a chair so Dr. Miller could swing himself close to the table.
“Well, I guess John-Boy told you all about our conversation the other day, and the pamphlets I wanted to get for you.” He brought some papers from his jacket pocket. “I got them quicker than I expected, but I know how important each day seems when you’re first trying to work your way back. So I decided to deliver them in person.”
“We sure appreciate it,” John said.
“I appreciate having an excuse to come up to such beautiful country.” His smile faded and he spread the pamphlets on the table, regarding them solemnly for a minute.
Grandma quietly took a chair, and the doctor now had everyone’s breathless attention.
“What this woman has to say is very interesting. But I must tell you her treatment is also a very radical departure from the methods now being used.”
“You said she doesn’t believe in splints?” John-Boy asked.
“No, she doesn’t. She insists that instead of preventing muscle damage, as most doctors believe, the splints can cause it. As I understand it, she thinks the muscles go into a sort of spasm and need to be relaxed with hot compresses.”
Grandma nodded. “Now that makes sense to me.”
Dr. Miller smiled. “It’s not so different from the kind of treatment doctors might have prescribed a thousand years ago. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Modern practitioners can still learn a lot from folk medicine. Sister Kenny uses pieces of wool blanket wrung out in boiling water. Then, once the muscles relax, she starts massaging them. The idea is to keep the pathways from the brain to the muscles open.”
Grandpa frowned. “But Dr. Vance said the nerves are dead and can’t be regenerated.”
“Yes, that’s possible. But it’s also possible the nerves could atrophy, or die, from lack of use. Unfortunately, we just don’t know enough about what really happens.”
“Well, the heat and massage sounds reasonable to me,” Grandma said conclusively.
Dr. Miller nodded. “Many of my colleagues say it’s far too simple. You understand, of course, that ultimately it’s up to your family doctor. If he sees merit in it—” He shrugged.
“We’ll get the pamphlets to him right away,” John-Boy said.
John frowned and gazed across the table. “Doctor, what is your personal opinion? If Livvy was your patient, would you go ahead and try this Kenny treatment?”
The question brought a wry smile to the doctor’s face. “You put me in a very awkward position, Mr. Walton. In a way, I’m in the same spot you are. There’s nothing I’d rather see than the reports of a full-scale, scientific test of Sister Kenny’s practices. I’d like to know for certain if they are one hundred percent successful, or sixty percent, or forty percent successful. Or if they are totally useless. Or even harmful. Unfortunately, there just hasn’t been any scientific testing done at all. Thus no such reports exist. Therefore, my opinion has no more merit than does that of your wife’s doctor. In fact, as applied to her, my opinion probably has even less merit. At least he has been attending her and knows exactly how the disease has progressed.”
There wasn’t anyone at the table who hadn’t hoped he would say the Kenny treatment was good, or might be good, or that at least it was worth a try.
Dr. Miller saw their disappointment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have brought you more encouraging news. I wish I could have brought you a bottle of medicine that would have her out of bed and walking in twenty-four hours. I think one of the most painful things a doctor has to do is caution patients against putting too much faith in experimental medicines or treatments. As scientists, we really have no choice. And as a doctor, I can make no judgment on something like the Sister Kenny treatment. All I can tell you are the facts as we know them right now. And that isn’t much. Sister Kenny claims a high rate of recovery, but there is no
“Well, I guess John-Boy told you all about our conversation the other day, and the pamphlets I wanted to get for you.” He brought some papers from his jacket pocket. “I got them quicker than I expected, but I know how important each day seems when you’re first trying to work your way back. So I decided to deliver them in person.”
“We sure appreciate it,” John said.
“I appreciate having an excuse to come up to such beautiful country.” His smile faded and he spread the pamphlets on the table, regarding them solemnly for a minute.
Grandma quietly took a chair, and the doctor now had everyone’s breathless attention.
“What this woman has to say is very interesting. But I must tell you her treatment is also a very radical departure from the methods now being used.”
“You said she doesn’t believe in splints?” John-Boy asked.
“No, she doesn’t. She insists that instead of preventing muscle damage, as most doctors believe, the splints can cause it. As I understand it, she thinks the muscles go into a sort of spasm and need to be relaxed with hot compresses.”
Grandma nodded. “Now that makes sense to me.”
Dr. Miller smiled. “It’s not so different from the kind of treatment doctors might have prescribed a thousand years ago. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Modern practitioners can still learn a lot from folk medicine. Sister Kenny uses pieces of wool blanket wrung out in boiling water. Then, once the muscles relax, she starts massaging them. The idea is to keep the pathways from the brain to the muscles open.”
Grandpa frowned. “But Dr. Vance said the nerves are dead and can’t be regenerated.”
“Yes, that’s possible. But it’s also possible the nerves could atrophy, or die, from lack of use. Unfortunately, we just don’t know enough about what really happens.”
“Well, the heat and massage sounds reasonable to me,” Grandma said conclusively.
Dr. Miller nodded. “Many of my colleagues say it’s far too simple. You understand, of course, that ultimately it’s up to your family doctor. If he sees merit in it—” He shrugged.
“We’ll get the pamphlets to him right away,” John-Boy said.
John frowned and gazed across the table. “Doctor, what is your personal opinion? If Livvy was your patient, would you go ahead and try this Kenny treatment?”
The question brought a wry smile to the doctor’s face. “You put me in a very awkward position, Mr. Walton. In a way, I’m in the same spot you are. There’s nothing I’d rather see than the reports of a full-scale, scientific test of Sister Kenny’s practices. I’d like to know for certain if they are one hundred percent successful, or sixty percent, or forty percent successful. Or if they are totally useless. Or even harmful. Unfortunately, there just hasn’t been any scientific testing done at all. Thus no such reports exist. Therefore, my opinion has no more merit than does that of your wife’s doctor. In fact, as applied to her, my opinion probably has even less merit. At least he has been attending her and knows exactly how the disease has progressed.”
There wasn’t anyone at the table who hadn’t hoped he would say the Kenny treatment was good, or might be good, or that at least it was worth a try.
Dr. Miller saw their disappointment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have brought you more encouraging news. I wish I could have brought you a bottle of medicine that would have her out of bed and walking in twenty-four hours. I think one of the most painful things a doctor has to do is caution patients against putting too much faith in experimental medicines or treatments. As scientists, we really have no choice. And as a doctor, I can make no judgment on something like the Sister Kenny treatment. All I can tell you are the facts as we know them right now. And that isn’t much. Sister Kenny claims a high rate of recovery, but there is no
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