Poultice
I have taken over my father's journal, perhaps I will not prove as erudite, or as sapient as he, but with my sister Lucia'a help, and my father's wishes in mind I take it on. The cut which marred my father's hand only a few days ago has festered, a brilliant red spiraled our from the wound in my father's palm and a fever took him in the night, not sleeping, but tossing and turning until the bed itself seemed to rock like a boat on turbulent waters. This morning he had grown quite still, and his side quite rigid, black infection spidered up his forearm. Throughout the day Mrs. Crunkshank has patted in and out of the room, clucking her tongue and slowly shaking her head. We are anxious, my sister and I, concerned with the medical techniques of this women ? On the iron stove in the kitchen she built poultice, and I left my father's side to note its formulation: water, clay, Anise Seed Oil, a heavy dollop of lavender honey, mothballs, cabbage and spoonfuls of what appeared to be dried and ground chicken mushrooms. She stirred this for some time before ladling it into a bowl.
I turned and rejoined my sister where she read from the Hoard's Dairyman at my father's side. She was just finishing an article on the proper horizontal alignment of the Jersey's ears, and how it could be achieved through cedar ear splints, when Mrs. Crunkshank entered the room. With a large wooden spoon she scooped up a heap of the concoction and threw a wad of it down onto my father's forearm. She smeared the brown, foul smelling stuff into the arm, then ripped off leaves from a bundle of spring burdocks and made a poultice of the leaves and mixture, finally securing the entirety with a rope of old rags.
As the evening draws close my sister and I pour over my fathers notebooks, and intend to find and implement a cure of our own.
Composed by Dr. G on Friday, Oct. 17, 2008
Gentle Reader Responses
Acroceerm says:
Thank you for the cool review. I look forward to continuing. Very interesting
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