This wise man put me to bed and applied the rest cure, to which a still-good physique responded so promptly that he concluded there was nothing much the matter with me, and sent me home with solemn advice to “live as domestic a life as far as possible,” to “have but two hours’ intellectual life a day,” and “never to touch pen, brush, or pencil again” as long as I lived. Why was Gilman advised “never to touch pen, brush, or pencil again”? Her doctor believed that she’d been poisoned by ink, paint, and lead. Her doctor believed that intellectual effort was making her ill. Her doctor was afraid that she would write something negative about him. Her doctor was afraid that she was not strong enough to hold the tools.