thought of as an independent disorder until the nineteenth century. A common diagnosis that was used in the days before anorexia nervosa was hysteria, a disease historically exclusive to the female gender.[1]
In the Victoria era, a woman was societally understood to be passive, feeble, emotional, and fragile.[2] These beliefs as espoused by Victorian culture created a space in which women were understood to be societally, and medically, more susceptible to illness. From mood swings to fevers, light-headedness to exhaustion, it seemed that almost any physical or mental affliction residing within the body and psyche of a woman could be met with the diagnosis of hysteria. Other symptoms included a vast array of nervous and erratic behavior projected by women in the form of fatigue, food refusal or self-starvation, depression, bodily pains, anxiety, and the general feeling of unwellness.[3] Because of the broad symptoms of hysteria, it was applied to a large expanse of medical, mental, and emotional cases troubling the fragile Victorian female.
This month we are visiting Saratoga County, New York – home of the Saratoga Springs! Saratoga Springs has been a popular resort for health for over 200 years.
The land was originally home to the Mohawk and Iroquois tribes, who used its forests for hunting and the mineral springs for health. Sir William Johnson of the French and Indian War spent his time healing at the springs after befriending the Native Americans of the area.
A European settlement was started in 1819, and quickly gained tourism success in 1832, when the Saratoga and Scenectady Railroad Station was built. By 1870, there was an express train from New York City to the resort town, furthering the springs’ expansion.
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– by Wood Institute travel grantee Dr. Edward Allen Driggers*
American medicine has many problems and virtues. One way to “probe” and vindicate the virtues and deal honestly with the problems is participating in writing the history of medicine. Many of the readers of this blog suffer from or will suffer from some sort of medical illness or pathology. One difficulty of illness is talking about it with friends, family, and relatives. American society, much like many other world societies, is oddly squeamish about bodily fluids, belches, smells, and discharges. These passé manners do not serve our open and heartfelt discussions of diseases. For instance, dear reader, I suffer from Irritable Bowel Disease (IBD), specifically Crohn’s Disease. I have had abscesses, discharges, leaky bowels, and, to confess, I do not have all my original parts that I started life with. One of the most difficult things about being chronically ill is explaining these problems to friends, family, or a new lover. How do we talk about difficult things?
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This month we are joining the library team on their travel up towards Bethlehem, PA, for Caitlin’s wedding!
The Paxinosa Inn was a short-lived, but popular, destination for locals in the Philadelphia and New York areas. The inn was named after the 18th century Shawnee Chief who lived in the area and negotiated trade routes with the French.
The inn opened on July 3, 1888, and sat along the Weygadt Mountain (meaning wind gate), overlooking the Delaware River. The home was built entirely of wood and held 82 guest rooms. A. Stanley Standford and his sister oversaw the building and its daily activities.
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On September 7, 1918, 300 sailors arrived in Philadelphia from Boston, where, two weeks earlier, soldiers and sailors began to be hospitalized with a disease characterized as pneumonia, meningitis, or influenza. The sailors were stationed at the Philadelphia Naval Yard.
On September 11, 19 sailors reported to sickbay with symptoms of “influenza.” By September 15, more than 600 servicemen required hospitalization.
Physicians and other public health workers in Philadelphia first met on September 18 with city officials to discuss what they perceived as a growing threat. Public health officials demanded that the city be quarantined – all public spaces, including schools, churches, parks, any place people could congregate, should be closed. City officials did not want to create panic. They were more concerned that local support for President Wilson’s efforts in World War I should not be disturbed. Anything that would damage morale – or the city’s ability to raise the millions in Liberty Loans required by federal quota – was unacceptable.
The Board of Health declared influenza a reportable disease on September 21, which required physicians to report any cases they treated to health officials. The Board advised residents to stay warm and keep their feet dry and their bowels open. The Board also suggested that people avoid crowds.
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– by Wood Institute travel grantee, Jonathan Jones*
What sources can tell us the most about the health of nineteenth-century Americans, their aches and ailments, malaise and medicines? Diaries might come to mind, or letters between family members. These narrative sources are familiar to historians, and are more-than-commonplace in archives. On the one hand, narrative sources can be windows into the health of nineteenth-century Americans, revealing how they coped with the horrifying sicknesses and symptoms that plagued them. On the other hand, letters and diaries are impressionistic, better for figuring out how people felt about their health than the fine details of healthcare.
But what about the other stuff, the nitty-gritty details of medical history? Where can historians turn if, for instance, we want to find out how often the average nineteenth-century American saw a doctor? Or how much he charged them for lancing a boil or delivering a baby? What if we needed to know the most commonly prescribed medicines in nineteenth century America, like mercury, calomel, or opium? How can we investigate these questions with numbers and not just with quotes? Historians using only narrative sources would likely be unable to. Luckily for us, most nineteenth century American physicians kept account books, which contain invaluable quantitative data that historians can use to illuminate historical health patterns, supplementing impressionistic sources with hard data.
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