Searching for Cora Sue - 1 - The Diagnosis

Monday, August 1, 1910

“Mattie, I've made arrangements for you to see a visiting consultant from England. He's a kidney specialist.”

“Is that really necessary Franklin?” I asked my husband. “I should think that a few days rest should put me right.”

“I really wish that that was the case, my dear, but the symptoms you've been having can relate to quite serious diseases, and therefore, I'm anxious to have an expert see you and give his opinion, so that if something is wrong, we can start now to do something about it.”

“Oh, all right. I suppose I can go along with that. When will he see me? We have to make arrangements for Frankie’s college. I need to buy him some new clothes, and see if he needs to provide curtains and blankets for his residence there.”

“You do fuss over that boy far too much. Let him make his own decisions. I had to.”

“Not according to your mother. She says she did just about everything for you before you went off to college, and you were so wrapped up in your work and learning that you didn’t even realize that she was doing it.”

“To answer you previous question, Dr. Herringham will see you tomorrow. He is doing it as a special favor to me. He only plans to be here another week or so and then he is back to London.”

“Well, why don’t you just come right out and tell me what you think is wrong with me? You're a doctor.”

“I think it might be some problem with your kidneys, but that's his specialty - not mine. So for me to diagnose and prescribe would be foolhardy and imprudent. You don’t know how lucky you are to be
seeing this man. If anyone can do anything for you, he can.”

“You make it sound like I am dying. Why don’t you say something - laugh? Or do you really think I'm dying? Oh Franklin, is it all that serious that I might really be dying?”

“I will be honest with you - as I know you have always wanted me to be. Yes, you might have a disease that you could die from - and I don’t want you to die, and therefore, I want to get the learned
man’s opinion as soon as possible, so we can do everything we can to make you well again.”

“So it is curable - this thing I have - whatever you think it might be but won’t call it?”

“Well, it is treatable, and patients have been known to live fairly normal lives for a great number of years after they've been diagnosed. But no more of this now. Go to sleep, and in the morning,
we can take a carriage into Boston to the University Hospital where your appointment is set for 10 a.m.”

“You will be there with me, won’t you?”

“Well, yes, I'll take you there, but he will want to see you and talk to you on your own. You don’t mind that surely.”

“No, I don’t mind. And you'll be there to hold my hand when he tells me what his diagnosis is?”

“Yes, certainly, I will try to be. I do have a few patients in that hospital who I must call on, and it would be provident for me to see them while he is seeing you, but I will be there at the end to take
you home again. Good night, dear. And don’t worry. You will be in the best hands in the world tomorrow.”

“How can I sleep? If I have only a short amount of life left, I mustn’t waste it sleeping.”

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic. You will get much more ill much sooner if you don’t eat and sleep properly. That much I do know. Do you want something to help you sleep?”

“No, I will try to count sheep as I did as a child, and it just might work. Good night, dear.”
 

Tuesday, August 2nd, 1910

I always thought it would be an interesting job to document one’s own death. And since I regularly write in my diary - I will use it for that purpose, if what Franklin fears is, in fact, a reality. So I
carefully remembered and transcribed our conversation last night. It wasn’t the first time we've talked about my “little problem.” I can mention it in my diary, even though it will no doubt embarrass me
to discuss such a delicate thing with this strange man later this morning.

It has been perhaps a month now that I have noticed a clouding in the water that I pass when I use the water closet. It isn’t like its usual color or smell. So I mentioned it to my husband, who is a very
renowned doctor, practicing at the Boston City Hospital, (pictured above)  as well as having consulting rooms here in Medford. He asked me to save a sample in a sterilized bottle, which I did, and he took it off to a lab to be analyzed. I really don’t have any other symptoms except perhaps
being a bit more tired than usual - and just perhaps my feet and hands are somewhat swollen. But that might be due to the heat. Such a hot summer we've had here in Massachusetts. Quite unpleasant it's been. And I know that I am worrying about our son Frankie going off to college. Maybe it is my worrying that has had a physical effect on me. He is our only son - although we would dearly have liked to have had more. He is following in his father’s footsteps and will go on
the 1st of September to enroll at the same medical school his father went to - Albany Medical College at Union University in Albany, New York. We are planning to borrow a car to take him - as a surprise treat for him. There are very few automobiles around - so he will certainly get noticed when he arrives. And it means we can take all his belongings with us and get him settled in. We plan to stay over the weekend, as Franklin wants to visit some of his old haunts from his student days there. He graduated in 1892 and we were married six months later. I started with Frankie straight away - probably from our first honeymoon night, but that is another story. I suppose I am
chattering away to avoid thinking about what might happen to me later this morning. I will stop now, and write again when we return.

The carriage picked us up at 9.30, as planned, and we were in plenty of time for my appointment. I sat in the waiting room on my own - as Franklin said he needed to see one of his patients urgently - and then he would return. He thought that Dr. Herringham would have finished with me by 11.

A nurse called me in, and I was taken into the presence of this supposedly holier than holy man. He was a comforting age - somewhat older than me, but not so elderly as to make one wonder if he was
quite up to the job. I would guess him as 55. I will try to recreate our conversation.

“How do you do, Mrs. Temple? I am Doctor Wilmot Herrington from London. I expect you husband has told you a bit about me. I am an expert in kidney diseases, and have just had a paper published in the British Medical Journal which he felt made me the one he wanted to trust with your case. Please sit down.” (so I did)

“I will need to examine you, in a fairly intimate fashion, but I will have the nurse to come in here to be with you at that time. Will that be acceptable?”

“Yes,” I barely choked out. What did he mean intimate?

“But first I want to take a medical history. Your husband says that you mentioned your cloudy urine to him about a fortnight ago, is that correct?”

“Pardon me? I don’t know what you mean?”

“Oh, I keep forgetting that you Americans don’t talk the same language as we British do. A fortnight is two weeks. It stands for fourteen nights.”

“Oh, I feel so stupid. Yes, it was about two weeks ago that I told him about it, but I had been having odd water for awhile before that. It took me awhile to work up my courage to mention it.”

“Yes, of course, understandable. And can I ask you a bit about your medical history? Have you been well, except for the usual complaints, most of your life?”

“Yes, I think I am exceptionally healthy, up until now.”

“Did you ever as a child have scarlatina?”

“What does that mean?”

“You might know it as scarlet fever. You would have had a high temperature, a bold rash, and a very sore throat for a very long time.”

“No, I never had anything like that.”

“Might I ask you if your parents are still alive?”

“No, they are both dead.”

“And what did they die of, if you know? So often these sorts of illnesses are repeated within families.”

“My mother died when she was only 30, and I think it was from cancer. My father was shot by an Indian.”

“Surely not.”

“I’m afraid so. He was with General Custer at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.”

“Was he a soldier then?”

“No, he was a journalist. He was just unlucky in the story he chose to follow.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Your life without your parents must have been a hard one for you. Were you an only child?”

“No, I have a sister, who is two years older than me. We were cared for by our grandmother and aunt from the time our mother died. Our father wasn’t around much.”

“And is your sister well?”

“I really don’t know. I haven’t seen her for 18 years, and I haven’t even heard from her for the last ten.”

“So you don’t know if she might have suffered similar symptoms to what you are now experiencing?”

“No, but she was always healthy when she lived with me, and has never mentioned any medical problems in her letters. But as I say, I haven’t heard from her for ten years.”

“Have you ever had any problems with your heart?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You haven’t had any occurrences of septicemia - you know where you might have had an infection which became septic and caused a prolonged illness?”

“No, nothing like that. I have been disgustingly healthy all my 46 years.”

“Have you children?”

“We have one son who is 17, and about to go to medical school.”

“Ah, excellent. It is a very good life. I highly recommend it. Did you have any problems during your pregnancy or afterwards? Did you have this cloudy urine at that time, for instance?”

“No, certainly nothing that anyone told me was out of the ordinary.”

“Right, thank you Mrs. Temple. And now, if you would step behind the curtain there, and remove all your clothing, including your undergarments, and then lie on the bed and place the blanket provided
over you. I will ask the nurse to come in now for my examination.”