Erin Allman-Updike

But this idea of treating burns with heat, it was, yeah, kind of like to keep things flowing, prevent fluid accumulation, and encouraging this, like, yeah, just free flow of fluids.

Okay.

Shakespeare even makes a reference to heat treatments in King John.

And falsehood, falsehood cures as fire cools fire within the scorched veins of one new burned.

I'm really great at reading Shakespeare.

Nailed it, Erin.

I remember for a really long time we had to do iambic pentameter or speak in iambic pentameter in like 10th grade English.

And I was just like, I don't get it.

And it's been a block for me ever since.

So there you go.

But this debate, cold versus heat, it went on for hundreds of years.

And it wasn't the only debate.

There was an argument over whether open air exposure or covering a burn in dressing soaked with various substances was the better approach.

Then there was a discussion over which substances and which dressings, you know, whiskey, linseed oil, olive oil, alkaline water, lead, silver, linen, wool, cotton.

Then you could argue over whether you should feed your patient and provide plenty of fluids or do some bloodletting and purging.

Everyone had their favorite approach, backed up by an anecdote, a gut feeling, professional pride.

Take your pick.

This lack of consensus on how to best manage burns, it plagued doctors throughout the Renaissance and into the 1700s and 1800s.

Wars, industrial accidents, and train crashes served as a painful reminder that, in fact, medicine had not substantially advanced since the time of Galen and Hippocrates when it came to burns.

What was needed to make any type of progress was consensus.