Over twenty years ago, Grace was sixteen months old. She lived in the northwestern part of Minnesota. One morning in the fall of the year she sank to the floor, when, after dressing her up, her mother set her on her feet. She soon began to whine and develop a fever.
Three physicians in succession and in as many weeks treated her, without helping her and without knowing what ailed her. The third one advised to take the child to St. Paul. In St. Paul a physician was called about midnight, soon after the child had arrived. But, like his three predecessors, he was stumped and asked to have a pediatrics specialist in consultation. The specialist did not want to come in the night. He saw the child on the next morning, a Sunday, and then advised her mother she had infantile paralysis. Her left leg was paralyzed.
The specialist treated her for one week without favorable results. The writer was sent for on the following Sunday.
The child was up, in the arms now of this then of that person, who had to pace the floor with her. As soon as she was laid down, she screamed. Her face was black and blue. She constantly poked her forefinger in her face and eyes in a sweeping fashion.
The writer gave Cham. 1M. to the patient, saying to the mother, “Your child will be all right tomorrow.”.
Three days after, Grace was standing up, in the door of my office. This day she is married and has one child. She and her husband are in this war, serving Uncle Sam. HUGO, MINN.
