The Wandering Womb: Female Hysteria through the Ages

Hysteriaa

The word “hysteria” conjures up an array of images, none of which probably include a nomadic uterus wandering aimlessly around the female body. Yet that is precisely what medical practitioners in the past believed was the cause behind this mysterious disorder. The very word “hysteria” comes from the Greek word hystera, meaning “womb,” and arises from medical misunderstandings of basic female anatomy.

Today, hysteria is regarded as a physical expression of a mental conflict and can affect anyone regardless of age or gender. [1] Centuries ago, however, it was attributed only to women, and believed to be physiological (not psychological) in nature.

enhanced-1129-1458094853-1For instance, Plato believed that the womb—especially one which was barren—could become vexed and begin wandering throughout the body, blocking respiratory channels causing bizarre behavior. [2] This belief was ubiquitous in ancient Greece. The physician Aretaeus of Cappadocia went so far as to consider the womb “an animal within an animal,” an organ that “moved of itself hither and thither in the flanks.” [3] The uterus could move upwards, downwards, left or right. It could even collide with the liver or spleen. Depending on its direction, a wandering womb could cause all kinds of hell. One that traveled upwards might cause sluggishness, lack of strength, and vertigo in a patient; while a womb that moved downwards could cause a person to feel as if she were choking. So worrisome was the prospect of a wandering womb during this period, that some women wore amulets to protect themselves against it. [4]

The womb continued to hold a mystical place in medical text for centuries, and was often used to explain away an array of female complaints. The 17th-century physician William Harvey, famed for his theories on the circulation of the blood around the heart, perpetuated the belief that women were slaves to their own biology. He described the uterus as “insatiable, ferocious, animal-like,” and drew parallels between “bitches in heat and hysterical women.” [5] When a woman named Mary Glover accused her neighbor Elizabeth Jackson of cursing her in 1602, the physician Edward Jorden argued that the erratic behavior that drove Mary to make such an accusation was actually caused by noxious vapors in her womb, which he believed were slowly suffocating her. (The courts disagreed and Elizabeth Jackson was executed for witchcraft shortly thereafter.)

So what could be done for hysteria in the past?

e789fb4fb909b2a53918eb9a18b08db3Physicians prescribed all kinds of treatments for a wayward womb. These included sweet-smelling vaginal suppositories and fumigations used to tempt the uterus back to its rightful place. The Greek physician Atreaus wrote that the womb “delights…in fragrant smells and advances towards them; and it has an aversion to foetid smells, and flees from them.” Women were also advised to ingest disgusting substances—sometimes containing repulsive ingredients such as human or animal excrement—in order to coax the womb away from the lungs and heart. In some cases, physical force was used to correct the position of a wandering womb (see image, right). For the single woman suffering from hysteria, the cure was simple: marriage, followed by children. Lots and lots of children.

Today, wombs are no longer thought to wander; however, medicine still tends to pathologize the vagaries of the female reproductive system. [6] Over the course of several thousand years, the womb has become less of a way to explain physician ailments, and more of a way to explain psychological disfunction—often being cited as the reason behind irrationality and mood swings in women. Has the ever-elusive hysteria brought on by roving uteri simply been replaced by the equally intangible yet mysterious PMS? I’ll let you decide.

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You can now pre-order my book THE BUTCHERING ART by clicking here. THE BUTCHERING ART follows the story of Joseph Lister as he attempts to revolutionize the brutal world of Victorian surgery through antisepsis. Pre-orders are incredibly helpful to new authors. Info on how to order foreign editions coming soon. Your support is greatly appreciated. 

 

 

1. Mark J Adair, “Plato’s View of the ‘Wandering Uterus,’” The Classical Journal 91:2 (1996), p. 153.
2. G. S. Rousseau, “‘A Strange Pathology:’ Hysteria in the Early Modern World, 1500-1800” in Hysteria Beyond Freud (1993), p.104. Originally qtd in Heather Meek, “Of Wandering Wombs and Wrongs of Women: Evolving Concepts of Hysteria in the Age of Reason,” English Studies in Canada 35:2-3 (June/September 2009), p.109.
3. Quoted in Matt Simon, “Fantastically Wrong: The Theory of the Wandering Wombs that Drove Women to Madness,” Wired (7 May 2014).
4. Robert K. Ritner, “A Uterine Amulet in the Oriental Institute Collection,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 45:3 (Jul. 1984), pp.209-221. For more on the fascinating subject of magical amulets, see Tom Blaen, Medical Jewels, Magical Gems: Precious Stones in Early Modern Britain (2012).
5. Rousseau, “A Strange Pathology,” p. 132.
6. Mary Lefkowitz, “Medical Notes: The Wandering Womb,” The New Yorker (26 February 1996).

Houses of Death: Walking the Wards of a Victorian Hospital

9deb7918e7e1d5281d6cfba4eafb711dThe following blog post relates to my forthcoming book THE BUTCHERING ART, which you can pre-order here

Today, we think of the hospital as an exemplar of sanitation. However, during the first half of the nineteenth century, hospitals were anything but hygienic. They were breeding grounds for infection and provided only the most primitive facilities for the sick and dying, many of whom were housed on wards with little ventilation or access to clean water. As a result of this squalor, hospitals became known as “Houses of Death.”

L0059152 Trade card for a 'Bug Destroyer' Andrew Cooke, LondonThe best that can be said about Victorian hospitals is that they were a slight improvement over their Georgian predecessors. That’s hardly a ringing endorsement when one considers that a hospital’s “Chief Bug-Catcher”—whose job it was to rid the mattresses of lice—was paid more than its surgeons in the eighteenth century. In fact, bed bugs were so common that the “Bug Destroyer” Andrew Cooke [see image, left] claimed to have cleared upwards of 20,000 beds of insects during the course of his career.[1]

In spite of token efforts to make them cleaner, most hospitals remained overcrowded, grimy, and poorly managed. The assistant surgeon at St. Thomas’s Hospital in London was expected to examine over 200 patients in a single day. The sick often languished in filth for long periods before they received medical attention, because most hospitals were disastrously understaffed. In 1825, visitors to St. George’s Hospital discovered mushrooms and wriggling maggots thriving in the damp, soiled sheets of a patient with a compound fracture. The afflicted man, believing this to be the norm, had not complained about the conditions, nor had any of his fellow convalescents thought the squalor especially noteworthy.[2]

Worst of all was the fact that a sickening odor permeated every hospital ward. The air was thick with the stench of piss, shit, and vomit. The smell was so offensive that the staff sometimes walked around with handkerchiefs pressed to their noses. Doctors didn’t exactly smell like rose beds, either. Berkeley Moynihan—one of the first surgeons in England to use rubber gloves—recalled how he and his colleagues used to throw off their own jackets when entering the operating theater and don ancient frocks that were often stiff with dried blood and pus. They had belonged to retired members of staff and were worn as badges of honor by their proud successors, as were many items of surgical clothing.

llanionmilitaryhospitalmoreThe operating theaters within these hospitals were just as dirty as the surgeons working in them. In the early decades of the nineteenth century, it was safer to have surgery at home than it was in a hospital, where mortality rates were three to five times higher than they were in domestic settings. Those who went under the knife did so as a last resort, and so were usually mortally ill. Very few surgical patients recovered without incident. Many either died or fought their way back to only partial health. Those unlucky enough to find themselves hospitalized during this period would frequently fall prey to a host of infections, most of which were fatal in a pre-antibiotic era.

419c2b28d1b137197a21298b24a604c0In addition to the foul smells, fear permeated the atmosphere of the Victorian hospital. The surgeon John Bell wrote that it was easy to imagine the mental anguish of the hospital patient awaiting surgery. He would hear regularly “the cries of those under operation which he is preparing to undergo,” and see his “fellow-sufferer conveyed to that scene of trial,” only to be “carried back in solemnity and silence to his bed.” Lastly, he was subjected to the sound of their dying groans as they suffered the final throes of what was almost certainly their end.[3]

As horrible as these hospitals were, it was not easy gaining entry to one. Throughout the nineteenth century, almost all the hospitals in London except the Royal Free controlled inpatient admission through a system of ticketing. One could obtain a ticket from one of the hospital’s “subscribers,” who had paid an annual fee in exchange for the right to recommend patients to the hospital and vote in elections of medical staff. Securing a ticket required tireless soliciting on the part of potential patients, who might spend days waiting and calling on the servants of subscribers and begging their way into the hospital. Some hospitals only admitted patients who brought with them money to cover their almost inevitable burial. Others, like St. Thomas’ in London, charged double if the person in question was deemed “foul” by the admissions officer.[4]

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Before germs and antisepsis were fully understood, remedies for hospital squalor were hard to come by. The obstetrician James Y. Simpson suggested an almost-fatalistic approach to the problem. If cross-contamination could not be controlled, he argued, then hospitals should be periodically destroyed and built anew. Another surgeon voiced a similar view. “Once a hospital has become incurably pyemia-stricken, it is impossible to disinfect it by any known hygienic means, as it would to disinfect an old cheese of the maggots which have been generated in it,” he wrote. There was only one solution: the wholesale “demolition of the infected fabric.”[5]

fitzharris_butcheringart_021417It wasn’t until a young surgeon named Joseph Lister developed the concept of antisepsis in the 1860s that hospitals became places of healing rather than places of death.

To read more about 19th-century hospitals and Joseph Lister’s antiseptic revolution, pre-order my book THE BUTCHERING ART by clicking here. Pre-orders are incredibly helpful to new authors . Info on how to order foreign editions coming soon. Your support is greatly appreciated. 

 

1. Adrian Teal, The Gin Lane Gazette (London: Unbound, 2014).
2. F. B. Smith, The People’s Health 1830-1910 (London: Croom Helm, 1979), 262.
3. John Bell, The Principles of Surgery, Vol. III (1808), 293.
4. Elisabeth Bennion, Antique Medical Instruments (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), 13.
5. John Eric Erichsen, On Hospitalism and the Causes of Death after Operations (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1874), 98.

Pre-Order My Book! The Butchering Art

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I’m thrilled to reveal the cover for the US edition of my forthcoming book, THE BUTCHERING ART, which will be published by FSG on October 17th.

The book delves into the grisly world of Victorian surgery and transports the reader to a period when a broken leg could result in amputation, when giving birth in a squalid hospital was extraordinarily dangerous, and when a minor injury could lead to a miserable death. Surgeons—lauded for their brute strength and quick knives—rarely washed their hands or their instruments, and carried with them a cadaverous smell of rotting flesh, which those in the profession cheerfully referred to as “good old hospital stink.” At a time when surgery couldn’t have been more dangerous, an unlikely figure stepped forward: Joseph Lister, a young, melancholic Quaker surgeon. By making the audacious claim that germs were the source of all infection—and could be treated with antiseptics—he changed the history of surgery forever.

Many of you have been devoted readers of my blog since its inception in 2010, and I can’t thank you enough for your continued interest in my work. Writing a book has been the next logical step for a very long time. The idea of telling this particular story arose during a very difficult period in my life when my writing career was at risk. It is therefore with great pride (and some trepidation) that I am turning this book loose into the world, and humbly ask you to consider pre-ordering it. All pre-orders count towards first-week sales once THE BUTCHERING ART is released, and therefore give me a greater chance of securing a place on bestseller lists in October. I would be hugely grateful for your support.

Pre-order from any one of these vendors using the links below:

*Please note that THE BUTCHERING ART will also be published by Penguin in the United Kingdom, as well as several other publishers around the world. I’ll be revealing covers for these foreign editions in the coming months, along with information on where to buy a copy.

“Limbs Not Yet Rigid” – A History of Dissecting the Living

L0031335 The dead alive! H. Wigstead 1784

Several years ago, the news reported a story that could have come straight from the script of a horror movie. In October 2009, Colleen S. Burns was admitted to St Joseph’s Hospital Center in New York for a drug overdose. A short time later, a team of doctors pronounced the 39-year-old woman dead. Her family was notified and Burns’s body was prepped for organ donation.

The only problem was: Burns wasn’t actually dead.

She was in a drug-induced coma. Fortunately for her, she woke minutes before the first incision was made. Happily, occurrences such as this are few and far between these days. Yet in the past, incidences of premature dissection were not uncommon.

In 1746, Jacques-Bénigne Winslow wrote: “Tho’ Death, at some Time or other, is the necessary and unavoidable Portion of Human Nature in its present Condition, yet it is not always certain, that Persons taken for dead are really and irretrievably deprived of Life.” Indeed, the Danish anatomist went on to claim that it was “evident from Experience” that those thought to be dead have proven otherwise “by rising from their Shrowds [sic], their Coffins, and even from their Graves.” [1]

DA3Fears over premature burial were ubiquitous during this period, so much so that people created “life preserving coffins” with bells and breathing tubes attached. But even worse than being buried alive was the thought of being dissected alive. The threat was real, and it happened often enough to be commented on in contemporary literature with some frequency.

The 17th and 18th centuries were rife with stories about executed criminals who had “returned from the dead” just moments before being dissected. In 1651, Anne Green was hanged in Oxford for infanticide. For thirty minutes, she dangled at the end of the noose while her friends thumped her chest and put “their weight upon her leggs [sic]…lifting her up and then pulling her downe againe with a suddain jerke” in order to quicken her death. Afterwards, her body was cut down from the gallows and brought to Drs Thomas Willis and William Petty to be dissected. Just seconds before Willis plunged the knife into her sternum, Anne miraculously awoke. [2]

The 19th century had its fair share of incidences too. The physician and surgeon, Sir Robert Christison, complained that dissection in St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London was “apt to be performed with indecent, sometimes with dangerous haste” during this period. He remembered:

…an occasion when [William] Cullen commenced the dissection of a man who died on hour before, and when fluid blood gushed in abundance from the first incision through the skin…Instantly I seized his wrist in great alarm, and arrested his progress; nor was I easily persuaded to let him go on, when I saw the blood coagulate on the table exactly like living blood.

He further remarked: “It was no uncommon occurrence that, when the operator proceeded with his work, the body was sensibly warm, the limbs not yet rigid, the blood in the great vessels fluid and coagulable [sic].” [3]

M0008887 An aged anatomist selecting his dissection instrument whilst

The problem wasn’t contained to Britain alone. The French physician — Pierre Charles Alexandre Louis — reported the story of a patient who had been placed in his dissection room at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris. The next morning, the doctor’s colleagues informed him that they had heard moans in the locked theater overnight. When Louis went to check it out, he found “to his horror that the supposed corpse had revived during the night, and had actually died in the struggle to disengage herself from the winding sheet in which she was enveloped.” [4]

It was largely because of reports like this that anatomists, themselves, worried about the precise moment of death when cutting open bodies. To avoid disaster, good old Winslow suggested that a person’s gums be rubbed with caustic substances, and that the body be “stimulate[d]…with Whips and Nettles” before being dissected. Furthermore, the anatomist should “irritate his Intestines by Means of Clysters and Injections of Air or Smoke” as well as “agitate… the Limbs by violent Extensions and Inflexions.” If possible, an attempt should also be made to “shock [the person’s] Ears by hideous Shrieks and excessive Noises.” [5]

To our modern sensibilities, these measures may seem extreme, even comical, but to Winslow, this was no laughing matter. In fact, he went even further, recommending that the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet be pricked with needles, and that the “Scapulae, Shoulders and Arms” be scarified using fire or sharp instruments so as to “lacerate and strip [them] of the epidermis.” Indeed, when reading Winslow’s work, one gets the innate feeling that he took pleasure in imaging new ways to torture the dead.

Today, new debates have arisen over the very definition of death itself with the emergence of “beating heart cadavers.” Though considered dead in both a medical and legal capacity, these “cadavers” are kept on ventilators for organ and tissue transplantation. Their hearts beat; they expel waste; they have the ability to heal themselves of infection; they can even carry a fetus to term. Crucially, though, their brains are no longer functioning. It is in this way that the medical community has redefined death in the 21st century.

Yet, some wonder whether these “beating heart cadavers” are really dead, or whether they are just straddling the great divide between life and death before the finally lights go out. Or, worse, have been misdiagnosed, as in the case of Colleen Burns.

If you enjoy my blog, please consider supporting my content by clicking HERE.

1. Jacques-Bénigne Winslow, The Uncertainty of the Signs of Death, and the Danger of Precipitate Interments and Dissections (1746), pp. 1-2.
2. Anon., A declaration from Oxford, of Anne Green a young woman that was lately, and unjustly hanged in the Castle-yard; but since recovered (London, 1651), p. 2.
3. R. Christison, The Life of Sir Robert Christison (1885-6), pp. 192-3. Originally quoted in Ruth Richardson, Death, Dissection and the Destitute (2000), p. 98.
4. Ibid.
5. Winslow, The Uncertainty of the Signs of Death, p. 2.

“Our Changing Attitudes Towards Death” – in THE GUARDIAN

 

D10My article on the history of our ever-changing attitudes towards death is out in The Guardian today, featuring fascinating photos by Dr. Paul Koudounaris of the Ma’nene Festival of Corpses in Indonesia. Big thanks to Caitlin Doughty and Dr. John Troyer for sharing their thoughts on the future of death with me for this article. Check it out by clicking HERE.

The Mad Dogs of London: A Tale of Rabies

 

L0048997 A mad dog on the run in a London street: citizens attack it

There was panic on the streets of London in 1760, and the city’s newspapers weren’t helping the situation. Hundreds of column inches, for week upon week, were full of terrifying reports about an outbreak of attacks by rabid dogs. Armchair experts even wrote letters to newspaper editors offering advice and hypotheses on the causes and prevention of rabies (or “hydrophobia” as contemporaries called it).

Rumor fueled the journalistic fire, and the scare stories came in thick and fast. The London Chronicle was just one of many newspapers that reported the following representative sample of  incidents.

MD5A rabid dog bit a child on the hand in the Strand, and her parents had her arm immediately cut off to prevent the infection spreading, but the unfortunate girl expired soon after, in great agony.

One Sunday morning, a William Hambly of Deptford was getting into his coach, when he was bitten by a “mad dog,” which had come running down But Lane from London Road. The alarm was raised, and the dog was soon hunted down and shot.

A nine-year-old girl of Virginia Street, Wapping, was bitten by a puppy. Shortly afterwards she began to show signs of madness, and her parents were obliged to tie her down to her bed. It was reported that a few days later he raved and barked like a dog.

The son of a ticket porter of Thames Street was also savaged by a stray mutt, but as there appeared to be no subsequent signs of madness about him, his death a while after the attack was attributed to fright rather than to the wound itself. Another report stated that a mad dog had bitten three other dogs in Islington, and also two cows belonging to a Mr. Pullein. [1]

M0009276 Man being bitten by a mad dog

Such stories unnerved the people of Georgian London, and not without good reason. Even today, rabies is the most deadly virus on earth—more so than Ebola—with nearly a 100 percent mortality rate in the unvaccinated. Since ancient times, it had been recognized that the virus was contracted via an animal bite. In 300 B.C., Aristotle wrote that “Rabies makes the animal mad… It is fatal to the dog itself, and to any animal it bites.” Pliny the Elder also recognized this mode of transmission, but added that dogs could become rabid by tasting the menstrual blood of a woman. [2] (Seems legit).

The first mention of rabies in Britain dates back to 1026 A.D. A Welshman named Howel Dda reported that numerous dogs were suffering from the “madness.” As a result, a law was enacted in Wales that called for the killing of any dog suspected of having rabies. In addition to preventative measures, doctors ofered a multitude of suggestions for how to cure the virus once a person contracted it. These included various herbal remedies such as Scutellaria lateriflora, also known as  Mad-dog Skullcap (a member of the mint family); and cauterizing the wound with a hot iron. [3]

It wasn’t until the 18th century, however, that large outbreaks of rabies began to occur in Britain. With public alarm at fever pitch in 1760, London’s Common Council decided it was time for a radical solution. On August 26th, the Council issued an order that a bounty of 2 shillings should be paid to public-spirited Londoners for any stray dog killed. As a consequence, boys, apprentices, and nefarious youths started going about the city carrying clubs and cudgels, with the intention of butchering numberless dogs. Their bloodied and battered carcasses were tossed in ditches in Moorfields. The Gentleman’s Magazine reported that “No less than the bodies of thirty dead dogs were told in one day…by a person of undoubted veracity, who was only casually passing by that way.” [4]

L0009996 Rabies: Slaying a mad dog

The Council’s actions were condemned by many animal lovers as licensed cruelty. The Gentleman’s Magazine added their concern: “not one in a thousand [of these dead dogs] will be mad…Those who make it a revenue to kill the dogs will carefully avoid meddling with any that have bad symptoms, from the dread of the consequences.” [5] One famous name was dragged into the debate about the rights and wrongs of the dog cull. Renowned pug-owner William Hogarth, doyen of satirical engravings, had his own art-form turned against him by the caricaturists, who showed him in a print entitled, The Dog killers of London & Westminster or licenc’d Cruelty 1760. Surrounded by men beating strays to death in the street, the distraught Hogarth laments, “Oh! My poor Pugg. Oh! My little Dog.”

The rabies outbreak lasted three years. Eventually, the infected dogs died out or were killed, and calm was restored to the city. It would take another 125 years before Louis Pasteur would create a vaccination for the deadly virus and test it on 9-year-old Joseph Mesiter. But that, dear reader, is a subject for another blog post.

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1. I am hugely indebted to Adrian Teal and his fantastic book, The Gin Lane Gazette, for the 18th century stories cited in this article. Also, see The London Chronicle (August 1760) for similar tales.
2. Both Aristotle and Pliny were quoted in Arthur A. King, Historical Perspective of Rabies in Europe and the Mediterranean Basin (Paris, 2004). This book can be found online. It has a lot of detailed information about historical perceptions of rabies. Another great (digestible) article on the subject is by Lisa Smith, “The Problem of Mad Dogs in the Eighteenth Century,” The Sloane Letters Blog (27 January 2014).
3. Mike Rendell, “Rabies in the Eighteenth Century,” Georgian Gentleman (5 July 2012); and G. Fleming, Rabies and Hydrophobia. Their history, nature, causes, symptoms and prevention (London: Chapman and Hall, 1872), 405.
4. The Gentleman’s Magazine (August 1760). A compilation of this magazine from this period can be found here.
5. Ibid.

“The Queen’s Big Belly:” The Phantom Pregnancy of Mary I

M1On 30 April 1555, the people of London took to the streets in celebration as bells ringing out around the city announced that Mary I, Queen of England, had been safely delivered of a healthy son. A preacher proclaimed to gatherers that no one had ever seen such a beautiful prince. News spread quickly to the continent, and letters of congratulation to the royal family began pouring in from Europe.

There was just one problem: Mary hadn’t given birth. In fact, there was no baby at all. What was initially hailed as a royal pregnancy ended in devastation and embarrassment for the Tudor Queen several months later.

Rumors began circulating about the pregnancy shortly after the Queen’s wedding to Philip II of Spain, in September 1554. Mary, who was by then 37-years-old, had reportedly stopped menstruating. Over the coming months, her belly expanded and her doctors attended to her morning sickness. The Queen—thoroughly convinced of the legitimacy of her pregnancy—ordered a royal nursery prepared in anticipation of the arrival of an heir that spring. Letters that would announce the birth of the prince or princess were primed and ready to be sent out at a day’s notice [Elizabeth I’s birth announcement below]. Only the dates and sex of the child needed filling in.

M4

The months ticked by. In June, the Queen issued a statement claiming that God would not allow her child to be born until all Protestant dissenters were punished. Mary—who had already burned countless heretics at the stake since coming to the throne the previous year— began another round of executions in a desperate attempt to induce labor. During this time, the court grew suspicious of the Queen’s condition. Giovanni Michieli, the Venetian ambassador, wrote that Mary’s pregnancy was more likely to “end in wind rather than anything else.”

By August it was clear that there would be no baby, and Mary finally emerged from her confinement, humiliated and defeated. Her belly was once again flat. Her body showed none of the signs that had led to the pregnancy being announced. Her political rivals rejoiced, believing this to be a sign of divine retribution.

L0005249 Foetus in womb.Conspiracy theories erupted immediately. Many people were convinced that Mary was ill. Others believed she had miscarried and simply couldn’t face the truth. Some even went so far as to claim that the barren Queen had been planning to smuggle a baby boy into the court but that the plan had fallen apart. A few wondered if Mary was even still alive. Whatever had happened, however, one thing was clear: Mary seemed to truly believe she had been pregnant.

Pseudocyesis, or phantom pregnancy, was a condition recognized by medical practitioners in the Tudor period. The physician William Harvey—best known for his discovery of the circulation of the blood around the heart—recorded several cases of phantom pregnancies which he had encountered in his practice during the 16th century. Most, he said, ended in “flatulency and fatness.” While many doctors like Harvey believed these phantom pregnancies were the product of trapped wind or the build-up of some kind of matter in the uterus, some thought they were the direct result of wishful thinking on the part of the expectant mother. Guillaume Mauqeust de la Motte referred to aging women, like Mary, who “have such an aversion for old-age, that they had rather believe themselves with child, than to confess they are growing old.”

Although it may seem astonishing today that a woman could falsely believe herself to be pregnant for a full nine months, we must remember that Mary lived during a time when there were no certain ways of determining pregnancy. This wasn’t helped by the fact that throughout her adolescence, Mary had also suffered from extremely painful and unpredictable periods that often left her incapacitated for weeks on end. Wildly fluctuating hormones may have been the cause of her halted menstruation in 1554, which naturally the Queen and her doctors took to be a sign of pregnancy.

M2 (1)

Upon hearing the news, Mary’s husband left England to prosecute a war against France. When he returned to his wife’s side two years later, he brought with him his mistress. It was at this time that the Queen suffered yet another phantom pregnancy—perhaps brought on by grief from her failing marriage and inability to bear children to date. This second incident, however, led many to believe she had a tumor growing in her womb. What else could cause Mary’s belly to grow as big as it would if she were carrying a royal heir?

Sadly, Mary died childless shortly after this second phantom pregnancy. She had been Queen for only four years. Those who embalmed her body and prepared it for burial found no indication of a tumor, or any other explanation for her false pregnancies, which were a source of such deep sadness for Mary in her lifetime.

If you enjoy my blog, please consider supporting my content by clicking HERE.

Suggested Reading:

Levin, Carole. “Mary I’s Phantom Pregnancy.” History Extra (12 May 2015).

Levin, Carole, Barrett-Graves, D., Carney, J. (Eds.) High and Mighty Queens of Early Modern England: Realities and Representations (2003).

Rosenhek, Jackie. “An Heir-Raising Experience.” The Doctors Review (August 2013).