Leonard Trask: The Wonderful Invalid
The First American Description of Ankylosing Spondylitis
I have waited a long time to add this Face to the website, 6 years, 2 months and 24 days to be exact.
The reason I chose this number to honor him is because in 1858 a book titled A Brief Historical Sketch of the Life and Sufferings of Leonard Trask The Wonderful Invalid was printed and published by David Tucker. It eventually became the official first written documented case of Ankylosing Spondylitis in the United States of America.
In my research about Ankylosing Spondylitis many years ago I came across the information about Mr. Trask who was called the Wonderful Invalid.
I ordered his book and read it within an hour, a lifetime of suffering and devastation documented in 48 pages, it was both inspiring and heartbreaking to me.
This is a small part taken from the original book:
In 1858, David Tucker published a small booklet which clearly described a patient by the name of Leonard Trask who suffered from severe spinal deformity subsequent to AS.$[10]$ In 1833 Trask fell from horse exacerbating the condition and resulting in severe deformity. Tucker reported that “it was not until he [Trask] had exercised for some time that he could perform any labor” and that “his neck and back have continued to curve drawing his head downward on his breast”, evidence of inflammatory disease characteristics of AS, and the hallmark of deforming injury in AS. This account became the first documented case of AS in the United States.
I want to share a poem that Mr. Leonard wrote that was included in the book.
To My Patrons
Ye favored thousands of our happy land,
Who, blest with health with peace and competence,
Before your fellows hale, erect can stand,
Enjoying all the sweets of ever sense.
While your fair brows, you heavenward raise with ease,
Beholding all the bustling scenes around,
And me, unshapely, bow’d with dire disease,
My vision stinted, all my frame unsound.
With thankfulness, with gratitude and praise
To Him, whose watchful eye is over all,
Your hearts, your mind, your voice to Heaven raise,
That my misfortune did you not befall.
And while your limbs are hale and fee from pain,
Health blooming, your companion, night and day,
At poverty repine not, nor complain,
Though gold and riches lie not in your way.
Would you, who thirst for wealth or power desire,
When you my uncouth form and sufferings see,
Your longing to gratify, retire
From the hale circle, and exchange with me?
Would all the gold, which California yields,
Tempt you to take my form, and aching head?
Or all the wealth that reaped on India’s field?
If not, reflect, how poor I am, indeed!
Would you, whose coffers gold and silver fill,
Whose income yearly, hundred thousand tell,
Choose rather, if the choice were at your will,
Become like me, or all your wealth expel?
If you all wealth would banish from your sight…
Would health and form preserve, what e’er they cost;
By this crierian, exercised aright,
You may appreciate what I have lost.
I would not, friends, excite your mirth or glee,
Nor down your cheeks induce the tears to roll,
Unless those tears again could gathered be,
To the calm fountain of the tranquil soul;
And there excite the peaceful, quiet mind
To resignation, placid, sweet content,
And gratitude to heaven, good and kind,
Who, to your lot, has better fortune sent.
Yet, think not, while affliction’s cruel hand
Presses me down, and holds unyielding sway,
That I, a human, living wonder stand,
Stoic in soul, with heart as cold as clay:
With joy, I often look to the heaven above,
Thank God for mercies and benignant care,
Rejoice, that through his kind and tender love,
I, still so many earthly blessings share.
I thank Him that the hearts of men are kind,
That while I live and wander here below,
So many sympathizing friends I find,
Such friendly treatment, too, where’er I go.
I’m thankful, too, that woman’s angel heart,
The same in every clime, in every land,
In sorrow’s vestry, always acts its part,
To raise the object with a tender hand.
Though gay and sportive, as a fairy queen,
How soon she melts at the scenes of bitter woe!
Down her fair cheeks, my eyes have often seen,
The crystal fountain of hear heart, so flow.
I’ve seen her in the village—in the town,
In crowded streets, and marked the silent tear.
I’ve met her sigh, but ne’er her haughty frown,
Her words unpleasant, never greet my ear.
In towns or cities, little children kind,
Treat not the cripple scornfully nor rude;
Among them, many precious friends I find,
With minds and hearts, like little angels good.
They look with wonder, pity and surprise,
Nor insult, to my sorrows, ever add;
From them, no shouts of ridicule arise;
Their kindness, too, has oft my heart made glad.
Through many a seeming long, and tedious year,
Such torture racked my mortal, shattered frame.
That grateful, thankful—even joy sincere
I feel, at relaxation of my pain.
In resignation there is joy and peace,
Whate’er my lot, whata’er my form may be;
Faith, Hope, and Charity those joys increase,
And soothe my mind in dark adversity.
In that celestial bright and happy land,
Beyond the vale of sorrow, pain and tears,
Where I, erect in glory, hope to stand,
In faith and hope, the future bright appears.
I thank you kindly, sympathizing friends—
Your favors, your kind patronage implore;
On these alone, my earthly weal depends—
Farewell: — and peace be with you evermore.
Leonard Trask
