Chapter 139: Finally, Surgery [5]
“Ah… Please don’t write your manuscript until after my surgery. I’ll dictate it once the operation is over.”
“What? No… Lord Damien or not, this is asking too much.”
“Do you know who pays your salary?”
“Uh… I’m employed by William—”
“And who does William work for?”
Lord Damien truly was a remarkable man. He could command that kind of dignity even with his pants down. If it were me, I would hesitate to open my mouth in that state.
Yeah, if you were strapped into that thing, those words wouldn’t come out of your mouth.
Not Damien, not William IV. Even if the current King of England were tied up, legs spread and naked, where was the dignity in that? You would be lucky if people did not burst out laughing on the spot.
“Alright, I understand.”
“Good. Do it that way. Now, please leave.”
Lord Damien clearly understood the optics and gave the order to clear the room before spreading his legs. The reporters looked reluctant, but their hunger outweighed their journalistic conscience, and out they went.
“Now, Lord Damien.”
“Hmm. Should I brace against the wall too?”
“Yes.”
“Ugh. Is it possible that this procedure might stop the surgery altogether?”
“It’s within the realm of possibility.”
Given his age, that was understandable. And now that his pants were off, the smell got worse. Three hours was too long for an old man with an enlarged prostate, and likely Diabetes. I did not know if he had tried to relieve himself beforehand, but if he could have done that, he would not be here for surgery in the first place.
“Still, don’t worry too much. Maybe… Ah. Try pushing a bit. That helps release the tension.”
“Agh… Pressure.”
“Oh my. It’s quite large. You’ll definitely need surgery. It may take a while, but it’ll be safe.”
“Alright, I understand. Now please… get on with it.”
“Yes, of course.”
As expected, it was massive. I was not even a urology major, and it felt like a publishable case. No wonder the catheter would not fit.
Maybe… if I used Anesthetic Gas, I could ease the tension a little more.
I had not used muscle relaxants yet, though I knew about curare, a poison the European imperialists had looted from South America. Natives used it on arrows. If you were hit with it, you would suffocate, not because the heart stopped, but because your muscles would not move. In other words:
It’s clearly a muscle relaxant.
On its own, it was a terrifying poison. But paired with Anesthesia and artificial respiration, it became a powerful medical tool. Of course, the problem was artificial respiration. I did not expect a ventilator. In this era, where human rights were a joke, you could just grab someone and have them squeeze the bellows for hours. But there was not even a proper tube to deliver air effectively.
Still… if the Urinary Catheter is this good, maybe I can request something similar?
While I was thinking this, I glanced at Joseph, who was now assisting under Anesthesia. Thanks to my efforts in teaching everyone around me equally, even without knowing when they would officially become my students, they were progressing well. Hopefully, they would proudly say they trained under me one day.
“I think we’re good.”
Joseph pressed his knuckles hard into Lord Damien’s sternum. If you think that is nothing, go ahead and try it yourself. It was one of the simplest and most reliable ways to check for consciousness. Given Joseph’s strength, the fact that Damien did not move meant he was either fully anesthetized or dead.
“He’s not dead, right?”
“Huh? Oh, he’s breathing fine.”
“Good. Just keep an eye on that.”
“Don’t worry. None of our patients have died from this so far, right?”
“Yeah.”
There were still a few idiots on our team who jinxed things with comments like that, but I let it slide. These guys had no filter. Then again, we were living in a time when death was always around the corner. Casual talk about someone dying was not rare, even among medical students.
“Hang his legs.”
“Alright.”
“Got it.”
I ignored the chatter and focused on the surgery. First, I secured a proper field of vision, step one in any operation. Considering how many cadavers I had practiced on, I had done this more than ten times in the past few days. I should have been calm, but for some reason, I was nervous.
This has to go well…
Most people did not take human life seriously here. But this time was different. If something happened to Lord Damien, I would be done for too, and probably everyone else in the room except maybe Liston.
“Hang his legs.”
“Alright.”
“Got it.”
As always, Liston had nerves of steel. Whether it was Lord Damien or not, his eyes stayed focused on his hands. The work came first.
I’ll have to teach him later.
Maybe someday I would see Liston using this technique at the right time. That thought eased my nerves a bit.
“Alright then. Let’s begin.”
I dabbed some crushed agar-agar on the catheter and began inserting it. It was not smooth. It felt like threading a tight knot.
“No matter how many times I see this… I’ll never get used to it.”
As Liston said, it looked terrible. But skipping it would have been worse. How did I know? Well, let’s just say I had felt that pain firsthand.
“Whoa!”
Pain might be the mother of growth, but in moments like this, I wondered if it just meant suffering. Still, oddly enough, I felt re-energized.
Gurgle.
At the same time, stored urine gushed out. It must have been sitting there for a while, because the smell was horrific.
“Wow.”
“Lord Damien…”
Some of the attendants looked genuinely moved, as though they could not believe a human bladder could hold that much.
“Alright then.”
After draining the urine, I removed the catheter and inserted the actual surgical device. Unlike the rubber hose, this one was made of metal, so it slid in easily. I nodded to Liston. He inserted his large but extremely sensitive index finger.
“There it is.”
“Yeah, I feel it too.”
“Then… let’s get to it.”
“Yes, yes.”
I twirled the instrument carefully, like an old man trimming a bush, and began shaving the prostate.
Crunch.
Crack.
Crunch.
Crack.
At first, I was tempted to be bold. He was Lord Damien, after all. But that same fact made me back off. One wrong move, and he would be done for. There would be no second chance.
Crunch.
As I cut slowly, I felt Liston’s finger press in closer.
“You feel that too?”
“Yeah. We’re done here.”
We withdrew our instruments at the same time, almost instinctively. Liston hurried off to wash his hands.
“Mind if I toss these gloves?”
“Go ahead. They’ll give you a new pair.”
“Would you mind asking them for me?”
I was not sure why he even asked. He had already thrown them away. I stayed put. I had to reinsert the catheter. Otherwise…
If I just leave it, scar tissue could form. That could block everything.
A prostate operation with a blocked urethra? That would be a disaster.
“Alright.”
I reinserted the catheter, then told the attendants:
“Tie him up.”
“Oh my… he’s a nobleman, you know. Isn’t that disrespectful?”
“Can you still say that while staring at this tube?”
“Ah, yes. I’ll tie him up quietly.”
They had been concerned about dignity a moment ago, but the second I pointed at the catheter, they moved. They tied him down so tightly that the first thing Lord Damien asked upon waking was:
“What is this?”
“The attendants tied you.”
“My attendants?”
“Yes. They figured you might pull it out. See? Even now, my fingers are drawn there.”
“It’s uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.”
“Can’t be helped. You’ll need it for three to four days.”
“Three to four days? Ugh.”
“Anyway, the surgery went well. Once we remove the catheter, it’ll feel like a new world.”
“Hmm… Oh? Is this what relief feels like?”
That did not last long. Whether the surgery went well or not, a catheter was still a catheter. The bladder was now empty, a strange but comfortable sensation. Lord Damien seemed more interested in that than the discomfort.
“That’s good to hear.”
“I’ll check in about three times a day. If anything comes up, let me know right away. I’m staying at Alfred’s house.”
“Yes, yes.”
After giving instructions and checking on earlier patients, I finally stepped outside. It had been spring when I enrolled, but now summer was ending. A cold wind blew.
“Hey, why are you staggering like that?”
“I-I don’t know. Am I cold or something?”
“Huh? Do you have a fever?”
Maybe I had pushed myself too hard. I probably just caught a cold… No big deal. Just rest and—
“Joseph! Colin! Pyeong is sick!”
“Is it surgery-related?”
“Is it a bleed? Draw blood!”
Never mind. I was worried. I had no clue what these bastards would do. In this era, seeing a doctor could be the fastest way to die.
Footnotes
Translator’s Notes
William IV — King of the United Kingdom from 1830 to 1837. The narration references him as the current King of England during this period.
Curare — Plant-derived arrow poison used by Indigenous peoples of South America. It causes muscle paralysis and later became important in the development of muscle relaxants used with anesthesia.
Artificial Respiration — Assisted breathing used when a patient cannot breathe adequately on their own. Pyeong considers its importance if muscle relaxants are ever used safely.