Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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The Obsession By Esther Lavenstein ATIENT doing well, Dr. Hart?” the nurse asked as the surgeon closed the door of room 517 behind him. “Yes, thank you. As a matter of fact he just in- formed me that he feels entirely well again. I don’t have to worry about him any longer,” he answered complacently. “Hard case? I’m on duty upstairs, so I haven’t heard what’s going on down here,” she explained. “On the contrary,” the doctor stated emphatically, “it’s undoubtedly the most interesting case I have handled in a long time. That fellow’s story is worth hearing. He came to me last week with a friend who is studying medicine. You have probably seen the friend — a small, boobish looking chap. It was he who told me Fred Gordon’s history. “Gordon’s father runs a farm in the South, and it is likely that the boy never left it until he went off to the state univer- sity. This was his last year there. His father was able to give him very little help, so it was necessary that he retain a night position of some kind. His was a very strenuous existence, but being a brilliant chap and a studious one, he managed well enough. “A fellow reared on a farm would naturally find living in a cremped room in a crowded dormitory very tiring, but in fine weather Gordon would leave his classes and walk to a place a short distance beyond the campus to study in the open. Late one afternoon about three months ago he returned from his fa- vorite haunt and rushed into his room shouting, ‘There’s a bee in my head!’ “When he had calmed down, he told a group of his friends that while he was studying a bee had flown into his ear. It hadn’t come out, and he could hear it buzzing in his head. It was driving him insane, he said. “The university physicians told Gordon that, as a result of mental exhaustion, he was suffering from hallucinations; he merely laughed at their diagnosis. For a while his friends paid little attention to Gordon’s ravings; then they could scarcely ignore the fact that Gordon didn’t eat, that he paced the floors at night instead of sleeping, and, what was most amazing, that .... Page twenty-two

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«iiii 1111111111111111111111111111111 immimiimmi 1 1 has been obtained during the winter months in Florida, that’s an entirely different proposition. I’ve declared, I know, a hundred times this winter that I’ll never again get sunburned, but just watch me next summer. Let’s try to find some really sound reasons for getting these coveted coats. Well, I can’t find any honest-to-goodness sensible reasons, but there must be some. I think I shall leave this up to you, for I’ve always believed it was a matter of individual taste and opinion. Onward By Morton Townsend Footsore and weary I stop to rest Beneath the shade of a tree ; I l ook back over the road I’ve walked; Only tops of the hills I see. Though slowly I’ve traveled along this road, I’ve made some little way, And though I see more hills to climb, I will arrive some day. As I walk alone this road of life That leads to my heart’s desire, The strength I’ve gained in coming this far Will furnish the strength I require. Page twenty-one ....

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▼ £P. 3(. §. he hardly looked at his books. He constantly complained of ‘that infernal buzzing’ in his head. “Finally his roommate, the fellow who is with him now, realized that unless something were done for Gordon, he’d waste away to nothing. He must be very wealthy to be able to afford such an expensive friendship. (Personally I think he feels more curiosity than friendship for young Gordon, but that is beside the point). Over two months ago he toook Fred Gordon to Philadelphia to see a renowned specialist, who examined Gordon thoroughly and told him to stop acting like a fool. I’ll wager that half of the doctors in Philadelphia examined him, and they all gave him the same advice. “All the while my young patient was growing worse and worse. His friend told me that Gordon used to sit in their hotel room for hours, his eyes closed, listening to the humming of the bee. Often he would ask him if the noise was annoying him, too. “From Philadelphia they went to New York; there Gordon underwent more examinations and heard over and over again, ‘It’s your imagination.’ By that time Gordon was ready to give up and go back to his father’s farm, where he would spend the rest of his days listening to the bee’s humming; the still gen- erous friend, however, insisted that they try Chicago as the last resort. First they went to Dr. Johnson at the City Hospital. He gave them no satisfaction, so they came here. “I talked with Gordon for quite a while. He was pitifully thin, and his eyes looked tired; the boy couldn’t seem to keep his hands still for a minute. When he told me about the noise in his head, he became almost hysterical and kept shouting at me, ‘I can’t stand it any longer! I can’t! I can’t!’ After I had talked with his friend, I gave him a brief examination ; then I told him I couldn’t understand how the other men he had seen could have failed to detect the insect. Immediately the boy grew calmer, and when I told him to come back this morning and I’d operate, he was almost happy. “When he came this morning, I had his head shaved; then we gave him chloroform. I barely scratched his scalp, and when my job was done, I swathed his head in bandages. I was in his room when he came out of the anaesthetic a little while ago, and I showed him the bee. “The boy smiled rather weakly and placing a lean finger on his forehead, said, ‘You didn’t have to show me that, sir. I know it; I’m well’!’’ iiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuMMiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiijjiiiiiiiiiiiiiia Page twenty-three ....