sO J(mprPSBi0U0 Woman’s Board of Foreign Missions Reformed Church in America 25 East 22d Street New York IS Ilf# ■■ pi MARY TABER SCHELL HOSPITAL. DR. HART. DR. SCUDDER. STAFF OF THE MARY TABER SCHELL HOSPITAL. 2 * lister Mag’s impressions. A^OW I must tell you a little about this hospital and its inmates. It is nearly the best J'Vn hospital in South India, containing forty beds and a large dispensary and out-patient department. There are two large wards, one where poor patients are admitted and treated free of charge, and one for caste people who can afford to pay a little. Besides this, are one or two rooms for the wealthier patients who pay a good fee. The beds are very comfortable with wire spring mattresses, but as the Hindus are used to the floor, it is difficult to get them to like and remain in bed at first. They much prefer the hard floor. I think they feel they are being put on shelves and are very afraid of falling off. So a nurse here must never be alarmed or distressed to find her patient on the floor at the side of, or often under the bed. Each patient, unless destitute, brings either a relative or friend to look after her and cook her food. Sometimes the patient gets under and the attendant takes her place on the bed. The beds are rather high, for the sake of the nurses. Rice-congee is a favorite food for invalids here and very good, too. The rice is boiled for three hours and then strained and passed through a sieve. They also have barley-congee, but rice and curry is the principal food of those who can take it, and a little bread, with coffee in the morning. A wide verandah runs all round the hospital, which is rectangular in shape. Here the nurses do their special invalids’ cooking, and those who feel well enough and are so inclined come and lie. It is no use trying to keep the wards or patients in order as we do in England — one must be resigned to the inevitable and do the best you can. But considering all things, the wards are very clean and nice and I am greatly surprised. The floors are concrete and easily washed, walls are constantly whitewashed and a few nice pictures hang around. Each patient has her locker with a little white cloth on the top. The dressing-wagon is in its place and medicines in regulation order, and charts as neatly kept as in any well-regulated hospital at * Sister May is an English nurse who gave two months’ service in Mary Taber Schell Hospital. 3 home. There are eight daynursesandone night nurse at present. They are all native Christian girls, and look so nice in their pink jackets and pure whitesarees. Their bare feet enable them to be quick and noise- lessin their movements. India would be a very great land if the tongue was more tameable. Now, I will give you details of an ordinary day’s work in the hos- pital. At 6.30 a. m we take our chota-hazri. or little breakfast, and im- mediately go across the compound to the hos- pital and commence the the verandah. morning round. The nurses respectfully salute us with their customary “ Salaam ” and follow us to each bed. This is Ward One, set apart for caste patients who can pay a little, and Christians who somehow 4 object to being put with lower castes. In the corner here are two Mohammedan women, “ very gosha ” we call them, because they are not used to public life and in their homes are shut away and see no men but those of their own household. As there was no accommodation for them in the private wards, they had to be content to share with the others, but have a screen partly round them. When their respective husbands visit them, as we have not sufficient screens, a sheet has to be tied between the beds and they get as closely as they can beneath its shadow. When the first one came in, she showed no interest in anything around, being entirely occupied with herself. Now she really shows interest in others, and expresses sympathy for their suffering. Poor women, this little experience of contact with the outer world is good for them, and I really think they enjoy it and are not sorry now that they could not be alone with themselves. They are not too ill to take in all that goes on around. In the next bed we find an old lady who has been operated on for cataract. She is a Chris- tian and the widow of a Christian professor, she proudly tells us— (he was a theological teacher). Her eye is better, she says ; she has had a good night and very little pain, and in affectionate gratitude takes our hands and kisses them in turn. Next is a dear little girl of six years, con- valescent after a long enteric fever. Such a dear little round face and big brown eyes — she has just had permission to have her ordinary dinner of curry and rice, and any of you who have had typhoid fever and milk diet for three weeks will sympathize with little Jeevamonie’s delight. She is just beginning to enjoy life. Her mother stands radiant by her side and salaams profusely. We turn to the next bed. There is a poor wee mite of four years suffering from a bad congenital heart. She has a big body but poor little withered legs that cannot support her. The face is too old for her years — she has constant headache, and when asked how she is, will put her little hand to her head and tell us, “ Thalai novoo,” head aching. I had one little dollie left that my little consumptive patients at Dr. Barnardo’s village sent me for the little black children. So it cheers this little suffering India sister, and I wish the little patient who dressed and paid for 5 that dollie out of her few pence, could see the brightening eyes and loving look as the “chin-na bonimie” is clasped in her little arms. Now we come to “ Armonie,” — dear, patient Armonie, she greets us with a smiling salaam, but she is a great sufferer. She has heart disease and very bad dropsy, and has to be continually tapped to get relief. She is so responsive to any kind word and deed, and always has a smile and salaam when we pass her bed. She is, sad to say, a heathen. Her husband quite lately consulted the astrologers as to her fate, and received great consolation by being told she was to live another twenty-eight years and outlive himself by ten years. This news, he thought, would greatly cheer the doctor in her ministrations. After all, there is nothing like keeping the spirits up in a long illness, and “Armonie” shares her husband’s consolation in the good news. We will not stay to talk about each patient, but now pass to the private ward where is a dear old lady, the mother of a rich Hindu who can afford to pay well for her treatment. She has had a cancer successfully removed from her cheek, and her son is desirous of making the doctor a present in expression of his gratitude. He would like it to be a personal gift, but this the doctor objects to, and hopes he will be persuaded to support a bed. He is not quite willing for this, which he suggests another member of the family may like to do. Finally, he promises a new table, badly needed in one of the operating-rooms. Leaving this ward, we peep into the operating-room as we pass. Sundram, the little matron, is busy sterilizing and getting ready for an operation later on. All is in beautiful order here and would do credit to any of our English hospitals. A bell rings, and we know it is time for prayers in the out-patients’ hall. Here we find a number of women and children and a few men on the steps outside. The forms are filled up, and a number are squatting on the floor. Miss Stanes, of Coimbatore, known to some who will read this letter, is at the organ. She is working among the Hindu and Mohammedan women in their homes, taking the place of another missionary who is now on furlough. A hymn is sung in Tamil to some bright English tune. As many as 6 HOSPITAL WARD. 7 possible of the hospital staff are present and the singing is hearty. Then one of the Bible women leads in prayer and follows with a Gospel address illustrated by a large picture. The patients as a rule listen intently, and occasionally make some remarks. The good seed is certainly sown day after day, and only in the great harvest-home will the result be fully known. We cannot stay to the end of the address, but must continue our visit to Ward No. 2, where the poorer patients lie. They are just as comfortable and have equal attention as the others. Here is a mother with her little girl of eight years lying on the floor wrapped up in a sheet. She opens the sheet as we approach and discloses such a pitiable object, quite blind, the poor eyes being eaten away with a horrible disease. The little face is terribly disfigured and the whole body far from a pleasant object, but the doctor says her mother loves her dearly and considers her a great treasure, and would greatly feel her loss. We feel it would be the greatest blessing for the poor little sufferer to be taken away — there is no hope and only a sad future can await it. Poor mothers, for them there is no comfort at the thought of their little ones being safely folded in the arms of the Good Shepherd. Would that we could break through all the fetters that bind them and draw them in our arms to Him who gave the mother’s heart, to receive His love and consolation. Will you pray for these poor mothers and children? Here is an old lady who has been suffering for eight years with a painful disease. At last she has gathered courage to come to the hospital. A small operation will probably put her right, but for some time she holds out against it. This morning, after gentle persuasion from our kind doctor, she yields, and putting up her hands in the attitude of beseeching prayer, she earnestly tells us that she will break her caste, she will accept our Jesus if only doctor will relieve her of her pain. We will certainly do our best, though we are not sure of this bribe. The operation is done and so far seems to be successful. Does she remember her promise ? We are not sure that she had counted the cost. It would mean, probably, greater suffering than she has been relieved from, but we know that she would have with it the abounding consolations of Christ and the glory to follow after. Time will not permit us to tell of all the sick ones lying here. Prayers are over and we must get to the out-patients. Here is a poor, little Brahmin woman in the surgery having her wounds dressed. That terrible disease, tuberculosis, is eating away her ribs just over the region of the heart. She has been ill two years, and allowed the disease to get too great a hold before coming for treatment. She has had one operation, but another rib is now involved and another operation seems impending. She has such a delicate, refined face and looks so girlish, though she is the mother of a sturdy little lad of six years, who is by her side and down whose little face a tear is stealing in sympathy with his mother’s pain. She is now living with her own parents instead of at her mother-in-law’s house. The latter is tired of her and wishes she would die. We ask her old father, such a kind-looking old man, who speaks English well, if her husband is kind to her. His reply is, that he is educated and an official and knows too well to be unkind, but the mother-in-law is ignorant. Then doctor has a little talk to him about his daughter, who stands by. The conversation is in English, which she does not understand. In the course of conversation another operation is referred to, and before it could be prevented, he intimates it to her. Her distress is so self-controlled — she just turns one long look at her father, and then at the doctor, then her lips quiver and doctor’s kind arms are put around her as she lays her head on her shoulder and quietly weeps. We wonder at a Brahmin setting aside all restrictions as to contact with Christians — but the very fact of entering a hospital is, in itself, defiling, so after that, nothing matters. That father loves his child, but if she becomes a Christian that love would make him her bitterest enemy, and were she to remain in the home as such, it would probably mean death, or something worse. We look at her with sad hearts, but somehow we believe there are many secret disciples of Jesus among these poor, bound women. We cannot tell, but the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, “ The Lord knoweth them that are His.” So we will sow the seed, and pray over it and leave them to His care. After a little time spent in the operating-room, the morning’s work is over and we repair to io II DISPENSARY PATIENTS. the Bungalow, between 12 and 1 p. m., for breakfast, for which we are quite ready. Unless there are urgent calls, writing and rest fill up the hours to afternoon tea, and after that another visit round the hospital finishes the day’s work there, with the possibility of calls at any time. in tljr ifoapttal. On Saturday evening at dinner doctor informs us that ten Mohammedans have asked per- mission to spend Sunday in the hospital. They are not sick, then what is their object? To this question of the doctor they reply : “ Do you not have ‘ tamash ’ on Sunday? We want to see,” and with their fingers they intimated that their great desire was to hear the organ played. Being “ Gosha ” women, they cannot come to prayers with the out-patients. “ Tamash ” is the word for anything festive, whether at weddings, funerals, or any other occasion that demands it. Here was an opportunity for them to hear the Gospel. They turned out to be the friends of one of the Mohammedan patients, so accordingly were invited to spend the Sunday in the hospital. Early the next morning they arrived in closed bullock bandies, bringing several babies and little children with them, and their food for the day. A hospital is a strange place to choose for a picnic, but it was a great red-letter day for these poor women whose lives are so monotonous and purposeless. We made a special programme for the day on their behaif. The work of the day commenced at the usual time, but as the Tamil service in the Mission church begins at 8.30 a. m., the round of the wards is not done till afterwards. This morning a little Hindu woman intimated to doctor her desire to attend the service. This was unusual, and on being asked if she were a Christian, she replied, “ No,” but still urged her desire to attend. Accordingly, being too weak to walk, she was driven with a Christian cripple patient to the church. On her return, doctor asked her how she liked the service; ‘‘Very much,” was the reply. “ Is it very different from your mode of worship?” ‘‘Very different.” ‘‘Which do you feel is the right way ?” “ Oh, yours is the right way.” “ Then ought you not to desire to go the 12 right way?” “ I have decided,” was the quiet, firm answer. We do not yet know what will be the result of this decision, or whether she will take a decided stand, later on, in baptism, but, undoubtedly, a good work is begun in her heart. For her, such a desire might not involve what it would to some. Her husband has left her, and she bravely earns her living as teacher in a government school. I was very interested in the Tamil service. To me it was an inspiration to see about 300 native men and women gathered together so quietly and reverently to worship God. The singing was very hearty, and though I could understand but little of the address given by the native pastor, I could feel the power of God in his earnest, fervent delivery. On the previous Sunday about twelve or more young men and women were received to the Lord’s Table, having been previously baptized and given evidence of conversion. We returned to the hospital, and while doing the usual round, morning prayers were con- ducted as on ordinary days in the out-patients hall. In the afternoon the nurses have their Christian Endeavor meeting, at which they all take some part. We arranged to make this rather more musical than usual for the sake of our Mohammedan visitors. Accordingly I accompanied the organ with my harp, which had a very pleasing effect, and afterwards one of the staff sang a hymn solo in Hindustani, with the harp as the accompaniment, for their special benefit. They were greatly delighted and fully appreciated everything. Their last request was to be shown over the bungalow before they went home. Just as they were crossing the compound the little milk-boy appeared, and they fled back in terror. As soon as the way was made clear, and all the male population well out of sight, they ventured over, and went through all our rooms, asking questions and showing much interest. So they left us and returned to the seclusion of their homes, after what seemed to have been to them a very happy day. The evening shadows fall quickly, and after another visit to each patient, night closes in, quiet begins to reign, and Sunday is over in the hospital. 13 I