Sometime during the summer of 1911 I suffered what the doctors called an attack of nervous prostration. It was the fourth such attack, and my doctor finally decided that there was a possible chance of my remaining here on earth for six months more, providing that I abstain from all work. His specification that I must not even pick up a stick of stove wood established in my mind a great fear of exertion.
Some few years prior to this incident a Christian Science Society had been organized here in my little home town and I had ridiculed and reviled it outrageously. I had heard and have since learned that "man's extremity is God's opportunity," and the idea suggested itself to me that inasmuch as there was no hope from materia medica, I might at least give Christian Science a trial. I was ashamed even to suggest the matter to anyone I knew, on account of the hostile attitude I had previously held. A stranger had recently located here who, although not a practitioner, had taken class instruction, and as she knew little or nothing of my foolish babbling, I went to her. After telling her what the doctor had said, she told me to go to work whenever I felt like it.
The following Monday I went to work at what I had been doing before my last breakdown—cutting brush. I took it easy, but kept at it until Saturday, when, once more, without any warning, I collapsed and fainted exactly as I had done the last time. Now the question in my thought was, Shall I call for the doctor or call the lady who has been working for me? I went to bed without making any decision, but the next morning I decided I would attend the Christian Science services, after which I would once more talk with the lady.
