How to Treat Measles Like It’s 1804

We’re heading back to 1804—an era where the medical establishment in New Spain (that’s colonial Mexico for those of you playing catch-up) was all about rolling up their sleeves and doing battle with disease the old-fashioned way. None of your paracetamol or antibiotics here. Oh no. We're diving headfirst into a world where measles, that infuriating little illness, was treated with a combination of medieval improvisation, herbal concoctions, and a dash of—brace yourselves—bloodletting. Yes, it’s going to be quite the ride.

In case you’re wondering, the Protomedicato was no underground alchemist’s lair. It was a legitimate, government-sanctioned board that had one mission: keep public health vaguely on track in an age when even handwashing was regarded as suspicious witchcraft. They were also the medical gatekeepers, overseeing who got to practice medicine and who had to stick to drumming up rumors about their neighbor’s dubious witch’s brew.

So, in 1804, when measles made its rounds like an unwelcome houseguest who overstays his welcome and eats all your snacks, the Protomedicato put together a little pamphlet. And what a pamphlet it was. A handy guide for the "poor people"—the ones who couldn’t exactly ring up a doctor from a pristine marble bathtub—to fend off the disease using nothing more than hydration, steam, a few bizarre dietary recommendations, and, naturally, some bloodletting.

First off, let's tackle the symptoms. You’re hanging around, trying to live your best 19th-century life, when suddenly you’re hit with a wave of fever that feels like you’ve spent two days locked in a bread oven. Your head is pounding like a drum, your throat has transformed into a sandpaper torture chamber, and you’re coughing persistently enough to scare the livestock. Your eyes? Oh, those traitorous little orbs are now so light-sensitive that even the feeble glow of a candle is enough to send you diving for cover.

And just when you think it couldn’t get worse, behold: the infamous red spots! Little crimson devils appearing first on your face and then marching across your entire body like they own the place. At this point, the Protomedicato would advise you to call off your plans for the foreseeable future and brace yourself for what comes next.

Hydration, But Make It 1800s Style

Let’s talk hydration, shall we? None of this “drink eight glasses of water a day” nonsense. Instead, the Protomedicato recommended barley water, which is basically water that’s had a flirtatious encounter with some boiled barley grains. And don’t even think about drinking it plain, because, horror of horrors, they spiked it with honey and vinegar. If that doesn’t sound bad enough, you could also toss in some elderflower or borage infusions for good measure. It was all about “facilitating sweating” to purge those nasty toxins from your body, though whether you’d feel better or just profoundly sticky is debatable.

Feeling ill? Well, take your trousers off and dunk your legs into some hot water. Yes, leg baths were the go-to treatment for chest tightness and a scratchy throat, which sounds soothing enough until you remember that these “baths” probably took place in the dank corner of a poorly ventilated adobe shack. As for steam inhalation, it was meant to loosen up the congestion. Fair enough. But one imagines that “relaxing” with a face full of steam in the 1800s was less about self-care and more about not passing out from dehydration.

Feeling peckish? Think again. The diet for a measles patient was a sad affair. Broths, atole (a thin gruel-like porridge), and maybe, if you were lucky, some cooked fruits. And not just any fruits, mind you. We’re talking about boiled oranges or apples, sweetened with a touch of sugar if you were feeling especially decadent. The key was to keep it light because your stomach, battered by the disease, was about as delicate as a diplomat negotiating a peace treaty.

Remedies That’ll Leave You Questioning Everything

The Protomedicato wasn’t above a bit of pharmacy action, though. Persistent cough? Time for some diacodin or poppy syrup, the 1800s equivalent of a double shot of whiskey and a prayer. If that dry, hacking cough refused to let up, you’d pop a “grain pill”—a name that doesn’t inspire confidence in its scientific rigor—and wash it down with hot, sweetened milk. Yes, milk, the magic elixir that 19th-century doctors seemed to think could cure anything from colds to existential dread.

And let’s not forget purges. Once the red spots started to fade, out came the tamarind serum to “cleanse” the system. Two reales of cream of tartar mixed with an ounce of tamarind pulp. As delightful as that sounds, this concoction’s purpose was simple: give your digestive tract a rude awakening.

Of course, if things got dire—think throat so swollen you couldn’t swallow or a cough that made you feel like a ship caught in a storm—it was time to roll out the big guns: bloodletting. Now, don’t go imagining a subtle prick of the finger. Oh no, the patient had to bleed up to three ounces at a time, and that could happen once or twice if the situation demanded it. The theory? Get rid of the bad blood and hope that what remained wasn’t quite as rebellious.

And after all that, when you’d survived the worst of it, the Protomedicato sternly advised moderation. No wolfing down meat the second you felt a hint of hunger. You’d better ease back into eating gradually, lest you end up with “indigestion and diarrhea,” or, as the locals charmingly called it, miserere.

It's easy to laugh now, but measles was no joke. It’s humbling to think that before vaccination campaigns, millions lost their lives to this disease. And for the poor people of New Spain, this Protomedicato booklet was a lifeline, albeit a very tenuous one. Yet in all its well-meaning oddity, it’s a reminder of how far we’ve come in understanding and combating disease.

So, the next time you pop a simple painkiller or get your measles shot, raise a glass (of something tastier than barley water) to the doctors of old. They might not have had germ theory down, but they did their best—with steam, syrup, and a healthy dose of bleeding. Cheers to that.