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Major advances in the French medical system following the French Revolution have stimulated a rich historiography of which Michel Foucault's Naissance de la clinique: une archéologie du regard médical (1963) and Erwin H. Ackerknecht's Medicine at the Paris Hospital, 1794-1848 (1967) are of lasting significance. Changes in the organisation and structure of hospitals accompanied the development and availability of new medical technologies and procedures and encouraged a more intense study of the aetiology and pathology of disease. Theories about asthma and its treatment profited from this dynamic environment as Classical Greek doctrines about the effect of the humours on bodily imbalance gave way to an increasingly more precise understanding of the nature and cause of asthma. The clinician and teacher, Armand Trousseau (1801-1867), who held the chair of Clinical Medicine at the Hôtel-Dieu in Paris and was himself an asthmatic, promoted new theories about the illness and developed innovative ways of dealing with its effects. Among his patients was the banker and financier, Emile Pereire (1800-1875), a lifelong asthmatic. Based on the Pereire Family Archives (hereafter AFP), the case of Emile Pereire provides a preface to the later case of that other, more famous, asthmatic, Marcel Proust.

Unwieldy by nature, unsolicited diaries and their study, this article contends, have the potential to offer deeper insights into the experience of illness but only if they receive due consideration from scholars. This article uses a series of historic diaries to examine the concept of 'professional patienthood' or being a full-time patient, and, while it found the narrative medicine approach to be very useful, it also found it limiting. The recent methodological trends in biomedicine and social sciences towards structured mechanisms like questionnaires-surveying and evaluating performance, satisfaction and experience-can only go so far. This article makes a case for the unsolicited, the unorthodox and the unstructured., (Published by the BMJ Publishing Group Limited. For permission to use (where not already granted under a licence) please go to http://www.bmj.com/company/products-services/rights-and-licensing/)

This paper focuses on intersections of holy and sick bodies in the Tuscan Middle Ages to examine how the faithful accessed miraculous cures from contact with, or belief in, the relics of the saints. Rather than examine the relationship between the long dead martyrs (whose relics were abundant), however, it will look at the relationship between relatively recent saints and their devotees. The miracles discussed are traditional-that is, they are found in the lives of many saints and are not exceptional. It is hoped, however, that by concentrating on Tuscany, some insights can be secured on the relationship between Tuscan individuals of the late middle ages and those of their community who were recognised, either officially or through vox populi, as saints., (Published by the BMJ Publishing Group Limited. For permission to use (where not already granted under a licence) please go to http://www.bmj.com/company/products-services/rights-and-licensing/)

Reconstructing some of the experiences of people living with tuberculosis in Argentina in the first half of the twentieth century, as reflected not only in written and oral accounts but also in individual and collective actions, this article explores the ways in which patients came to grips with medical expertise in times of biomedical uncertainty. These negotiations, which inevitably included adaptations as well as confrontations, highlight a much less passive and submissive patient-physician relationship than is often assumed. Though patients were certainly subordinate to medical doctors' knowledge and practices, that subordination, far from absolute, was limited and often overthrown. The article focuses on patients' demands to gain access to a vaccine not approved by the medical establishment. By engaging with media organizations, the sick invoked their "right to health" in order to obtain access to experimental treatments when biomedicine was unable to deliver efficient therapies.

Herewith we present an interdisciplinary study of the metrical funerary inscription from the third century CE (CIG 3272; Peek GV 1166). This emotional Greek epitaph reports the short life (from birth to death) of the 4 year old Lucius Minicius Anthimianus. This is the first detailed study since the dissertation by Klitsch (1976). The inscription presents an ideal case for a truly interdisciplinary study of the patient-history, in that its interpretation involves the study of Greek literature and linguistics, epigraphy, social and religious history, and ancient medicine. It also offers ample opportunity to show the contradictions inherent in proposing retrospective diagnosis, without neglecting the relevant information modern medicine has to offer for the interpretation of this case history. We argue that Lucius' father was most probably a physician, that the text of the inscription stems from expert knowledge of ancient medicine and that the traditional retrospective diagnosis of this case, tuberculosis, is an untenable hypothesis.

Hippocratic authors frequently utilise silence, babbling, lisping and otherverbal signs to diagnose a variety of physical illnesses and predict theircourse. This chapter examines these 'voice pathologies' and evaluatestheir impact on the dialogue between patients and Hippocratic physicians. In short, Hippocratic authors treat patients' voices in two dissonant ways. On the one hand, physicians promote some form of discourse,implicitly relying on patients to report internal sensations resulting fromillnesses. On the other hand, they develop extensive techniques to diminish and downplay this reliance. As a result, Hippocratic authors treatpatients' mouths not so much as the loci of potential subjective expression, but as orifices secreting verbal discharges. They weaken the distinction between the (sonic) effluvia of the mouth and those of other bodilyoutlets, thus bringing verbal output into close conceptual proximity withother types of discharge. Words come to be scrutinised for their quantity,quality and consistency as though they were quasi-excreta of the mouth. (see text). Announce what has happened, discern what is happening and foretellwhat will happen; attend to these things. Practice two things concerningdiseases: help or do no harm. The art consists of three parts: the disease,the diseased and the physician; the physician is the servant of the art; thediseased fights against the disease with the physician (Hipp., Epid.1.5L. 2.634.6-636.4 = Kiülewein 189,24-190, 6).

Galen describes a syndrome he associates with an emotion called lypē, with specific symptoms and a course that may lead to humoral imbalance, disease, and death. Lypē is an emotion that encompasses distress at a loss, as the death of a close friend or the destruction of one's books by fire; but Galen also associates it with chronic worry about a future threat, and a physiology between the emotions of worry and fear (that is, 'anxiety'). Lypē can cause a progressive syndrome characterised by insomnia, fever, pallor, and weight loss that can kill patients or degenerate into psychotic illness. This syndrome can be described in modern terms as an anxiety disorder.

Instead of being self-evident depictions of sickness, ancient medical texts were narratives created from certain points of view and for intended purposes. As a guide for the physician travelling to an unfamiliar community of people, the treatise Airs, Waters, Places anticipated "communal" conditions resulting from seasonal changes, while admitting the possibility of "personal" sickness due to individual lifestyles. Even with its geographical situatedness, Epidemics 1 continued to prioritise population narratives, subsuming sickness within the experiences of the anonymous majority whenever possible. In both its constitutions and case histories, however, patients whose conditions deviated from majority expectations were identified for forensic purposes, so that case histories functioned as minority reports rather than exemplars of how sickness behaved. Such reports guarded against surprising deviations from the rules of prognosis, which could present a threat to the physician's credibility and livelihood as a consequence.

In order to know about diseases and their medical treatment from the perspective of the patient in Baroque Spanish society, creative literature, especially the picaresque novel, is a valuable source that offers a representation of ideas on medicine and disease that were widespread among the population and difficult to access from other sources. The first-person narrative in the Vida y hechos de Estebanillo González (1646) offers knowledge on three different aspects of the medical world in Europe during the Thirty Years' War: Estebanillo practises various medical professions, appears in the story as a patient and comments on health practices and disease, providing highly useful material to analyze how different fields of medicine are represented in this literary work.

In the modern world, we are experiencing an epidemiological shift represented by the increasing prevalence of chronic diseases relative to that of acute diseases: more people are living longer, with more diseases, than ever before in human history. How are we to understand and to respond to this change? A study of provision of cancer treatment in Western Australia, especially among Indigenous populations, can illuminate ways in which healthcare providers and societies might better understand the treatment of chronic disease: healthcare providers should take care to appreciate patient perspectives and beliefs about disease aetiology and treatment. Consideration of treatment of disease in the ancient Graeco-Roman world supports the view that effective healing and maintenance of patient wellbeing occurs when healers communicate clearly with their patients about disease and treatment progression, and when healers are open-minded about patients' utilisation of multiple treatment modalities.

This paper examines the effects of the emergence of pulse measurement as an essential diagnosis and prognosis method used on Graeco-Roman patients. It argues that the introduction of this diagnostic tool brought about changes to the encounter between patients and their doctors and may have also increased intimacy and patients' forthcomingness during these encounters. The paper demonstrates that the popularity and conspicuity of the practical and theoretical engagement with the pulse afforded many opportunities for the transmission of professional knowledge from doctors to patients. It argues that this transmission of knowledge was often actively encouraged by doctors for the sake of self-promotion and promotion of the medical profession as a whole. At the same time, doctors also attempted to restrict this transmission of knowledge in order to use their exclusive competence in the pulse as means for establishing their authority and superiority over patients.

Compassion is considered an important quality for a successful physician today, but did ancient physicians display and value this emotion? How did they feel when faced with the pain and suffering of their patients? How did their patients' emotions affect their own? Many ancient physicians are not well-known for expressions of compassion in their writings; however, this seems to change in the second century AD. One medical writer who exemplifies this change is Soranus of Ephesus (c. 98-138 AD). In his Gynecology, there are a number of passages where compassion is addressed or expressed (such as the chapters on the qualities of the best midwife, the symptom of pica, childbirth, and superstition). The same points can be made of Soranus' On Chronic Diseases, preserved to some extent by the Latin version and adaptation by fifth century AD medical writer Caelius Aurelianus (see, for example, the chapters on chronic headache, mania and elephantiasis). Soranus and Caelius display compassion, understanding, and flexibility of approach when dealing with patient issues; they show themselves willing to change their medical technique when they see that it is doing more harm or discomfort than good. In Soranus and Caelius, we have an image of a physician who acknowledges and is aware of their patients' emotions, beliefs and attitudes, and who exhibits compassion for them.

Aelius Aristides, one of the most renowned orators of the so-called second sophistic, has often been thought of as the paradigmatic patient who surrendered his physical and psychological health to Asclepius, and spent a large part of his life in the temple of the god at Pergamum blindly following divine orders on diet and regimen. This study looks at the Hieroi Logoi as an illness narrative and argues against such a simplistic view and in favour of a more complex picture: Aristides is a far cry far from the submissive patient, who idly resided in the Pergamene Asclepieion relying exclusively on the therapeutic powers of the god and his human helpers. In fact, through a close reading of a selection of passages from the Hieroi Logoi a whole new image of Aristides emerges: the informed patient who is not only in possession of the basics of the medical discourse but who also functions as a physician of sorts, taking both his own life and the lives of others into his hands. This new type of patient, the knowledgeable patient, who is well-versed in medical matters and envisages himself as an active agent of the healing process and an equally important partner in the medical encounter, ties well with other testimonies we have about knowledgeable patients mostly to be found amongst the members of the socio-political elite of the time.

This paper provides the first analysis of case histories in the Byzantine period as they feature in the On Urines of John Zacharias Aktouarios (ca. 1275-ca. 1330). This group of clinical accounts is of special importance in that they have no counterpart in the Greek-speaking world since Galen. This study aims to illustrate various factors determining the patient's response to the physician's advice through close examination of John's clinical narratives. The first part deals with the terminology that John uses to indicate the patient's gender, age, social status, and clinical condition. The second part explores the significance of John's acquaintance with the patients, the patient's socio-economic background, and also the patient's experience in connection with the physician's professional expertise.

This paper focuses on the mental patients in Arabo-Islamic Middle Ages. Patients suffering from mental illnesses generated a lot of interest for Arabo-Islamic physicians. The first objective of this study is to identify who were the mentally infirm and to compare the Arab physicians' typologies of mental patients to that of their Greek predecessors. The second part of this paper shifts the focus from theoretical descriptions to case histories and biographical sources, in order to understand how the physicians treated their mental patients, and to find out what was the social impact of this medical approach. Finally, because the special provision for the insane is a distinctive feature of the Islamic hospital, the third part of my paper examines whether the main purpose of these hospitals was the patients' confinement or their treatment.

Ideally in Galen's model of preventive medicine, the patient does not become a patient at all but remains a healthy person able to maintain his or her health without need of either medicines or other therapies. This chapter is divided into four sections, Galen's ideal patient; less than ideal patients; patients in old age; and patients whose nature is inclined to a bad mixture of humours, and so in need of medication. In all four categories, even those where medical recommendations such as blood-letting are recommended, Galen offers an option based on hygieine, or the art of maintaining good health. Galen's aim in de sanitate tuenda is to ensure that a well-educated person can lead a healthy life by learning what does harm and what benefits him or her. The chapter explores the extent to which the patient can really be independent of the doctor, and the interesting balance between nature and urban life which constitutes good health in Galenic thought.

Despite advocating perpetual virginity and viewing childbirth as inherently injurious to female health, Soranus' attitude towards the infant in Book 2 of the Gynaecia is remarkably positive. In fact, it is only towards the infant that Soranus displays such consistently positive attitude. This compassionate approach is evident both in the content and the language employed, which is characterised by a striking occurrence of diminutives. His preference here for authorities such as Thracians and Scythians rather than illustrious ones, along with his 'language of the nursery', points to an oral, rather than literary, tradition. Soranus seems to have been the first to write so extensively on childcare; freed from the influence of any earlier tradition, he engaged in a more nuanced vision of childhood, seeing it as a 'blank slate' both physically and mentally, untouched by the faults of adulthood. While the content of Book 2 has been mined for information concerning the practicalities of child-care, it has not been evaluated in terms of its differences from the rest of the Gynaecia, which are significant.

This paper analyses gender as an aspect of the role of touch in the relationship between doctors and patients, as represented in the Hippocratic Corpus. Touch is an essential aspect of the ancient doctor's art, but one potentially fraught with concerns over gender: while seeing, hearing, and smelling are also central to the medical encounter, touching is the act that places the greatest demands on the privacy and bodily integrity of the patient. This paper shows--perhaps counterintuitively--that, despite the multiple assertions of gender differences put forward by the authors of the Hippocratic Corpus, these authors make little distinction between touching male and female patients. At the same time, the paper argues that ancient physicians were anxious to avoid the charge that they were harming their patients when they touched them. It demonstrates that male doctors, sensitive as they were to the problems posed by their interactions with female patients, were challenged in different ways when engaging in intimate contact with male patients.

The brief collection of deontological guidelines entitled Praecepta is one of the most important literary evidence regarding the fee of the ancient physician. This chapter focuses on three passages from the Praecepta, which offer us a wealth of information on this topic. Some technical terms used in the text, such as the term μiσθápiov, show clearly that the author intends both to provide guidelines for the ideal bedside manners and to defend the repute of the physicians from the widespread charge of greed. In some regards, the author of the Praecepta depicts medicine as a 'liberal' art: the good physician disdains monetary gain as the main goal of his service, and aims to safeguard the social status and reputation of the medical profession. On the other hand, the author of the Praecepta enlightens his readers on the bad behaviour of both charlatan physicians and bad-mannered patients.

Pain might be a powerful diagnostic tool, but it is at the same time an intensely private and subjective experience that represents a formidable problem in the communication between physician and patient. Galen addresses (principally in De locis affectis) the problem of constructing a consistent and univocal terminology for different pain sensations, rejecting the system proposed earlier by Archigenes on the grounds that he relies on metaphorical descriptors which indiscriminately incorporate terms belonging to information generated by all the senses, fails to conform to patient testimony, and refers to ambiguous concepts. Galen sets himself the task of developing a system of proper or literal (kyrios) terms for pain sensations, even despite the apparent ineffability of certain sensations and laymen's imprecise self-analysis and description of their suffering. His pain vocabulary, developed through a combination of consensus between patients and physicians' expert descriptions of their own pain, promises to link terminology univocally to sensation, turning patients' testimony about their subjective experience of pain into universally applicable diagnostic guidance.

The majority of surviving ancient medical literature was written by medical practitioners and produced for the purpose of ensuring the effective diagnosis and treatment of their patients, suggesting an audience of medical professionals ranging from instructors to students. This has led historians to concentrate on the professional medical practitioner and their theories, methods and practices, rather than on lay medical practitioners, or even patients themselves. This chapter seeks to redress this imbalance, and examine the ancient literary and documentary evidence for lay medical theories, methods and practices in the Roman Republic and Empire in an attempt to reconstruct the experiences of lay medical practitioners and their patients. The Roman agricultural treatises of Cato, Varro and Columella, papyri and ostraca from Egypt, and tablets from Britain are investigated, and it is established that the individual's personal acquisition of knowledge and expertise, not only from medical professionals and works of medical literature, but also from family members and friends, and through trial and error, was considered fundamental to domestic medical practice.

Images of physicians, patients, and medical instruments were placed on Graeco-Roman funerary monuments, altars and fresco paintings. These representations are examined here to determine whether there existed a standard convention by which physicians were depicted in order that the lay and possibly illiterate viewers could identify what the scene represented. Greek physicians were frequently shown with cupping vessels, midwives were seen with birthing stools, while Roman physicians were often shown with various surgical implements. It is argued that the correlation between the types of objects depicted with the medical practitioner was deliberately made by the artist to signify the nature of medicine the individual practiced, so that the viewer could identify the role the practitioner had in their society.

This chapter looks from an early modernist's perspective at some of the major questions and methodological issues that writing the history of patients in the ancient world shares with similar work on Patientengeschichte in medieval and early modern Europe. It addresses, in particular, the problem of finding adequate sources that give access to the patients' experience of illness and medicine and highlights the potential as well as the limitations of using physicians' case histories for that purpose. It discusses the doctor-patient relationship as it emerges from these sources, and the impact of the patient's point of view on learned medical theory and practice. In conclusion, it pleads for a cautious and nuanced approach to the controversial issue of retrospective diagnosis, recommending that historians consistently ask in which contexts and in what way the application of modern diagnostic labels to pre-modern accounts of illness can truly contribute to a better historical understanding rather than distort it.

This chapter looks at the patient cases of the Epidemics as testimonies to the interaction between the physician and the patient. My corpus of reference is the patient cases in fifth- and early fourth-century medical texts, mostly the more elaborated examples offered by Epidemics 1 and 3. A patient case collects information from various sources: the patient's observable behavior and state; his or her account of her disease, its history and the patient's lifestyle; the contribution given by relatives and friends; and, of course, the physician with his judgment, his agenda, his terminology and didactic aims. What remains elusive and hidden is the viewpoint of the patient and his personal experience within, or under the authoritative report compiled by the physician. In this chapter, I survey key stylistic features of these reports, which I see as significant to the reconstruction of the point of view of the ill in his or her encounter with the doctor. My main aim is to extract from these texts as much as possible information about the experience of suffering and patienthood in antiquity. In my analysis I look at the text not only, and not primarily as a definitive pronouncement stemming from the physician's legislating mind, and from the material author's 'pen', nor observations from by-standers and helpers in the sick room, nor even as the plaintive cries from suffering patient, but as a composition in which all the principal actors in the drama of a sickness must contribute.

This article examines the role of Wilder Penfield's patients in early neurosurgeries for epilepsy at the Montreal Neurological Institute from the 1930s to 1950s. Shifting the focus from scientific discoveries that emerged as a result of Penfield's unprecedented "exploration" of the brain, this piece considers how patients contributed to the creation of such knowledge through their spoken feedback, both within and beyond the operating room. Correspondingly, it examines the personal and social contexts under which patients elected for surgery. Tracing an underexplored social history of Penfield's patients through more than sixty clinical records, it suggests that making knowledge about the brain was a multidirectional process in which patients meaningfully participated, and in which their experiences of epilepsy and motivations for surgery were significant.

In this article we explore how the Spanish written press--ABC, La Vanguardia, and Blanco y Negro--and the official newsreel No-Do, created and disseminated a narrative about heart transplantations at the end of the 1960s. We consider how Franco's regime used Christiaan Barnard's heart transplants to legitimize the Spanish dictatorship and as a means of signifying scientific progress, modernization and national pride. The Spanish press created the plot of the first transplantations like that of a television series, presenting daily installments on the patients' progress, dramatizing the stories and ensuring the public's emotional attachment. The three main characters in the story: donors, patients and surgeons, formed a symbolic, indivisible narrative triangle endowed with singular meaning. This Spanish narrative of organ transplant technology was deployed through what we have called "a tale of two countries", that, emulating the South African's success, constructed in Martínez-Bordiú, Franco's son-in-law, a home-grown, masculine scientific personality capable of performing heart surgery and endorsing Franco's investment in scientific modernization., (© The Author(s) 2013.)

This article examines the history of patients' behaviour since the middle of the 20(th) century. It describes a number of strategies that have served to encourage patients to exercise increasingly autonomous behaviour. The effect has been to instil a sense of agency in previously passive patients., (© 2013 The Author. Sociology of Health & Illness © 2013 Foundation for the Sociology of Health & Illness/John Wiley & Sons Ltd.)

Portraits of patients served many clinical functions in eighteenth-century medic John Hunter's medical practice. As incarnations of medical skills and medical knowledge, they helped Hunter understand his patients' problems. They could also bridge the physical absence of his patients, and so help him discuss cases at a distance with other members of the medical faculty. Moreover, portraits complemented text in his day-to-day practice; portraits were in no way an ancillary medium for Hunter, but rather a fundamental way of working. Meanwhile, the role of Hunter's assistants as medically trained artists complicates typical historical models of patient-practitioner interactions, and affects how patients were objectified by modes of looking and by art.

This article explores how and why the patient came to be repositioned as a political actor within British health care during the 1960s and 1970s. Focusing on the role played by patient organizations, it is suggested that the repositioning of the patient needs to be seen in the light of growing demands for greater patient autonomy and the application of consumerist principles to health. Examining the activities of two patient groups-the National Association for the Welfare of Children in Hospital (NAWCH) and the Patients Association (PA)-indicates that while such groups undoubtedly placed more emphasis on individual autonomy, collective concerns did not entirely fall away. The voices of patients, as well as the patient, continued to matter within British health care.

This paper takes as its focus one of the Edwardian period's most dramatic and little-understood paintings of a medical examination: George Washington Lambert's Chesham Street (1910). The painting shows an upper-class male patient lifting his shirt to reveal a muscular torso for examination by the doctor in the scene and the viewers outside it. The subject of a medical examination, I argue, legitimised the scrutiny of exposed male flesh and offered an opportunity for sensual pleasure between men. By way of a comparison with other portraits of the artist from around the same period, I interpret Chesham Street as a patient self-portrait, which reveals the artist's dual personalities of bohemian artist and Australian boxer: two personae that did not combine seamlessly, as revealed by the composite nature of the patient in Chesham Street. From a discussion of the artist as patient, I move to an analysis of other self-portraits by Lambert in which the artist is shown flexing his muscles, especially in the context of his passion for boxing. I consider how these portraits serve as complex inscriptions of illness and health and how this relates to the experience of living and working as an Australian expatriate artist in London in the early twentieth century.

Throughout history, the patient's dependency on the social group in which he or she happens to be born, has remained unchanged. The period in the 19th to the 20th century, during which the authority of physicians over patients grew markedly, seems to have passed. As in the classical period, a wealthy western patient is again able to choose the most suitable one from the healthcare service providers. Since the 18th century medicine and religion have diverged from each other in the life of a western patient. The decisive position of the medical industry towards the end of the 20th century is a new phenomenon in the history of patient.

The paper examines the appearance of "psychoanalytic psychical research" in interwar Britain, notably in the work of Nandor Fodor, Harry Price and others, including R. W. Pickford and Sylvia Payne. The varying responses of Sigmund Freud and Ernest Jones to the area of research are discussed. These researches are placed in the context of the increasingly widespread use of psychoanalytic and psychological interpretations of psychical events in the period, which in turn reflects the penetration of psychoanalysis into popular culture. The saturation of psychical research activity with gender and sexuality and the general fascination with, and embarrassment about, psychical activity is explored.

This essay explores new models of the citizen-patient by attending to the post-Revolutionary blind 'voice'. Voice, in both a literal and figurative sense, was central to the way in which members of the Hospice des Quinze-Vingts, an institution for the blind and partially sighted, interacted with those in the community. Musical voices had been used by members to collect alms and to project the particular spiritual principle of their institution since its foundation in the thirteenth century. At the time of the Revolution, the Quinze-Vingts voice was understood by some political authorities as an exemplary call of humanity. Yet many others perceived it as deeply threatening. After 1800, productive dialogue between those in political control and Quinze-Vingts blind members broke down. Authorities attempted to silence the voice of members through the control of blind musicians and institutional management. The Quinze-Vingts blind continued to reassert their voices until around 1850, providing a powerful form of resistance to political control. The blind 'voice' ultimately recognised the right of the citizen-patient to dialogue with their political carers.

This article on the first initiatives of social integration of the mentally ill, using the example of the Hôpital St-Jean-de-Dieu, explores the implementation of a period of deinstitutionalization in the early decades of the 20th century. Our study is situated in the recent historiography that offers a rereading of the period just prior to the Quiet Revolution in Quebec. We intend to contribute by demonstrating that the policies, strategies and practices of the Sisters of Providence and the psychiatrists of St-Jean-de-Dieu developed a system of deinstitutionalization that reintegrated patients into their family as early as the 1910s, half a century before the first wave of deinstitutionalization of the 1960s was orchestrated by the authors of the Bédard report.

Drawing on six months of ethnographic fieldwork in the main welfare office of the city of Buenos Aires, this article dissects poor people's lived experiences of waiting. The article examines the welfare office as a site of intense sociability amidst pervasive uncertainty. Poor people's waiting experiences persuade the destitute of the need to be patient, thus conveying the implicit state request to be compliant clients. An analysis of the sociocultural dynamics of waiting helps us understand how (and why) welfare clients become not citizens but patients of the state.

If placebos have been squeezed out of medicine to the point where their official place in in clinical trials designed to identify their own confounding effect, the placebo effect nevertheless thrives in psychotherapy. Not only does psychotherapy dispose of placebo effects that are less available to medicine as it becomes increasingly technological and preoccupied with body parts, but factors of the sort inhibiting the use of placebos in medicine have no equivalent in psychology. Medicine today is disturbed by the placebo effect in a way psychotherapy is not. Psychotherapy does not have to grapple with such a disconcerting paradox as successful sham surgery, and unlike those physicians who once pretended to treat the patient's body while actually attempting to treat the mind, the psychotherapist can treat the mind in all frankness. Perhaps it is because psychotherapy is less burdened by doubts about the placebo effect that it was able to come to its aid when it was orphaned by medicine. It is vain to expect something with so long a history as the placebo effect to disappear from the practices of healing.

This article shows how poor people living with HIV/AIDS in Tanzania navigate a myriad of actors, agencies and organizations to obtain the aid they need to survive. It focuses on community-based organizations which establish networks of care through which people obtain care, treatment and financial support. A case study of a roadside town in Tanzania illustrates that these community-based networks of care — essential to the survival of many — are partly the product of the AIDS industry, which encourages the establishment of community-based organizations and voluntary service delivery rather than more formalized systems of care. Community-based organizations, however, are so poorly supported that they often deploy self-destructive strategies. The need to strategically navigate the AIDS industry creates tension and even conflict among HIV-positive activists, the people they represent and the wider community, which undermines rather than strengthens community-based interventions. Whilst the AIDS industry promises inclusion of HIV-positive people in the response to HIV/AIDS, it succeeds only partially, with the result that it may potentially do more harm than good.

Sigmund Freud's five long case histories have been the focus of seemingly endless fascination and criticism. This article examines how the long case-history genre developed and its impact on the professionalization of psychoanalysis. It argues that the long case histories, using a distinctive form that highlighted the peculiarities of psychoanalytic theory, served as exemplars in the discipline. In doing so, the article extends John Forrester's work on "thinking in cases" to show the practical implications of that style of reasoning. The article illustrates how the form disappeared once the theoretical basis of the movement was set. The genre never became institutionalized, although the content of the five long case histories did, because of Freud's accepted role as theoretician of psychoanalysis.

Through analysis of the French experience, this article explores the way economic policy has sought to encourage active, well-informed patients by giving them market power. The new status of the patient as consumer is based on two foundations: the endeavour to build a healthcare market and the activation of demand-based policies. The keystone of this new system is a conception of the market as a process constructed by economic policy. Recent measures such as the standardization of care and the introduction of incentives to respect a treatment pathway then constitute effective levers to establish a free-market rationale.

Defined as a set of distinct processes that included the declining use of large psychiatric institutions and the increasing use of outpatient services and general hospitals, deinstitutionalization occurred earlier in Saskatchewan than other provinces in Canada. It was led by a CCF government dedicated to major change across a number of sectors including mental health, assisted by one of the most influential and well-organized social movement organizations of the 1950s, the Saskatchewan Division of the Canadian Mental Health Association (SCMHA). However, by the late 1950s and early 1960s, the SCMHA opposed the CCF government's policy priority on medicare which it felt came at the expense of mental health care, in particular the implementation of a regional psychiatric hospital system called the Saskatchewan Plan. As a consequence, the SCMHA, once such a powerful ally of the CCF government in health reform, formed a strategic and temporary coalition with the anti-medicare forces in the province. Given the fact that a number of medical staff within the government's department of public health were prominent members of the SCMHA, the CCF government found that it occupied an increasingly divided house at the very time it was struggling to introduce medicare in the midst of civil unrest and a doctors' strike.

Whereas traditional social and health histories have viewed the garments of early modern patients accessing hospital care as evidence of their poverty, this article reinterprets the meaning of patient clothing in the context of a venereal disease hospital in Toledo, Spain, in the seventeenth century. Patients carefully selected what they wore as they entered the hospital to produce certain effects on local audiences. Thus, these choices can be understood as body scripts meant to be read in certain ways rather than mere reflections of actual social status. In a context of gendered and social pressures associated with women's sexuality, female syphilitic patients wore garments meant to emphasize respectability and thereby avoid a loss of reputation.

During late 1951 and early 1952, married couple, social biologist Elaine Cumming and psychiatrist John Cumming, led a mental health education experiment in Indian Head, Saskatchewan. The study, which was intended to inform strategies toward deinstitutionalization, sought to determine if attitudes regarding mental illness could be changed through commonly used educational practices. It was shaped by the shared interests of powerful philanthropic, charitable, psychiatric, academic and governmental bodies to create healthier citizens and a stronger democratic nation through expert knowledge. However, in addition to the disappointing findings indicating that attitudes remained unchanged, the town appeared to close ranks against the research team. Nonetheless, the Cummings' later association with sociologists at Harvard University enabled them to interpret the results in a way that lent the study credibility and themselves legitimacy, thus opening the door to their careers as very successful researchers and policy-makers.

Electronic medical records (EMRs) facilitate fast and accurate access to patient records, which could improve diagnosis and patient monitoring. Using a 12-year county-level panel, we find that a 10 percent increase in births that occur in hospitals with EMRs reduces neonatal mortality by 16 deaths per 100,000 live births. This is driven by a reduction of deaths from conditions requiring careful monitoring. We also find a strong decrease in mortality when we instrument for EMR adoption using variation in state medical privacy laws. Rough cost-effectiveness calculations suggest that EMRs are associated with a cost of $531,000 per baby’s life saved.

This article offers a glimpse into the lives and activities of some of the patients, volunteers and staff in the Saskatchewan mental health system during the period of deinstitutionalization. Drawing on her own experience as a patient in psychiatric wards as well as ongoing research in the history of mental health, it features the role of Regina Volunteer Visitors in Saskatchewan Hospital, Weyburn and examines the importance of occupational and recreational therapies and activities in improving the lives of the patients in that institution. It emphasizes the perspectives of patients and volunteers who actively worked to develop recreational activities, with the intention of helping individuals connect with the surrounding communities. The views and perspectives presented here are drawn from a variety of historical and oral interview sources, including views from visitors to the asylum and patients who lived within its walls. The author has also been a consumer of mental health services, and spent time in the Provincial Mental Hospital in North Battleford. The article therefore makes an important contribution to enhancing our understanding of the social history of deinstitutionalization, not only for its unique source base, but also because those sources have been examined and explained to readers through the perspectives of a former patient herself. This article draws significant attention to the changing opportunities for patients as they interacted with the women's volunteer groups, as well as to how the changes brought about by the encroaching deinstitutionalization, care in the community, and decisions from "above" affected the individuals on the ground.

Psychiatry opens to the world at a time when the very basis of psychiatric practice, namely the asylum, is called into question. Studies appear in Quebec and Canadian journals concurrent to the introduction of new formulas for care, such as the delivery of psychiatric services in general hospitals and clinics, that allow patients to be treated outside the walls of psychiatric hospitals. In addition, postwar psychiatry takes an optimistic view toward the future of children with impairments through the creation of specialized schools and workshops. From the mid-20th century onward, the thinking in psychiatry centres on the open door.