A hiatus from Society

I am recovering from the awful restive lung cure; my convalescence is to be spent in the horrid town of Duluth, Minnesota. Dr Schultheiß insists that next to the Himalayan air, nothing can benefit my ill lungs more than the vapors of the great Kitchi Gami.


Shall I be Nepal-bound?

Dr. Schultheiß has proposed drastic measures in order to speed my recovery from the dreaded Consumption: either rest my affected lung by causing it to collapse, or undertake what he calls "the Himalaya cure:" 8 months' time passed in the culturally nefarious environs of Nepal. He assures me that the mountain air would cause the tubercles staining my delicate lungs to evaporate like morning dew. Papá did not waste time with equivoques: "NO" was his answer, and No it remains.

"Why not a Mediterranean cure?" Step-mother Celestine wanted to know, "Last year Katharina's physician said nothing could be more beneficial to her lungs than the salty air."

"Zat vass before recent developments in medical technology," saith Dr. Schultheiß.

"How about time in Colorado, or Wyoming?"

"I am afraid, Madam," the good Dr. stroked his beard, as Teutonic physicians are wont to do, "zat zee altitude is quite simply insufficient for vat vee are trying to accomplish."

In the end it was agreed that a surgeon shall rest my lung, a horrendous procedure that shall inflict upon me greater pain than the disease itself (much as my thrice-weekly vibratory treatment is more gruesome than my frequent bouts of hysterical fits). Should this fail to eliminate all sign of Consumption from my ailing body, I am afraid I have no choice but to make the arduous journey to the Orient.

Further ill health

I have spent an extended period in a medical facility off of the estate. My tubercular symptoms have worsened. Horace commented, during one of his frequent visits, that I never looked so lovely: all the rosy color has drained from my face, and my wrist circumference is so slight that Horace jested that I must be mistakenly ingesting Orpha’s daily ration of barley gruel. I could not summon the strength to titter.

Verily, my appetite is such that I no longer have appetite even for Cook Effie's sorghum gelatin mold, though Dr. Schultheiß cautions that I must eat, at the very least, a steaming bowl of veal consommé with soda crackers daily.

A doctor’s assessment of a consumptive patient ca. one century past; how medicine has advanced!