Chapter 148: Isn’t it Better? [1]
Treatment in the wound care room became completely different, at least for the patients I was in charge of. First of all, I threw out the old bandages. I could not even tell if they were actual bandages or just rags. There was no way I was going to reuse those.
Chow.
Then wash.
Squeak.
Cut away the rotting flesh.
Knock knock.
Leave the maggots.
That was the general process. The prognosis for most of these patients was not great.
“This one… she’s already gone. Let’s amputate.”
“Ah… No…”
Too many of them came in far too late. But for patients I saw early, those who arrived fresh from an injury, the situation was entirely different.
“Watch carefully.”
Was this not something we could handle with proper treatment? The real issue was that the entire concept of medical treatment was different in this era. That was why the first step was always to change the students’ mindset. For new patients, I made sure to invite the boys to observe.
“Uh.”
“Yes.”
They were Joseph, Alfred, and Colin. I wished I could drag the rest of the students here too, but what could I do? My skin color and age were still barriers. Thankfully, the guys around me were sincere.
“Let’s clean it first, with clean water.”
“But do we really need to boil it?”
“If it’s hot, it’ll kill what’s inside…?”
Sigh.
They meant well, but with so many gaps in knowledge, or just plain misinformation, I had moments when I wanted to scream.
Hold it in. Just hold it in…
I imagined a patient three times in a row and continued teaching at their level.
“Won’t boiling kill the Miasma?”
“Wait… is Miasma something that’s alive or dead?”
“If you wash your hands, no more patients will survive.”
“They will survive.”
“Then… maybe the Miasma died?”
“Hmm. Sure, let’s go with that.”
Let’s go with that? I wanted to smack them. But I was the professor, and they were the students. I had to be patient. Still, it was better than them insisting that boiling water was unnecessary.
“Now, wipe the wound with this water. Let’s clean it and take a look inside.”
“Look inside?”
“I need to see how deep it goes and how much tissue is damaged. That’s how you determine treatment.”
“Hmm. But… I heard wounds just heal on their own.”
If that were true, you moron, why did people die? Why were limbs amputated? I looked up at the ceiling and smiled bitterly. If anyone was watching, God, fate, whoever, please give me strength. Maybe that was why I managed to keep speaking without blowing up.
“Treatment begins with the assumption that you might be wrong. That’s how you find something better. And hey, think about this. Why are you even still alive? Are you rotting? No? So where are the people who rot?”
“They’re in the cemetery. Huh… now that I think about it, that’s kind of true.”
Exactly. At least in this time period, my knowledge was basically absolute. Sure, twenty-first-century medicine was not perfect either, but at least it admitted its limitations and worked to improve them. This long trial-and-error process was necessary. But it took far too long. Too many people died along the way. If I had just read about nineteenth-century medicine in a book or watched it on YouTube, maybe I could have laughed it off. But seeing it in person? It was impossible to laugh.
“Okay. Now, watch carefully.”
I poured water over the patient’s arm. He was frozen stiff, both from Dr. Liston’s blade and the general terror of the ward. I gently opened the wound with my gloved hand.
“Kwaaak!”
Yeah, that hurt. It was unavoidable. Even in the twenty-first century, opening a wound like that would hurt. Painkillers and Anesthesia were not always available, especially for quick evaluations.
“Aren’t you tired of dissecting arms?”
“You’ve done this a lot.”
“I’m good at drawing it now.”
“Me too, Professor.”
When we peeled it open, we saw what I expected. The patient had been cut by a sharp tool, maybe a sickle or a knife. On the surface, it looked like a straight cut, but once opened…
“Whoa… Is that bone?”
“It sliced through the muscle, too.”
“Why is it this deep?”
It was much worse than it looked. If we did not open it up, we would have left it untreated, and the patient would eventually need an Amputation. Why? Because these tools, those sickles and blades, were rusty as hell.
“Now look here. There’s something embedded. I can’t tell if it’s metal or what, but we need to remove it all.”
Tetanus? Even if it was not that, it was bound to be crawling with bacteria. I poured more water on it and wiped it thoroughly. I pulled out larger fragments with tweezers. Ideally, I would disinfect it with an antiseptic solution, but we did not have any. The best we had was…
“Patient, this will hurt.”
“More than this?”
“Yes, probably.”
“Amarani!”
“Hmm? Call Dr. Liston?”
“No, no. Not that…”
Alcohol. Distilled alcohol. People might think alcohol was already the go-to disinfectant, but that was mostly true for skin. It could kill things, but it also killed skin cells.
“QUAAAH!”
Yeah. When you poured alcohol into an open wound, especially onto tissue or mucous membrane, it was incredibly painful. And honestly? It could damage the tissue. In fact, using alcohol on wounds was considered taboo in modern medicine.
But what choice did I have? We had nothing else. When I asked these guys to find disinfectants, they brought back honey. Ancient Egypt, was that you? Not the worst idea, but…
“Copper oxide?”
“Lead?!”
“Mercury!?”
What they brought was not disinfectant. It was murder.
“This hurts too much…”
“Professor, are you sure about this?”
“Is this okay?”
That was why I used alcohol, even though it caused pain. The other options were worse. Watching this, honestly, I wanted to strangle them all. Who suggested pouring mercury into an open wound?
“You did well.”
“Whew.”
“Okay, now let’s pretend we killed all the Miasma.”
Whether it was Miasma or not, we definitely killed something. Fortunately, the alcohol concentration was lower, thanks to our rudimentary manufacturing. Otherwise, we would probably have seen the tissue shrivel in real time. Alcohol was so strong that it even killed cancer cells.
Should I suture this now…? No, better to wait on the deeper layers.
I looked at the suture thread and sighed. It had at least been boiled and soaked in alcohol, so it was relatively sterile. But since it was silk, it had too many tiny gaps, perfect places for bacteria to hide.
Let’s just close the surface for now. It’s the best we can do.
That was the only option. Infection prevention took priority over long-term cosmetic results.
Even so, I did not want to do a half-assed job. I sutured with care, at least enough to preserve my pride as a former surgical professor.
“Ohh…”
“That’s amazing.”
“How did you do that with something that looks like a fishing hook?”
Everyone around me looked stunned. Even the patient, who had been screaming seconds ago, was dazed. This era had no local Anesthetics, but somehow they endured it.
“Once we’re sure there’s no infection, we’ll close it more properly.”
Of course, that was a low bar from their point of view. For me, it still was not good enough. Wounds should be closed in layers. But doing that with silk thread would only invite infection.
“Alright. Now, the bandage.”
“I have some. But do we really have to use a new cloth?”
“This is wasteful.”
“Well… I guess the professor’s rich…”
Brand-new bandages. Completely normal to me, but in this era, recycling bandages was standard. Naturally, they questioned it.
Heh… Just wait. See what happens. Look at the difference in prognosis.
I did not even bother answering. Seeing was believing. I would let the results speak for themselves. This might not be a perfect cure, but one thing was certain. Their outcomes would be far better than before. No comparison.
Two weeks passed like that.
“Alright, let’s take a look.”
At Liston’s word, all the patients I had treated and those treated by the other doctors were brought into the treatment room. Patients’ rights did not exist back then. Of course, it helped that they were paid daily wages. I was shocked when I found out how little they earned.
Anyway, when Liston started speaking, the other patients were called up first.
“Well, this one has to be amputated. Set a date. Or we can do it now.”
“No…”
“This one, too.”
“Ah…”
“Cut here.”
“Ugh…”
“What about this one? Now?”
“Her.”
It was like a horror show. Almost everyone needed Amputation. At least half. Even I was shocked.
That’s all they’re cutting? Honestly, I thought there’d be more…
Still, it was amazing that people even survived with that level of care. Maybe humans were just tougher back then. Or maybe the nineteenth-century British were built differently.
Then again… weren’t these the people who built the British Empire?
Maybe that explained it. If they could survive rot, lead, copper, and mercury, it made sense that they conquered half the world. No way modern Koreans could match that constitution.
“Alright, same as always. Now let’s check the patients Pyeong treated.”
While I was still reeling from that, the other group, those awaiting Amputation, were taken elsewhere. Their faces were pale with despair. My patients were nervous too, probably after seeing all that.
They did not need to be.
“Oh… That’s good.”
“Looks good.”
“Phew.”
“Ah… Let’s amputate this one.”
“Oh…”
With no antibiotics or reliable disinfectants, about ten percent still required Amputation. It was disappointing for me.
“Yes! I knew you could do it!”
“Damn, Pyeong’s a genius!”
Liston and Blundell practically danced with joy.