THE PSYCHOLOGY OF SUICIDE

Evening Post, Volume CXXVI, Issue 86, 8 October 1938, Page 28

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF SUICIDE

One stormy November night—it now seems ages ago—I was on duty in a hospital out west in charge of emergency surgery, writes Dr. Irving Cutter in the "Chicago Tribune." But recently out of medical school, I felt my responsibilities keenly. It must have been nearly midnight when, abbut to close my book (I had been reading some of the cases of Sir James Paget), I heard my signal on "the sounder." This meant the ambulance entrance, and, hurrying thither, I met the orderlies carrying in a young man whose expression of stolid resignation I shall never forget..

Quite conscious, but refusing to talk, his large brown eyes, set in an alabaster countenance, followed my every move. I discovered a gunshot wound in the left chest. Apparently the bullet had missed the heart and the large bloodvessels, as there was little bleeding. His pulse was not rapid, indicating that no marked hemorrhage had occurred internally. All that I could learn from the ambulance crew was that they had responded to a call from a neighbourhood of cheap lodginghouses and had found a chap there "who had tried to kill himself."

His general condition seemed so good that "watchful waiting" appeared to be the proper course. Nevertheless I reported to my chief by telephone, and something I said must have aroused his interest, for late as it was (and I knew he had a heavy schedule for the morrow), he insisted on coming down. A bit later he joined me in the ward and again counted the pulse,-which was only a few beats faster than normal. Then I saw the grand old man—we all called him that—place his hand on the lad's forehead and stroke his hair gently. Smiling into his eyes, he said: "Son, every cloud has a silver lining." He examined the wound, nodded his head, and chatted with me briefly about the night orders. With "I'll see you in the morning" to the patient and a good-night to me, he was off.

After a few days my superior had the young man smiling, and within a week he expressed the desire to get well. Recovery occurred at the end of. about six weeks.

I know that this wise physician kept track of our "suicide" for years thereafter. He never was too busy to see him, always with a reassuring word or an offer of help. Some ten years later I happened to meet my former teacher, now retired from active work, and, recalling the case, remarked: "By the way, what has become of -—, the young chap who attempted to take his life?" His face lighted. "Well," he replied, "that's one of my victories. He is now happily married, has a fine family, and is the owner of a prosperous business in a neighbouring town." '

The episode taught me many lessons, not only some simple principles dealing with the care of gunshot wounds, but deeper and far more important humanitarian precepts. The boy—he seemed just that—had' experienced grievous disappointments. At nineteen he contracted a runaway marriage and then began a series of misadventures. Parental opposition was unyielding, and the girl' wife, unable to share adversity, deserted him. Too proud to return to his home, with no word of cheer from any one, a bullet seemed the way out.

Satisfaction, a most necessary thing in life, comes to those who have vigorous creative powers, but if there is no outlet for one's abilities, introspection may lead to the adoption of the failure complex. Common kindness, encouragement that can be justified/will help many a potential suicide to readjust himself to the point where he will know that life merits a courageous fight.

Every physician to whom a patient voices a wish for death has a definite obligation. Perhaps he cannot remedy all the factors which have given birth to the idea, but a careful study of the man or woman may disclose some thought process which can be set straight. The sufferer merely has lost his' way, and .he requires the most gentle type of guiding to bring him back to logical reasoning. With an individual frustrated —thwarted at every turn—the summation may lead inexorably to the conviction that life is empty. We need more reminders that the sun is shining brightly behind the darkest clouds.