This article examines the medical career of an enslaved physician in Virginia named Nassaw from the mid eighteenth-century until the period of the American Revolution. I develop a taxonomy of Nassaw’s labours as a nurse caring for the sick, a healer administering medicines at the behest of his enslaver and as a doctor in his own right making medical judgements as he treated his patients. Nassaw is in some ways comparable to other enslaved healers of African descent in the Atlantic world, including well-known Mohanes and ritual specialists in Brazil and Latin America. However, due to his role as a physician employed by his slaveholder to principally heal other enslaved people, Nassaw struggled to find satisfaction in his labours as a healer as other enslaved people rightly perceived him as an agent of their enslaver whose medical work healed their bodies while extending their oppression. I argue that Nassaw became frustrated and depressed, and turned to drinking because of his inability to pursue or experience what Sharla M. Fett terms a ‘relational vision of health’ in the Chesapeake. Moreover, I interpret his drinking as a rebuke to the racist pretensions of his enslaver – who instructed him in pharmacy and surgery – who aimed to transform Nassaw into an Enlightened ‘black exhibit’ by training him to be a doctor. I conclude by returning to how precisely different Nassaw was from other enslaved healers in the Chesapeake like Tom of Nomini Hall or Romeo, and make the case that Nassaw deserves a place in histories of slavery and medicine precisely because he was an enslaved plantation doctor rather than a popular healer or conjuror.

Though male doctors gained prominence at the bedsides of pregnant mothers in nineteenth-century Europe, the clinical training they received in medical academies remained cursory. In France, to supplement the medical faculties, the government set up schools for both health officers and midwives which were meant to teach practical obstetrics. This paper focusses on the city of Arras, where these two groups of students competed for the limited numbers of pregnant patients on which to practice their future professions. Like many in their field, two prominent instructors in Arras at each end of the century promoted male obstetrical education over female, arguing that practical education for health officers would lead to safer births for mothers and infants. By the 1870s, the obstetrics instructor adopted germ theory, tying improved hygiene and thus mortality rates to male students’ access to hospitalised patients. Despite their arguments, in Arras, the male students never gained priority in clinical obstetrical training, which midwifery students kept. To keep male students out of maternity wards, local administrators used fears that gender mixing would lead to immoral acts or thoughts. In doing so, they protected the traditional system of midwifery rather than invest in more costly male medical education. Championing midwifery students’ rights to the spaces and bodies needed for their education, however, delayed adoption of hygiene and antiseptic practices that led to lower maternal mortality. Unable to adapt to changing requirements by the state, the medical school closed in 1883, while the midwifery programme thrived until the 1960s.