Chapter 125: Stop [1]
Prostate hypertrophy… In the twenty-first century, it was considered just an inconvenient condition. But if you looked at history, it clearly was not easy to deal with. Right? People even died from it. If you could not urinate properly, it led to uremia… and death.
Still, the idea of cutting off someone’s testicles as treatment felt like overkill. Wouldn’t it be better to just go to the hospital every day, insert a steel catheter for a bit, then take it out?
Let’s just leave that as one of the treatment options for now.
Of course, this was a horrible method too, shoving a catheter in every single day. But it was still a method used even in the twenty-first century. You would use a Nelaton catheter, a rubber one, not steel, and insert it for temporary drainage over time.
Then again, if you used steel, you might end up stabbing something you should not. Still, it was better than losing your balls.
“This… I think this was delivered.”
My companions, those nineteenth-century friends who had grown used to being shocked, searched the room a bit more. Then Joseph picked something up.
It was a letter. The recipient was the professor, and the sender was Harry.
That meant it was a reply from a gentleman named Harry.
Judging from the dust, it must have arrived three or four days ago. I probably missed it because I had been so sick.
“It’s someone else’s letter… but since he passed away, is it okay if I read it?”
Joseph could not bring himself to open it, so I took it from him and opened it myself.
For the record, the nineteenth century was a time when people committed all kinds of barbaric acts, and maybe to compensate, they were obsessed with unnecessary etiquette.
“Ugh.”
“This is uncomfortable…”
“Now the patients have swollen balls. Is it really that bad?”
“Well…”
“Of course.”
Everyone looked at me with confused expressions. But when I said something about “picking my balls,” they all went silent.
I did not know why, but the mood turned solemn. Maybe it was because I was the only one still looking at the letter while the others quietly looked down.
I… I’ve seen something like this before. That’s right. Now that I think about it…
Of course, this was not the kind of surgery you performed on people lightly. Cancer could technically occur anywhere in the body, including the testicles, and sometimes that meant they needed to be removed.
But it was rare. And since testicular surgeries were done in urology, not general surgery, there was no reason for me to see them often.
The one time I did… I was a military doctor. My younger brother, a vet I served with, happened to be performing the procedure.
Unfortunately, the patient was a dog.
Still, if I had seen that kind of thing done on a human, I probably would not have been able to eat for a week.
“Professor, this is an excellent insight. I’ve reviewed old records as well, and it seems eunuchs experienced no urinary problems well into old age. It’s just that no one paid attention to it… Perhaps we’ve discovered a major clue in treating benign prostatic hyperplasia. I’m planning to test this theory next week. If possible, I’d like to visit you and ask for your guidance.”
That last part sent a chill down my spine.
Because… well, that was how it was. If male hormones stopped being produced, the prostate might stop growing too. You might wonder how something already enlarged could shrink, but surprisingly, it could. Hormones affected the body more than people thought.
And as a bonus? Hair loss would stop too.
But…
I thought briefly about baldness.
Robert Liston… his forehead was definitely getting higher. And Joseph? Was he planning to follow in his father’s footsteps? His hair already looked a little thin.
As for me, I probably did not have that genetic risk, but who knew? Hair loss was like a thief in the night.
Still, that was not the point right now.
“Does anyone know this person?”
The professor was dead. I did not know if it was appropriate to say this to the dead, but… at least he would no longer have to commit any more medical atrocities.
But what about Harry?
“Uh… I don’t know…”
“I’ve never heard of Dr. Harry.”
By “next week,” he probably meant this week, right? So, today.
Should we go find him now? Or was it already too late?
The interview had taken longer than expected. I checked the time. It was already past lunch.
In London, where people worked by daylight rather than by overachieving schedules, maybe Harry had just skipped town… or was taking the day off?
“Anyone else who might know him?”
“Well… if he ever worked with the professor, he was probably a surgeon. Since Robert Liston is the only prominent one around, maybe check with him.”
Unlike Joseph and Alfred, who were spouting nonsense, Colin’s suggestion actually helped.
Usually, being told to seek out Liston for help during a crisis was pretty unwelcome advice. But I was an exception.
Besides, this was not something that could be resolved by simply finding the guy.
Sure, I was now a full-time physician and a professor. But I was still young, and with yellow skin in this era, it was ridiculous to expect people to listen to me.
But what if Robert Liston shows up?
That would be chaotic.
Still, I searched.
Harry might have been scarier, but the chance of him appearing now was virtually zero. Any real scientist should have known how to ignore odds like that.
“Let’s go.”
“He must be in the operating room, right?”
“Ah… yeah.”
I hesitated for a moment.
Back before Liston became famous, he would amputate limbs in the public square just to get attention.
Doing that kind of thing in rainy London? That made him both a doctor and a madman.
Luckily, after I demonstrated Anesthesia, painless surgery became possible.
Well, relatively painless.
With his newfound fame, Liston stopped performing in public squares. Instead, he began operating in a lecture hall.
Our hospital director, seeing how full the room always was, came up with a plan.
“I’m still getting paid, though…”
“Huh? Really? You’re rich, then?”
“Yeah… kind of.”
Money was great. Cancer was profitable.
Not that I minded money, but charging admission for surgery seemed… off.
It was not just a moral problem. It also increased the risk of infection. But I could not bring that up, not in a world where Germ Theory did not exist yet.
So I asked if it was really okay to have random merchants present where students learned, and the director told me he knew it was a bad idea.
London University School of Medicine Theater. In Session.
And so, the scene of horror stood before me. A full-blown surgical theater, demonstration and all.
In a way, it was my fault.
The director, taking my suggestion seriously, had torn down an entire classroom and turned it into a medical theater.
Knock knock.
“We’re demonstrating. Can’t you see? If you’re late, you’ll have to wait for the next surgery. It doesn’t take that long anyway.”
I knocked and heard an annoyed voice.
A crowd had already gathered, looking awkward and unsure.
Apparently, they had already been scolded a few times.
When I wondered why the guy was so angry, he gave me a solid reason.
“I am Dr. Pyeong.”
“…Hey.”
I understood, but what was I supposed to do?
Now that I looked closer, he had the look of someone who had been… castrated?
I tried to ease the tension.
“I’m sorry. I know Robert Liston personally, and I have an urgent matter to discuss.”
Just then, I heard a pop like air being let out of a balloon, and the door suddenly swung open.
“I didn’t know you were a professor… My apologies.”
“Ah… it’s fine, it’s fine.”
“He’s still cutting, so just wait a bit.”
“Got it.”
The man instantly started groveling.
Now that I saw him up close, he seemed to work under Liston. I did not know his name, but I recognized the face, probably one of my seniors.
In any case, this kind of treatment made me think the professor was doing all right.
Still… to become a doctor here, you need recommendations from several professors. It’s all such a mess.
Maybe I could help fix things later. For now, it was fine.
I walked into the theater.
And just as expected, the area around the operating table was soaked in blood.
Well, they were amputating a leg.
Orthopedic surgeries were always bloody.
I need to work on this area too…
Looking at the severed leg, I could see the injury had started as something relatively minor.
If they had disinfected the wound properly and debrided the necrotic tissue early, Amputation would not have been necessary.
This is all because of wrong beliefs.
I had been reviewing Liston’s cases because the number of amputations felt excessive.
In the twenty-first century, the leading causes of Amputation were diabetes and traffic accidents.
Other causes were rare.
But here? Trauma was more common, yes, but that still did not explain everything.
When I dug deeper, I found the real issue.
People believed letting wounds rot was part of the healing process.
Both doctors and patients shared this madness.
We still have such a long way to go.
If only I had more than one body. I could fix everything.
But since I only had one… I needed to prioritize.
For now, let’s stop the castration plan first.
Trying to get my thoughts in order, I calmly waited for Liston to finish the surgery.
The good thing was, even though the man had no real concept, he was not lacking in skill.
He had definitely improved.
His vessel ligations were faster and more precise.
He was getting better.
If I teach him other procedures, he’ll do well. He’s already the best at tracheostomies, after me, that is.
Even with Anesthesia buying him time, Liston still operated at breakneck speed.
Once it was over, I approached him while he was still drenched in blood and explained the situation.
His response?
“What?! What kind of monster… I know the guy. Let’s go! Lead the way!”
…That escalated quickly.
I did not mean for him to kill anyone.
Well… what will happen…?
Surely he would not hit me, right?
Maybe his anger would cool on the way.
And with that hope, I left the theater.