Chapter 12
Carrie knew it wouldn’t be easy getting patients in Cheyenne, though she secretly hoped that because she was known to so many and that folks highly regarded her parents, they might overlook the fact that she was a woman and take a chance on her doctoring skills.
She knew it would be imperative for her to practice as a regular physician while doing her specialized research.
She had to make a living, after all. If not, her savings would dwindle fast, and she’d soon be faced with having to move home.
At least, once Spencer caught his man and left Cheyenne.
The thought of that saddened her more than Carrie liked to think. Spencer was a good friend, and while there were other friends in Cheyenne, none of them were as special to her as Spencer. When had that happened?
Each day she found herself longing for his company, eager for him to return from his duties.
She cared deeply about his welfare, and when she’d heard him sneeze the day before, she’d hurried to his side to feel his forehead and ascertain whether he was coming down sick.
She knew it was foolish to care so much.
He was going to find Astor, and then he was going to leave.
That was the agreement, and that would be the way things went.
She desperately needed to remember this.
Sitting down to her desk, Carrie tried to focus on a new book. She’d ordered it just before leaving Chicago, and it had finally caught up with her. The book, Handbook of Psychology: Senses and Intellect by James Mark Baldwin, was touted as offering exceptional insight into the world of psychology.
Carrie thumbed through the preface, skipping it as she often did and going straight to the table of contents.
She noted the introduction section with three chapters devoted to the nature of psychology, the psychological method, and finally classification and division.
She continued down the list of chapters.
Part I was titled “General Characteristics of Mind.” That held great promise.
She turned to the page and began to read.
She wasn’t much past the first couple of sentences, however, when a light knock sounded at the front door.
Getting to her feet, Carrie made her way to the door. On the other side she found a middle-aged woman dressed fashionably in a navy-blue wool coat trimmed in mink. A mink muff warmed her hands and a matching hat completed the outfit. She was obviously one of Cheyenne’s wealthier citizens.
“May I help you?”
“I do hope so. You are Dr. Vogel-Duval?” the woman asked.
“I am. Won’t you come in?” Carrie stepped back to allow the woman entrance. She closed the front door and led the woman down the hall to her examination office. “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Gloriana Bryant. I’m suffering from terrible headaches,” the woman began. “I’ve been ignored by most of the doctors I’ve visited. They tell me it’s my nerves and suggest I take laudanum. One doctor told me I was just a highly agitated woman.”
“Goodness, that must be quite vexing.”
The woman seemed momentarily surprised, then leaned toward Carrie, nodding. “It is. It is. There is something wrong with me. I don’t know what it might be, but I hoped that you could help. My husband is quite wealthy. I will pay you any amount of money you ask, if only you can help me.”
Carrie smiled. “While I appreciate being paid for my work, I’m not in this business for that reason. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll ask some questions and make notes before examining you.”
When they had both taken a seat, Carrie began. “Now, tell me the general nature of these headaches.”
Mrs. Bryant drew a deep breath. “They come at all hours of the day or night. Often I have warning.”
“Warning?” Carrie asked.
“Yes. There’s a sort of spell where my eye, usually my left, blurs like after having sunlight hit you unexpectedly. It’s not the flash of light itself, but that blur of vision that comes afterward.”
Carrie began to write notes. “I understand. Please go on.”
“Then within a short time, I experience my vision darkening around the edges. When that happens, I know that in twenty minutes to half an hour, my head will begin to hurt and all I can do is go to bed. The pain increases to unbearable levels and lasts for several hours. Sometimes days, although that isn’t as usual.
Most of these attacks are maybe four to six hours. ”
“And what does the pain feel like? Is an intense sharp pain, a dull ache, a tightening—”
“Yes! A tightening. Like a band being fitted around my head and squeezed smaller and smaller.”
“And how are your eyes during this time? Sensitive to light? Do they throb?”
“No, the darkening and blurring leave me. I’m usually in my bed, and my maid brings me warm compresses, so I don’t allow for much light. The shades and drapes are pulled.”
“What about nausea?”
“Yes, my stomach roils. I also become very sensitive to smells and, of course, noise. It seems the tiniest of sounds causes the pain to increase.”
“It sounds to me that you are suffering a special kind of headache called a migraine, Mrs. Bryant.”
By the time Mrs. Bryant left, Carrie had a fairly good idea of her overall condition, as well as the headaches.
She was forty-three years old, had been married for twenty years, and had given birth to three children.
Her general health was good. She never had feelings of weakness or nausea that weren’t a result of the headaches.
She did not experience heart palpitations or pain in other areas of her body on a regular basis.
She had suffered debilitating headaches several times a week for over three years and had tried a wide variety of cures, none proving very reliable.
Mrs. Bryant was beside herself dealing with the pain and had visited numerous doctors.
She had avoided laudanum due to the results her sister had suffered after constant use.
Having recently read an article on the continued experiments with theophylline, Carrie thought this might help.
She suggested Mrs. Byrant have her cook make a batch of extremely strong tea, letting the tea bags steep for several hours.
Theophylline was naturally found in tea leaves, and this had been known to eliminate head pain.
Carrie also suggested a series of hot and cold compresses.
There was much experimentation being done, including incline therapy, in which the patient would lie on a sturdy board and allow themselves to be tilted down for increasingly longer periods of time.
Carrie hadn’t read much on the outcomes, however, and hesitated to recommend it.
She was of the school of thought that believed the migraines were due to various issues with the blood flow in the head.
She suggested Mrs. Bryant return in a week’s time so that they might go over her condition once again.
The grateful woman agreed, paid her bill, and hailed her driver.
For Carrie the entire visit had been most gratifying.
She enjoyed giving patients hope of relief and had promised Mrs. Bryant she would work with her faithfully to find a solution.
Where other doctors had cast her aside, Carrie was personally challenged to figure out how to help.
Nevertheless, for all of her skills, Carrie still found prayer absolutely necessary. She sat at her desk and bowed her head.
“Lord, please give me wisdom for helping Mrs. Bryant with her headaches. You alone know what she might need. Please let me know as well, yet no matter what . . . Your will be done. Amen.”
The latter part of her prayer was always the hardest. Letting go of her own desires and praying for God’s will in healing matters required utmost trust and faith.
Many a time, patients had died despite Carrie’s efforts.
It was hard to look into the eyes of a person who had just come to realize there was nothing more that could be done.
The understanding of their own demise was often more than they could bear.
In that moment all their plans, hopes, and dreams were rendered useless.
The reality of death was not easily accepted for many.
Carrie, however, didn’t fear death. She remembered when old Granny Taylor had passed away. The woman was a pillar of strength when it came to her Christian faith. Death held no cause for concern. No regret. She had lived a life of grace and mercy in the Lord.
“I shall but breathe out this old world and breathe in the presence of my King,” she had said upon her deathbed.
It was the first time Carrie had witnessed someone die. She could still remember the peaceful expression on the older woman’s face. It had given her a perspective of death that remained with her even now. Death wasn’t the end.
“Thank you for inviting me to this town meeting,” Spencer told his father-in-law as they joined an audience of mostly men.
Edward Vogel gave him a nod. “Good to have you here. I think it’s important to get a feel for the business end of the place you live.”
They took their seats, and Spencer looked around the room to see whom he might recognize.
It seemed unlikely that Astor would join in on such an affair.
Of course, Spencer reminded himself that he didn’t know this man the way he wished he did.
Astor had done a good job of staying out of public view.
He’d been quite skilled at disappearing and deceiving the agency.
Had it not been for the letters they found at his mother’s place, they wouldn’t have even known he was in Cheyenne all these years.
It was always possible that this was a lie, but it seemed to both Al and Spencer that Astor drew the line in trying to deceive his mother.
The meeting was quickly called to order, and Spencer put aside his concerns regarding Astor. He didn’t want Vogel to think him disinterested in the town’s procedures and news.