The Doctor Wore Petticoats: Women Physicians of the Old West Page 2

  In the fall of 1861, Bethenia again enrolled in school. The principal of the institution assisted her with her work when needed. She awoke at four o’clock every morning to study, determined to take full advantage of the “great opportunity” she had been given. Within nine months Bethenia had completed her high school education. Before and after attending classes, she kept up with her variety of labor-intensive jobs and gave special attention to her son.

  Bethenia’s thirst for knowledge did not subside after graduation. Her fondness for nursing and caring for sick friends and family sparked a desire to study medicine. Her superior talent in hat design and dressmaking helped her to raise the necessary funds to attend medical school. She became truly committed to the calling after witnessing an elderly doctor’s inability to care properly for a small child:The old physician in my presence attempted to use an instrument for the relief of the little sufferer, and, in his long, bungling, and unsuccessful attempt he severely lacerated the tender flesh of the poor little girl. At last, he laid down the instrument, to wipe his glasses. I picked it up saying, “Let me try, Doctor,” and passed it instantly, with perfect ease, bringing immediate relief to the tortured child.

  That momentous event set in motion the course of Bethenia’s new profession.

  Words of encouragement for Bethenia’s goal were few and far between, however. In fact, once she made her career plans known, only two people supported her. One was a trusted physician, who loaned her his medical books; the other was a judge, who applauded her ambition and assured her that she “would win.” Most of Bethenia’s family and friends were opposed to her becoming a doctor. They sneered and laughed and told her it was a disgrace for a woman to enter into such work. Bethenia disregarded their warnings and criticism, and pressed on toward her objective.

  Bethenia began her studies at the Philadelphia Eclectic School of Medicine in 1870. Students at the college learned ways to treat the sick using herbs, mineral baths, and natural medicines. After a two-year absence from her home and son George, who was with her parents, Bethenia returned to Roseburg eager to set up a practice. The controversy that surrounded her after the autopsy incident, however, forced her to open an office in Portland instead. The ground floor of her Portland facilities had two rooms that she fitted for eclectic and medicated baths. Several patients sought out her unorthodox method of dealing with sickness and pain, and in no time, her business was making a profit. Bethenia could then afford to send nineteen-year-old George to the UC Berkeley Medical School. He graduated in 1874.

  Although Doctor Owens’s eclectic medical practice was prosperous, she was not satisfied. She pined for more knowledge in her chosen field. On September 1, 1878, she left Portland for Philadelphia, to seek counsel from a professor at her former college. She was advised to attend the University of Michigan, and she left at once to enroll:Arriving there, I was soon settled, and in my seat for the opening lecture. . . . During the ensuing nine months, I averaged sixteen hours a day in attending lectures, in hard study, and in all exercises required in the courses, after which I put in ten hours a day (except Sundays) in study during vacation.

  Her daily schedule was filled with lectures, clinics, laboratory work, and examinations. Bethenia was so engrossed in her studies that she did not hear the bell ring between classes. She never tired of the learning process and she never suffered with a day of sickness.

  In June of 1880, Doctor Owens received her second degree. After graduation she traveled with one of her classmates to do field work in hospitals and clinics in Chicago. In the fall of that same year, she returned to the University of Michigan, accompanied by her son. Together, the mother and son doctors attended advanced lectures in obstetrics and homeopathic remedies. Six months after their arrival, they embarked on a trip abroad. Their European tour included visits to Hamburg, Munich, Paris, and England. It was a welcome change of pace for Bethenia, who by then had been continually working and studying for more than thirty years.

  Doctor Owens settled in San Francisco after her journey across the sea, and it was there she met her second husband. Before she met Colonel John Adair, Bethenia maintained that she was fully committed to her profession and not interested in marriage. A brief courtship with the handsome Civil War veteran changed her mind. The two were married on July 24, 1884, in Portland, Oregon. Three years after the wedding, the Adairs were expecting their first child. Bethenia boasted in her journal that she was happier than she had ever been before. Her elation would not last long:At the age of forty-seven I gave birth to a little daughter; and now my joy knew no limit, my cup of bliss was full to overflowing. A son I had, and a daughter was what I most desired. . . . For three days only, was she left with us, and then my treasure was taken from me, to join in the immortal hosts beyond all earthly pain and sorrow.

  Bethenia found solace from the grief of her daughter’s death in caring for the sick in her Portland practice. No matter what the weather conditions were, and knowing that there was no other doctor within a 200-mile radius, she never refused a call from a patient. She attended to all those in need, at times traveling through dense undergrowth and swollen rivers.

  THREE YEARS AFTER BETHENIA OWENS-ADAIR PUBLISHED “HUMAN STERILIZATION: ITS SOCIAL AND LEGISLATIVE ASPECTS,” OREGON PASSED ITS STERILIZATION BILL.

  Never content with being solely a physician, Bethenia became a student again in 1889 and enrolled in a Chicago medical school, seeking a post-graduate degree. After she completed her studies, she returned home to her husband and the teenage son they had adopted. Her practice continued to grow, and before long she found she could not keep up with her professional work and maintain a home for her family. She chose the practice over her marriage and sent John away to a farm they owned in Astoria. The Adairs’ marriage ended in 1903.

  At the age of sixty-five, Bethenia retired from her practice. Her focus then shifted from day-to-day medical treatment to research. She studied such controversial topics as the sterilization of the criminally insane. Bethenia’s analysis led her to believe that insanity and criminal action were hereditary. Her famous work on the subject, entitled “Human Sterilization: Its Social and Legislative Aspects,” was published in 1922, and brought her instant recognition in the field. Three years after Adair presented her findings, a sterilization statute was adopted as state law in Oregon.

  In addition to her medical research, Bethenia worked hard as a lobbyist for the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. She remained a staunch social and political activist until 1926, when she died of natural causes at the age of eighty-six.

  GEORGIA ARBUCKLE FIX

  FRONTIER SURGEON

  Under the care of Doctor Arbuckle Fix any person can be expected

  to be nearly raised from the dead.

  —Gering Courier, May 1889

  A lone rider urged her horse up a steep embankment and into a stand of large cottonwoods. Although it was daytime, the tree covering gave an effect of an almost cathedral-like darkness. Doctor Georgia Arbuckle Fix shifted in her saddle, then checked to make sure her medical bag was still tied to the horn. She sighed a tired sigh as she cast a glance into the valley and at her home near the town of Gering, Nebraska, in the distance.

  In 1886, Georgia Arbuckle was the only doctor in a 75-mile radius of Gering. She was accustomed to traveling long miles across the open frontier to see patients. On this particular day she had been summoned to the home of a farmer and his pregnant wife. Georgia smiled to herself as she remembered the look on the young parents’ faces as they welcomed their child into the world. She looked at her pocket watch, then spurred her horse into a bit of a trot.

  The glare from the sun blinded Georgia’s view of the road as she exited the trees. She did not see the bearded highwayman lying in wait for her. The toothless crook threw up his hands. Georgia’s horse reared a bit and she eased the animal into a full stop.

  BY THE TIME SHE WAS FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, GEORGIA ARBUCKLE HAD COMPLETED HIGH SCHOOL AND OBTAINED A TEACHING CERTIFICATE. SO
ON AFTER, SHE ENROLLED IN MEDICAL SCHOOL.

  The man stumbled. Laughing, he reached for a nearby outcropping of rocks to steady himself. The empty bottles of whisky around his makeshift camp led Georgia to assess that the robber was drunk. He made his way over to her and attempted to pull her off the horse. She tried to kick him away, but he had a stubborn hold on her leg. The fearless, thirty-four-year-old woman quickly released the buckle on the harness that was holding her medical bag, grabbed the case by the handle, and knocked the thief across the head with it. The man yelped and staggered about like a decapitated chicken. Georgia coaxed her horse into a gallop and hurried off.

  Doctor Arbuckle Fix’s willingness to risk her own life to save the life of others left a lasting impression on the people in Douglas County, Nebraska.

  Georgia Arbuckle was born in Princeton, Missouri, on April 26. Missouri census records list the year of her birth as 1850, but school enrollment forms show that she was born in 1852. Historians speculate that the confusion surrounding her year of birth began with Georgia herself. After learning the enrollment age for medical school was thirty, she changed the year to fit the criteria.

  Georgia’s mother was Julia Ann Arbuckle. The identity of her father was never revealed to her. Thomas Reeves married Julia Ann in 1859 and raised Georgia as his own. He recognized a “keen sense of intelligence and drive” in his adopted daughter, and encouraged her to “always seek after knowledge.” By the time Georgia was fifteen, she had graduated from high school and acquired a teaching certificate, and was teaching school at a log building near the family home.

  Georgia’s talent for learning and sharing knowledge captured the attention of the local physician, Doctor Dinsmore, who persuaded the teenager to study homeopathic medicine. The doctor’s eager student excelled in the field, and her interest in medicine grew.

  Doctor Dinsmore invited his protégé to move to Nebraska with him and his wife. There, Georgia could assist her mentor in his practice and attend medical school. She eagerly agreed and in 1881 enrolled at the University of Omaha.

  Georgia was one of eight students to register to become a doctor. She was the only woman. After graduating in 1883, she opened her own practice. The following year she agreed to serve on the board of the Douglas County Medical Society.

  In May 1886, Georgia followed her brother and stepfather to western Nebraska. Taken in by the beauty of the land and its wide-open spaces, she settled down on a forty-acre homestead along the North Platte River, near Gering. After building herself a home, she offered her services to the sick and ailing in the community. She was called to attend to ranchers with broken bones and torn flesh, children with the flu and pneumonia, and the elderly suffering with arthritis.

  The novelty of a woman doctor on the male-dominated frontier did not escape the attention of the curious westerners. Georgia once responded to a call to set a cowboy’s broken limb. After riding 18 miles, she found that the man wasn’t hurt at all; he merely wanted to see a lady doctor. Doctor Arbuckle charged the man for the visit and scolded him for keeping her from someone who might really be in need.

  In 1888, a legitimate call to help a deathly ill man with typhoid fever changed the young doctor’s life. When she arrived at the patient’s home, the man introduced himself as Gwynn Fix. The two were quite smitten with one another. Georgia was attracted to Gwynn’s soft voice, blue eyes, and black hair. He was charmed by her kindness and her attention. Within six months after they met, the two were married. After a short honeymoon at Georgia’s place, the Fixes moved their home to a tree-lined plot of land 7 miles away. Gwynn worked the land and Georgia continued on with her practice. For a while they were happy.

  Oftentimes, the patients in Doctor Arbuckle Fix’s practice did not pay her in dollars and cents. She was paid in wood for her stove, fresh fruit, poultry, eggs, butter, and cattle. Five years after Georgia opened her medical practice, she had earned thousands of eggs, a flock of chickens, and more than one hundred head of cattle. Gwynn was pleased with his wife’s success, but he was becoming increasingly frustrated with the time she spent away from him while she was doing her job.

  He felt that Georgia should cut back on her workload and devote herself to creating a proper home, but Georgia lacked the talent and the desire to live out her days as a traditional housewife. She was beyond child-bearing years and acutely aware of the many medical needs in Douglas County. She was unwilling to give Gwynn what he wanted, and the marriage suffered greatly as a result. Gwynn’s attention shifted from Georgia to politics and visits to the saloon. As he drifted further and further away, Georgia focused more and more on her patients.

  The lack of medical supplies in the rural area forced Doctor Arbuckle Fix to create inventive ways to handle serious injuries. She set a busted hand using a shingle for a splint, and mended a fractured skull using a coin as a protective plate. On those rare occasions when Georgia lost a patient, she attended to their needs after they had passed away. Compassionate to the end, she helped with the burial and even gave the eulogy.

  Her reputation as a doctor was solid, but as a wife it was shaky. The more time she spent away from Gwynn on house calls, the more gossip circulated that she was involved with another man. Gwynn generated much of the gossip himself. By 1909, Doctor Arbuckle Fix had had enough and filed for divorce. Gwynn countersued and before the scandal could be resolved, he left the county, taking with him the livestock Georgia had received as payment for her work.

  Georgia survived her failed marriage and was determined to never again get involved with anyone who expected her to make concessions with her career. Her devotion at that point was solely on her beloved dogs and her practice.

  In 1910, Doctor Arbuckle Fix converted an old barn into a sanitarium. It was a place where patients could undergo physical or spiritual treatment and stay as long as they wanted. One of the first patients was a cowhand struggling with a toothache. Georgia was awakened late at night by the urgent cry of a man in great pain. He couldn’t wait for the itinerant dentist to make his way to town and pleaded with Georgia to remove the offensive tooth. She reluctantly agreed.

  The cowboy took his place in one of Doctor Arbuckle Fix’s chairs and she instructed him to grab the arms tightly and keep still. She then ordered the man’s friend to hold his head in place. Once everything was in order, she began the procedure. The man wriggled and screamed as the doctor tried to coax the tooth out of his mouth with a pair of crude forceps. The man’s legs buckled and the spurs on his boots raked across the doctor’s foot. She yelped. “Watch it there,” she warned. “I’m not a bronco, you know.” Georgia went on with her work and after several more minutes, the tooth finally broke free.

  Doctor Fix’s generosity extended beyond the medical care she gave her patients. She opened her home to women teachers in the area who had no place to live and to civic organizations that had no place to meet. Missionary societies, benevolent groups, drama clubs, and library clubs gathered in her front room to plan fundraisers and special events. As an advocate of health education, she donated her time to help teach at various county schools and even donated a microscope for students to study germs and fungi.

  Georgia’s home and sanitarium were warm, inviting locations where animals, as well as humans, were made to feel welcome. Along with a few dogs, cats, and goats, a variety of birds resided with Doctor Arbuckle Fix. At one time she had thirty-three canaries, a parrot, and an owl. Children who proved they could care for a pet were given one of her birds as a present. Friends and associates boasted that she was “truly gracious to all creatures.”

  After a particularly rough and wet house call trip in 1916, Doctor Fix developed a bad cold that left her an asthmatic. Frequent trips to the dry California climate brought her some relief, but not enough to sustain her life. She eventually died from the breathing condition on July 26, 1918, in San Diego, at the age of sixty-eight. Those with her at the end stated her last words were from the book of Psalms.

  Doctor Fix’s body w
as brought back to Nebraska and she was buried near her home in Gering. Many local citizens attended her service. She was remembered as someone who “went about doing good.” Even in death she proved that statement to be true. She left her life savings to the community, to build a home for the needy. The inscription on her tombstone at the West Lawn Cemetery reads: IN MEMORY OF DOCTOR GEORGIA A. FIX, PIONEER PHYSICIAN. SHE PASSED AWAY IN 1918 AFTER THIRTY-TWO YEARS OF FAITHFUL SERVICE IN THE NORTH PLATTE VALLEY.

  SUSAN LA FLESCHE PICOTTE

  FIRST FEMALE NATIVE-AMERICAN PHYSICIAN

  I have lived right with them for over twenty years practicing

  medicine, attending the sick, helping them with all their financial

  and domestic business and anything that concerned their personal

  family life.

  —Dr. Susan La Flesche Picotte, 1914

  Twelve-year-old Susan La Flesche wiped the perspiration off the brow of an elderly Omaha Indian woman stretched out on a cot before her. The woman’s sad eyes found Susan’s, and she lifted her feeble hand out for the girl to take. Susan helped the frail patient raise her head and take a sip of broth. Almost as if the effort had been overwhelming to her delicate frame, the ailing Native American fainted. Susan gently laid the woman’s head onto a pillow and dabbed her warm cheeks with a cool cloth.

  The light from a gigantic moon streamed through the open flap of the buckskin tepee situated on the Omaha reservation near Macy, Nebraska. Susan left the sick woman for a moment to peer out into the night. She lingered a bit and listened to the sounds of the evening. With the exception of the cries of the coyotes in the far distance, all was quiet. It was late, and the elderly woman’s breathing was labored. A messenger had been sent out four times to get help, but the physician, hired by the government to care for sick and dying Omaha Indians, would not come. He was hunting prairie chickens and could not be persuaded to visit the reservation. It was 1877, and the health of an Indian woman was inconsequential to the white reservation doctor.