by Ginny Dye
“That’s true, but at least what we do works,” Janie protested. “There are many so called drugs in traditional medicine that are really nothing but alcohol or opium mixed with honey. We’ve seen so much of it since the war. It breaks my heart when people actually can’t get better from the treatment they receive.” She paused for a moment in deep thought. “Since none of us truly understands illness, though, it is hardly our place to judge how a society chooses to treat it. I suppose I can see how talking about an illness can help. Finding out everything we can about our patients is one of the key components of homeopathy. I guess everyone does the best they can with trying to understand how to heal the human body. At least the Navajo believe herbs play a role in it.” She looked at Carrie. “Is Chooli’s grandfather willing for you to bring some of the herbs and treatments we brought?”
Carrie nodded, but she felt no confidence she would get to use them. Shichei had agreed to her request, but his eyes had said something very different.
*****
Carrie and her team had spent the afternoon going over all the information they could find on syphilis and dysentery. The treatment for dysentery, a virulent form of diarrhea, was very similar to the treatment she had used for cholera, so they put more of their focus on syphilis.
Nathan looked up as he put aside a pamphlet Dr. Strikener had sent with them. “Syphilis seems to have been a part of human history since we have been here.”
“It makes sense,” Carolyn said. “Sex is necessary to create humans to populate the earth. It is easy to pass the infection on.”
“It’s always been a stigmatized, disgraceful disease,” Nathan continued. “Because there was no known treatment, tens of thousands of people throughout a country were infected and then died. Famous people are just as vulnerable as poor people. Every country where there has been an infection blames another country.” He whistled softly as he continued to read. “Ludwig van Beethoven, the composer, had syphilis. So did King Henry the Eighth. The list is staggeringly long.”
“It’s also believed the Irish people of Moyamensing brought syphilis to Philadelphia,” Carrie reminded him.
Nathan snorted. “It was there long before they shackled the Irish and brought them to America.”
“You’re right,” Carrie agreed, “but people always need someone to blame.”
“Like the military is blaming the Navajo,” Melissa observed. “It could well have started with some of the soldiers who forced themselves on their prisoners.”
“That’s true,” Carrie said, “but it is nothing we can do anything about. We have to focus on a cure, or at least a way to treat it.” She looked up from what she was reading. “We can also be grateful the military stopped treating Navajo syphilis patients,” she said angrily. She held up the paper she was reading that outlined military protocol.
Carolyn sighed heavily. “Mercury?”
“Mercury,” Carrie agreed.
Nathan looked confused. “I thought we might use mercurius on some of the patients. Isn’t that mercury?”
Carrie nodded. “It’s a very confusing issue. I have spoken at length about it with both Dr. Strikener and Dr. Hobson. Dr. Hobson gave me several books to read this past winter. The primary conclusion is that mercury is a very toxic substance with lethal side effects,” she said.
“She’s right,” Janie added. “Dr. Hahnemann, who we all know developed homeopathy, proved just how deadly mercury was, unless it was prepared as a homeopathic remedy.”
Nathan frowned. “I just started school, so may I plead ignorance? I thought mercury was a miracle drug.”
Carrie scowled. “Traditional medicine wants you to believe that. Mercury is the heaviest of all known liquids. It weighs fourteen times more than an equal volume of water. I’ve seen iron and lead float on its surface in an experiment Dr. Hobson did in his office. Mercury is highly toxic. It causes brain damage and nerve degeneration. Patients lose teeth and have muscle tremors. They taste metal in their mouth and have massive abdominal pain with bloody diarrhea. I could go on about symptoms, but the most important thing to know is that more people are probably dying from the mercury treatment than they are from their original illness.”
Carolyn nodded. “Carrie is absolutely right. Have you ever heard of the term mad as a hatter, Nathan?”
Nathan nodded. “I believe so. Doesn’t it have something to do with the hat industry?”
“Yes,” Carolyn answered. “Mercury is used to convert animal fur into felt for the hats men and women are so crazy about. Workers in the factory are poisoned.”
“What made them think about using mercury?” Nathan asked. He was obviously fascinated.
“The answer is horrible, but it is at least interesting,” Carrie said. “I learned about it in one of Dr. Hobson’s books. Mercury came into use because in Turkey camel hair was used in felt making. They discovered the felting process was faster if the camel fibers were moistened with camel urine.”
“Who in the world thinks to try things like that?” Matthew muttered.
“I agree,” Carrie said. “Anyway, when they started making felt hats in France, they didn’t have camel urine, so they decided to use their own.”
“Disgusting,” Melissa said with a groan.
“Quite.” Carrie agreed. “As it turned out, one man always produced a superior felt. They discovered the man was being treated with mercury for syphilis, so mercury was in his urine. Testing showed that using straight mercury produced amazing results, so it has become the norm in hat factories.” She paused. “It affects the workers’ nervous systems and causes them to tremble and appear insane. That’s why people say someone is mad as a hatter.”
“That’s terrible,” Melissa gasped. “Is that how the military is treating the Navajo?”
“Yes,” Carrie answered as she held up the sheet. “But in all fairness, they treat everyone in the military the same way. It’s not just the Indians.”
“Carrie is correct,” Randall said. “The use of mercury is one of the reasons I left traditional medicine and started at the Homeopathic College. I could tell the treatment was killing people,” he said angrily, and then looked at Carrie. “Go on.”
Carrie nodded, completely understanding how Randall felt. “They are using a cream with mercury in it to treat the syphilis sores. All they are really doing is killing them more quickly. The syphilis goes away, but they die from the treatment.”
Janie scowled. “I remember something else I read. There was a mercurial ointment used during the Middle Ages to treat skin diseases like scabies and leprosy. When syphilis struck in Europe in the 1500’s, it was believed only mercury could cure it. They took the treatment far beyond a cream, however. The most common technique for administering mercury was fumigation.”
“Fumigation?” Nathan asked. “Even the word sounds dangerous.”
Janie nodded grimly. “You’re right. The patient would sit naked in a large wooden tub above a heated tray spread with a mercurial compound. The fumes would rise to encase them. They would continue the treatment for a month. The side effects were drastic. The syphilis would be gone, but their gums were ulcerated, they lost teeth, and their bones deteriorated.”
“My god,” Nathan muttered. He looked at Carrie. “And we use mercury in homeopathy?”
“Yes, but it is a very different substance by the time it has gone through potentization. Extracting it in alcohol and water and then diluting it makes it a very effective remedy without any of the side effects. It is extremely effective for both syphilis and dysentery, along with many other illnesses.”
“Do we have enough?” Melissa asked.
Carrie shook her head. “Enough for eight thousand people? It really would be best to treat everyone who might remotely have been exposed, but I doubt we have enough for that, and I’m not at all sure the Navajo will take it.” She fought a feeling of helplessness.
“They will if we make some people well,” Janie said. “You have to find a way to adminis
ter the mercurius to the patient today.”
Carrie knew she was right. She just had no idea how she was going to accomplish it.
*****
Todd arrived to escort all of them to the medicine man ceremony late in the afternoon. This time he was driving a wagon that would transport all of them. Carrie slipped a bottle of mercurius into her pocket and made sure they had a jar full of good water. Just like in Moyamensing, it would do no good to treat a patient with tainted water.
When their group arrived at the designated spot for the ceremony, it was already full of wide-eyed Navajo who stared at them suspiciously as they rolled up.
“Yá'át'ééh,” Carrie said warmly. No one responded, but their eyes became slightly less hostile.
“Yá'át'ééh,” the rest of her team echoed.
Several of the Navajo finally relented enough to return their greeting, but their stoic faces did not change.
Chooli’s grandfather stepped forward and lifted his hands. He did not look at Carrie, but she knew he was aware of her presence. She settled on one of the benches placed around the ceremonial circle, intent on learning all she could. The next two hours passed in a haze as Chooli’s grandfather chanted, sang and performed endless hand motions. Not understanding the language made it impossible to follow, but she certainly understood why the ritual took years to learn.
There were several times she could feel his eyes on her, but she was focused on the patient. She had known the moment she’d seem him that he was deathly ill from the syphilis. She also suspected he had received mercury treatment before the Navajo had refused to go to the hospital. Combined with dysentery, she knew the young man with limp, long black hair and dull eyes did not have long to live. She wanted to believe the ceremonial ritual could heal him, but all her experience told her it was too late unless there was a dramatic intervention. The bottle of mercurius seemed to burn a hole in her pocket, but she remained still. There was nothing she could do but watch, and pray that Chooli’s grandfather would let her assist. There was no reason he should trust her enough to allow it, but she was determined to hang on to hope. She had come to Bosque Redondo to make a difference, but she was dependent on their willingness to allow her and her team to help.
Another hour of chanting and singing passed before the sun dipped below the horizon. Carrie was aching and sore, but she was fascinated by the ritual. Although the young man seemed as sick as ever, she saw a measure of peace enter eyes that had been tortured. She suddenly understood the power of a ceremony that surrounded illness with attention and love. If he couldn’t be saved, at least he would die knowing he was loved by his family and his neighbors.
“Bitsóóké.”
Carrie blinked when Chooli’s grandfather stopped in front of her and spoke the one word in his chanting, guttural voice.
Todd leaned closer. “He called you his grandchild.”
Carrie smiled and met the medicine man’s eyes. “Shichei,” she said respectfully as she bowed her head.
Shichei motioned for her to stand and walk to the patient.
Carrie caught Todd’s eyes, her heart soaring when he nodded. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the vial that contained the mercurius. She handed it to Shichei when he reached for it, watching as he held it high and blessed it with a chant. When he handed it back to her, she pulled out the glass she had secreted in another pocket, poured a cup of water into it from the jug, and then placed several drops of the mercurius in it. She glanced at Shichei. When he nodded his approval, she handed it to the young man. He stared at Chooli’s grandfather for several long moments before he took it, swallowing it in a single gulp.
Carrie looked steadily at Shichei for several moments and then returned to her place on the bench. Another hour passed while Shichei continued to chant before he had the young Indian sit on the elaborate sand painting he had drawn. When the ceremony drew to a close, illuminated only by the full moon rising on the horizon, Shichei walked over to where they were all seated.
Chooli’s grandfather spoke briefly.
“He wants to know what you gave the patient,” Todd translated.
“I gave him a remedy called mercurius. It is very effective with syphilis and dysentery. He should be better in the morning, but I would like to give him several more treatments for it to work the way it is supposed to.” Carrie waited for Todd to make the translation.
Shichei’s eyes bored into her before he gave an abrupt nod and spoke again.
“He said that if the patient is better in the morning, he will let you continue the treatment.”
Carrie smiled and inclined her head graciously. “Ahéhee' Tʼáá íiyisíí ahéheeʼ,” she replied, glad she had learned the Navajo phrase for thank you.
Shichei’s eyes glowed with approval. “Ahéhee',” he said before he turned away.
Todd led her team to the wagon. When they were all loaded, Todd looked at Carrie. “What now?” he asked.
“Now we hope the patient is better,” Carrie replied. She knew they would only have this one chance.
Chapter Thirty
Todd knocked on the door before any of them were up the next morning. Carrie was forcing her tired eyes open when she heard Matthew open the door.
“It’s working!” Todd’s voice rang through the building.
Carrie jumped from her bed, pulled a robe on, and opened her door. Everyone else appeared almost at the same moment. “Good morning, Todd.”
“The medicine is working, Carrie! Chooli’s grandfather has sent for you. He wants you to bring more of the treatment.”
Carrie’s heart leapt, but she had schooled herself to be cautious. “How do they know it was the medicine?”
Todd looked grim, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “Because not one of the people treated for syphilis has ever recovered,” he said. “I hope you have a lot of that remedy.”
“We have a lot,” Carrie answered, “but I don’t know that it is enough.” She turned to her bedroom so she could dress and then swung around again. “We’ll do the best we can, but Todd…”
“Yes?”
“I can’t cure starvation, and I can’t keep them from getting dysentery because of bad water. We can treat malaria, but we can’t stop mosquitoes from hatching. What is going to happen to these people?” The absurdity of the situation made Carrie furious. “Something has to change!”
“I know,” Todd agreed. “There are people working on that.” He met her eyes evenly. “Can you and your team focus on keeping them alive until then?”
Carrie sighed and nodded, knowing he was right. Permanent decisions would have to be made at a higher level. She could only pray they were made before the entire Navajo Nation was wiped out.
*****
“Yá'át'ééh, Carrie.”
“Yá'át'ééh, Janie.”
Carrie smiled and returned the greetings coming from the people they passed.
“I can’t believe we have been here almost a month,” Janie murmured as she waved and returned greetings.
Carrie could hardly believe it either. Every day brought a mixture of such intense feelings. She was thrilled the Navajo had embraced them and trusted them to treat their sick, but it broke her heart to watch them grow thinner and weaker. The food supplies provided by the army were totally inadequate. Parents gave their rations to their children, but Carrie wondered what would happen when the children were left to raise themselves. The water in the Pecos River was running lower, and she knew that soon the mosquitoes that carried malaria would swarm through the camp.
“Yá'át'ééh, Carrie!”
Carrie smiled down at the thin little boy who had raced up to meet her. She swung down from Celeste and gathered him in her arms, trying to not wince as she felt his fragile body. How was it possible that a little boy who had been born in freedom in his homeland was now dying from starvation because of policies her government made? “Yá'át'ééh, Toh Yah.” She ruffled his hair, remembering how he had told Todd
that his name meant Walking By River. He could remember walking along the San Juan River in his beautiful homeland when he was five and six years old, right before he was ripped away and forced to march three hundred miles with his family. He had turned ten on the reservation a few weeks earlier. Carrie wondered if he would reach eleven. His starvation caused such a weakened condition that any type of disease could easily kill him.
Suddenly, his eyes grew even larger in the pinched face made beautiful by his smile. He said nothing, but pointed to the north.
Carrie turned and watched as a large contingent of troops, the lead wagon flying the American flag, moved toward the reservation. She would find out what it meant later. Right now she was determined to spend her time treating the Indians who needed her. Melissa and Nathan were in another part of the camp. Randall and Carolyn had been taken by Todd to a new area. Now that the Indians had decided to trust them—a trust fostered by Chooli’s family—they were eager for their magic medicine. The need was endless, but she was certain they had treated at least three thousand people. There were medicine men ceremonies every day, but they also treated people without them because the need was so great. It was a tremendous accomplishment in just four weeks, but all she could think about were the suffering Indians who were still waiting.
