Magic Drug in Stomach

Maladies

Contributed by R.S., a resident of French Oceania.

AN article in “The Readers’ Digest,” 6f October, 1942, under the title of “Stomach Ulcer —Wound Stripe of Civilisation,” says in its opening para graph : “Of all the major organs, the stomach is the least glamorous. It has none of the mystery of the brain or the drama of the heart. It is a vulgar member, the source of indelicate noises, the butt of coarse jests. However, stomach mala dies —especially ulcers —are not consid ered humorous by those suffering from them, and these maladies have been steadily increasing. During the recent years of foreign and domestic tension they have jumped to a record high.”

The above remarks give scanty com fort to the multitude of sufferers from this distressing and debilitating com plaint. The present writer suffered many years from acidosis, indigestion, stomach ulcers, or what have you, has fasted and dieted, scoffed pills and potions, but in the last resort he returned to bicarbonate, or a combina tion of antacids, soda, chalk, bismuth, etc.

With the advent of the miracle drug Sulfanilamide, the writer used it on wounds and tropical sores (so difficult of healing) with remarkable results. So it was logical to assume that it would be equally efficacious inside the stomach, with added advantage bv way of the blood stream and the surfaces.

After two years the result is even more than was hoped for. During this period, except for two or three onslaughts of the malady (which a few tablets of the magic drug quickly dispelled) the writer has forgotten all his dieting fads and can enjoy a square meal without fear of later discomfort.

The dose recommended would be two tablets a day—one in the morning and one in the evening, at meal time—with the addition of a little bicarbonate of soda in water (to preserve the alkali balance) for about three days.

It may be of interest to farmers to know that this same medicine has cured calves and chickens of white diarrhoea.

Truly, it is a wonderful dope!

Safe—But No Whisky

MR. and Mrs. C. I. H. Campbell, who were among those who recently made their escape from Bougain ville in an American submarine, are now in Sydney and looking remarkably well in spite of their adventures of the past year.

Mrs. Campbell is inquiring patiently whether there are any bottles of whisky for sale in Australia—not because they care two hoots for whisky, in the ordinary course of events, but in order to turn dreams into reality. As they waited and watched and perpetually wondered when, or if, they would ever get off their plan tation, they doled out their last precious bottle of spirits in thimblefulls, and they vowed that if ever they got “South” again they would buy bottles of whisky in quan tity—just to gloat over it, certain in the knowledge that they could drink it in beaker-fulls if it so pleased them, and as tangible proof that they actually had arrived.

However, whisky is just another of those things that* have disappeared from the Australian market, and the Campbells, although safe and well, are no nearer whisky in buying distance than they were in Bougainville.