Remembering the Past to Celebrate the Future
Rodney P. Lusk, MD, AAO-HNS/F President It was a cold snowy December Thursday—his clothes were soaked after marking trees for cutting on his land. By the time this robust 67-year-old made it back to his mansion it was one o’clock and he was chilled to the bone. The general’s neck was wet and snow was hanging from his hair. By four o’clock the weather was perfectly clear; but the rain, hail, and snow from that day would take its toll. That night he developed a sore throat. When he awakened Friday, he felt ill and the sore throat had worsened. He stayed in, which was out of character as he was seldom ill. By dinner his throat was so sore he could hardly eat and hoarseness was setting in. As usual, after dinner he retired to his study to finish up the day’s “indoor” work. His wife, Martha, retired; but, by his grandson’s account, was stressed by the general’s illness and couldn’t sleep. When he finally came to bed around eleven o’clock, she chided him. His memorable response, “I came so soon as my business was accomplished. You well know that through a long life, it has been my unvaried rule, never to put off till the morrow the duties that should be performed today.” He awakened at three o’clock with shaking chills. He could hardly speak and had trouble breathing. At daybreak, Caroline, his longtime maid, found the general in severe respiratory distress. Martha sent her for Tobias Lear, his trusted secretary. The estate’s overseer, George Rawlins, prepared a mixture of molasses, vinegar, and butter, but when the general tried to swallow, it only increased his airway distress and he appeared to almost suffocate. By eleven o’clock he was worse. The general decided bloodletting would be a better course and Rawlins withdrew a pint. Dispatchers were sent for the family physician and friend, Dr. James Craik, and two other physicians, Dr. Elisha Cullen Dick and Dr. Gustavus Richard Brown. Dr. Craik performed two bloodletting venesections of 20 ounces each, placed a blister of dried beetles around the throat, and gave the general vinegar and hot water, which led to near suffocation and severe coughing. When Dr. Dick arrived, he performed a fourth venesection of 32 ounces. In desperation, the physicians administered calomel and tartar rectally; but the patient did not improve. Dr. Dick recommended perforating the trachea, but was overruled because the procedure was too controversial. The general knew his time had come. He instructed Lear and Rawlins on how to put his military letters and papers in order. He told Dr. Craik, “Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed from my first attack that I should not survive it. My breath cannot last long.” By his grandson’s account, he sent Martha to his private desk drawer to bring him two papers—his wills. He told her to preserve one and burn the other. By six o’clock, he told Lear, “I feel myself going; thank you for your attentions; but I pray you take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quietly. I cannot last long.” He labored to breathe. At ten o’clock he murmured, “I am just going. Have me decently buried; and don’t let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead.” Lear could not speak and the general whispered with all his remaining strength, “Do you understand?” Lear answered “yes.” George Washington, the great general, patriot, and father of our great country, uttered these last words—”Tis well.” Between ten and eleven o’clock, Lear noted the breathing became easier. Washington lay quietly and felt his own pulse. “I saw his countenance change. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who sat by the fire. As he came to the bedside the general’s hand fell from his wrist and he expired without struggle or a sigh,” Lear stated. With a firm and collected voice Martha asked, “Is he gone?” Lear signaled that he was no more. “Tis well,” she said. “All’s now over; I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to pass through.” With our 2012 AAO-HNSF Annual Meeting & OTO EXPO in Washington, DC, Sept., 9-12, it seemed fitting that we recount the last days of the father of our country. His vibrant life was snuffed out in 30 hours by a head and neck disease that otolaryngologists continue to treat. In my next letter, I will discuss the likely diagnosis and the treatments that may have contributed to his death.
Rodney P. Lusk, MD, AAO-HNS/F President

It was a cold snowy December Thursday—his clothes were soaked after marking trees for cutting on his land. By the time this robust 67-year-old made it back to his mansion it was one o’clock and he was chilled to the bone. The general’s neck was wet and snow was hanging from his hair. By four o’clock the weather was perfectly clear; but the rain, hail, and snow from that day would take its toll. That night he developed a sore throat. When he awakened Friday, he felt ill and the sore throat had worsened. He stayed in, which was out of character as he was seldom ill. By dinner his throat was so sore he could hardly eat and hoarseness was setting in. As usual, after dinner he retired to his study to finish up the day’s “indoor” work. His wife, Martha, retired; but, by his grandson’s account, was stressed by the general’s illness and couldn’t sleep. When he finally came to bed around eleven o’clock, she chided him. His memorable response, “I came so soon as my business was accomplished. You well know that through a long life, it has been my unvaried rule, never to put off till the morrow the duties that should be performed today.”
He awakened at three o’clock with shaking chills. He could hardly speak and had trouble breathing. At daybreak, Caroline, his longtime maid, found the general in severe respiratory distress. Martha sent her for Tobias Lear, his trusted secretary. The estate’s overseer, George Rawlins, prepared a mixture of molasses, vinegar, and butter, but when the general tried to swallow, it only increased his airway distress and he appeared to almost suffocate. By eleven o’clock he was worse. The general decided bloodletting would be a better course and Rawlins withdrew a pint.
Dispatchers were sent for the family physician and friend, Dr. James Craik, and two other physicians, Dr. Elisha Cullen Dick and Dr. Gustavus Richard Brown. Dr. Craik performed two bloodletting venesections of 20 ounces each, placed a blister of dried beetles around the throat, and gave the general vinegar and hot water, which led to near suffocation and severe coughing. When Dr. Dick arrived, he performed a fourth venesection of 32 ounces. In desperation, the physicians administered calomel and tartar rectally; but the patient did not improve. Dr. Dick recommended perforating the trachea, but was overruled because the procedure was too controversial.
The general knew his time had come.
He instructed Lear and Rawlins on how to put his military letters and papers in order. He told Dr. Craik, “Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed from my first attack that I should not survive it. My breath cannot last long.” By his grandson’s account, he sent Martha to his private desk drawer to bring him two papers—his wills. He told her to preserve one and burn the other.
By six o’clock, he told Lear, “I feel myself going; thank you for your attentions; but I pray you take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quietly. I cannot last long.” He labored to breathe. At ten o’clock he murmured, “I am just going. Have me decently buried; and don’t let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead.” Lear could not speak and the general whispered with all his remaining strength, “Do you understand?” Lear answered “yes.” George Washington, the great general, patriot, and father of our great country, uttered these last words—”Tis well.”
Between ten and eleven o’clock, Lear noted the breathing became easier. Washington lay quietly and felt his own pulse. “I saw his countenance change. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who sat by the fire. As he came to the bedside the general’s hand fell from his wrist and he expired without struggle or a sigh,” Lear stated. With a firm and collected voice Martha asked, “Is he gone?” Lear signaled that he was no more. “Tis well,” she said. “All’s now over; I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to pass through.”
With our 2012 AAO-HNSF Annual Meeting & OTO EXPO in Washington, DC, Sept., 9-12, it seemed fitting that we recount the last days of the father of our country. His vibrant life was snuffed out in 30 hours by a head and neck disease that otolaryngologists continue to treat. In my next letter, I will discuss the likely diagnosis and the treatments that may have contributed to his death.