I have a case of cancer of the uterus, which was given up five weeks ago by the attending physicians, Dr. J. Hosmer, who graduated two years ago from Ann Arbor, at the head of his class, and a Dr. Bennett, of the Wayne County House and Asylum. They thought she could not live over a few weeks, and decided not to give her any more drugs: so I took the case at once, unbeknown to anyone, and she is now perfectly well, to the great surprise and wonder of the friends, and especially the doctors, who still claim that she will certainly die of cancer sooner or later. I have not seen the patient since she was first taken to her room, nearly a year ago, but continued with my treatments against great odds in the house,—two doctors, one doctor's wife, and the nurse, all of whom were sure she would soon die with cancer; but I can feel the icebergs of error gradually melt away.
I have decided to await God's call, and remain here in Plymouth for awhile, until I am led into other fields. I will take the cases of which you write, and do for them all I can, and with pleasure.
I will write you of a case of surgery which came into my hands a few weeks ago, the result of which quite surprised me. A colored boy shot himself through the hand, the ball going into the palm of the hand, and coming out on the back. The accident happened Saturday evening. The next afternoon he came to me suffering intense pain. The hand and arm were swollen, and every muscle of the forearm was in a tense spasm. In five minutes the pain was relieved; but I could not move the wrist-joint or one of the fingers. I saw him every morning then, until Friday. Thursday I discharged him, perfectly well. The wrist and fingers were perfectly supple and the wound healed. When I first saw him I thought nothing could save him from lockjaw, and that was the judgment of a physician who had seen him before he came to me.
