Word: stomache
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Wanted: A Stomach. More than 100 years ago, on Mackinac Island in Lake Huron, a doctor named William Beaumont tried in vain to close the wound of a Canadian trapper who had accidentally been shot in the stomach. The edges of the hole healed, and Alexis St. Martin, the trapper, was not uncomfortable; if he plugged the wound, he could eat. The failure of Dr. Beaumont to heal that wound made him one of the great figures in medical history. For, by putting a tube in the wound, he observed the movements of St. Martin's gut, discovered...
Something more crucial than Bogdan Filoff's stomach ulcers was discussed in those feverish sessions. That something could only have been one thing: whether or not to grant Germany troop transit through Bulgaria or at least use of air bases in Bulgaria, so that the big end of the Rome-Berlin Axis could get the little end out of its Grecian swivet. The Bulgars' decision might make no immediate difference whatsoever: the Germans could undoubtedly penetrate Bulgaria whether the Bulgars wished it or not. But the ramifications of the decision might have heavy bearing on the outcome...
...loyal friend of Franklin Roosevelt was Editor Hall. When Willkiecrats goaded him last summer, he would cry: "Why, Roosevelt built the house I live in!" From that same house last week Grover Hall was taken, stricken with a hemorrhage from stomach ulcers. When transfusions were needed, Alabama's Governor Frank Dixon, Advertiser employes, hundreds of Editor Hall's friends offered blood. They were too late. Two days before his 53rd birthday Grover Hall died...
Last week came a distinctly new angle on the forbidding duck-shaped island of the north. Source: 16 unpoetical Canadian soldiers who, after a stint in Iceland, had deteriorated to Class E, unfit for active service (mostly stomach ulcers), and had been repatriated to Canada, accidentally by way of the British Isles...
...Philadelphia last week, some 75 experts of the Research Council on Problems of Alcohol held a symposium on the evils of drink. With scientific gusto they tore The Drunkard limb from limb, laid bare his heart, brain, blood, stomach, nerves. They shook his family tree, examined his jail record, dissected his education, wagged their heads over his abuse of Wife & Child. As they drifted out of meetings and refreshed themselves with cocktails, many of the experts confessed that they had no idea of how to cure The Drunkard. Some doctors thought it was a chemical job. Some criminologists said...