New York Medical College - Fleuroscope Yearbook (Valhalla, NY)

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THE WEST PAVILION By George G. Ornstein, M. D., F. A. C. P. Associate Professor of Medicine ABOUT fourteen years ago on a sleepy Sunday morning I kept an appoint- ment to visit the Metropolitan Hospital. The cross-town trip from the West to the East side seemed to take so long. The air was heavy because of hu- midity and fog, and I began to wonder why I had consented to visit the hos- pital When I could have had a whole morning in bed and taken a much-needed rest. Yes, why was I going to the Metropolitan Hospital-oh, yes-I remember --there was that intensely interesting person who ran the medical clinic on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at the Old Vanderbilt Clinic on West fifty- ninth street. Had I not told him I had no time for any more Work? Had I not politely said that even if I were interested there was no time left for even an hour a week? What with the laboratory every morning and a clinic every afternoon and Monterfiore Hospital so far in the Bronx to visit every other day, I could not saddle myself with any more work. Somehow, I did agree to visit the place and here I was on my way to some Island in the East River. The Bronx was bad enough to get to-now an island in the East River. No, that surely was not the place for me. Now, why was Dr. Weil so intent on having me come there? Well, he did say that there were many tuberculosis patients in the hospital. What of it, there were tuberculosis cases in other hospitals, and if I visited all of them I certainly could never catch up with my much-needed sleep. This was certainly the last Sunday morning I was go- ing to waste visiting tuberculosis hospitals. The coach suddenly lurched and swung up First avenue. I soon found out I had taken the wrong cross-town bus, and leaving the bus decided I had better walk the rest of the distance, and quickly, if I were not to miss the terry. I walked briskly through the fog-laden streets and reached the ferry just in time to board it. What a dismal boat and, dear Lord, where could such an odd group of passengers have been collect? The boat almost reeked of cheap whiskey-such shabbiness-such bad-smelling people. Who were these peo- ple: where were they going? Suddenly I felt a hand grasp my arm and, startled, I whirled around to find my friend. Come up to the pilot's room with me, he said. We will have a little privacy. We walked up to the upper deck of the boat and the captain, a genial fat man, made us most comfortable. In Heaven's name where did that motley group come from and what are they doing on this boat? When Dr. Weil said that they were the help return- ing to duty, I decided I had seen enough of the Metropolitan Hospital. Dr. Weil read my thoughts and tried to reassure me. He said the doctors al- ways rode with the captain. Yes, I said to myself, ride with the captain, but what can one do while waiting for the boat? . Iust looking at these dere- licts was very depressing. I was told that because of high wages in those years only the worst specimens of mankind would work for thirty dollars a month with room and board, such as it was. I tried to peer through the fog, and I am grateful today that the group of depressing buildings was hidden from my sight. What with such people, a fog, a river, a dismal boat, I am certain I could not have withstood all at one time the prison-like group of buildings. With a lot of whistling and ringing of bells We finally crossed the One hundred ninety five

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CONNUBIAL BLISS SUGGESTION Let me take you by the hand And lead you thru this life: I'd gladly be your guiding star If I didn't have a wife. ERROR I still might say our friendship can Be really quite platonic: But if you think that that is so You're really quite moronic. EPILOGUE Now once again I'm back at home With wife and kids galore, I wish I could re-live my life, I'd use my will rnuch more. ' GALLAGI-IER POST - PARTUM HEMORRHAGE Thirteen little ones she had This last one dead, and she lies too As cold as marble ever laid In bleak New England hills God have mercy on the twelve at home. VERBARG RETURN TO CONSCIOUSNESS FOLLOWING ANAESTHESIA One hundred ninety-four As from a distance voices reached me: Voices haunting, soft and vibrant. lndistinct they Were, yet eagerly I sought to understand their meaning- In vain. They sank again beneath The comprehension of my tired brain. Time held no importance. And later Pain seared my utmost depths, rocked me To unwanted consciousness. I Peered at figures clad in white, Blurred and hazy. Gradually My eyes were focussed, vision Cleared. My lips, parched and cracked, Were moistened with sweet nectar. My feverish brow was cooled With soothing lotions. I turned To thank this saint-but pain bored In and tore my soul: insensate Once again. A swift return to Consciousness augured well. Sleep, sleep O'erpowered rne. Exhausted, I slept. GALLAGHER

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river. Yes I was finally on the Island. Now I could understand. I had just remembered that it was Blackwell's Island. But Dr. Weil had not mentioned Blackwell's Island. I must be mistaken. Yes, Blackwell's Island had to do with prisons, and this was an island of hospitals and homes for the aged. I now remembered it was Welfare Island-certainly it was Welfare Island, a haven for the sick-no, not prisoners and Blackwell's Island. We had lcmded, and once again we must mix with these depressing peo- ple. We must get off the boat. We descended to the main deck. There was the gang-plank. Two boatmen were half carrying and dragging a drunk- ard across the gang-plank. They deposited him on the wharf and with evi- dence of relief returned to the boat. The drunkard swayed from side to side, he decided to walk-Heavens, he was walking toward the river-Oh, there he was going right into the waterl What a relief, he swayed backward and fell quickly on the dock. One of the boatmen muttered, Too bad he dicln't fall in, and a good riddance to a pest. ' What next! We are off the boat. Yes, there is a road-a good road. We turn right and walk past a large prison-like building. Haven't I made a mis- take? This building smacks so much of a prison, so much of Blackwell's Is- land, this could not be Welfare Island. What is this building? , I meekly ask in a thin voice, and Dr. Weil replies West Pavilion-male medicine-chronic male medicine. West Pavilion-West Pavilion-how little did I know how closely entwined I was to become with West Pavilion. The fog was lifting, and we were then before a small two-story dirty, yel- low-painted building, with small windows and peculiar-shaped doors, that seemed as they would be difficult to walk out of. Prison-like, I thought, and again in a weak voice I spoke to Dr. Weil, This building reminds me of a prison. And that's what it was, Dr. Weil replied, One of the old prisons for females, and it was converted into a hospital when the new prison was built on the other end of the Island. Hah, then it was Blackwell's Island after all. Blackwell's Island, prisons and prisons and hospitals and homes, now called Welfare Island. Certainly Welfare Island belied the name. Dr. Weil said it was more cheerful inside. But it was not more cheerful inside. Two floors of sick tuberculous women. Eighty women on narrow iron beds, coughing and spitting. I-low drab! How grey! Was this the way Knicker- bocker was taking care of the tuberculous sick? Certainly this was not what the immortal Trudeau had hoped for for the tubercular. I now knew why Dr. Weil had insisted on my visiting the Island, and I knew right there and then that I would journey day in and day out, year in and year out, west to east, across water to an island, yes, renamed Welfare but always sounding Black- well, the island of prisons, hospitals and homes. It was but a few days before the Medical Board said Welcome, stranger and did all in it's power to help. Within a short period of time the female tuberculosis service was reorganized and in a little over two years the male tuberculosis service was added. The Medical Board created a Department of Tuberculosis, and finally moved the whole department into the West Pavilion. The organization of the Department of Tuberculosis could not have been pos- sible were it not for a devoted small group of women under the leadership of Mrs. Redmond. Words can hardly describe their efforts to help relieve the sick. Their work these past fourteen years will always be an example and One hundred ninety-six