Chapter 149: Isn’t it Better? [2]
The director watched the scene unfold with a vaguely anxious expression, glancing back and forth between me and Liston. It was obvious what they were thinking.
Once Amputations decrease… they’re worried the hospital’s income will drop.
Well, sure. Every time a new medical advancement appeared, people worried. But come on, compare the cost of medicine in the twenty-first century to that of the nineteenth. The former was exponentially higher. That was inevitable. As medicine progressed, more conditions became treatable. If people started surviving what used to be considered hopeless, of course more patients would show up.
“Good. The paradigm is about to completely change.”
Liston chuckled as he said it. Brightly, too, as if he had not just sentenced Amputation to death. But I guessed in a time like this, when human rights were barely a concept, smiling over a major change like that was not so strange. People liked to believe in a brighter future, but they were rarely interested in the darkness still all around them.
“No, but… this traditional method—”
“It’s a treatment that’s stood the test of time—”
“Just look at this copper oxide! This brilliant green color!”
So many people proudly said the most ridiculous crap. That was why, if I did not hold firm, they would never shut up with their “differing opinions” and “personal beliefs.”
“Don’t many of your patients still require Amputation anyway, regardless of tradition? And isn’t the number of reported patients lower than the number actually here? Are they… dead?”
“We don’t know.”
“Maybe they just recovered and didn’t come back?”
“Really? Patients sick enough to come here just got better on their own? You know that makes no sense.”
“…Hmm.”
“…Mmm.”
In that regard, Liston truly was the embodiment of reform. If I could persuade him, I would not need to convince anyone else. He had strength, logic, and a reputation no one could ignore.
“From now on, at least in our hospital, we’ll treat wounds according to Pyeong’s guidelines. Anyone opposed?”
“Uh, well…”
“What?”
“…No, no.”
Doctor One folded instantly.
“And you?”
“Um… me, I…”
Doctor Two also shrank back. Understandable. I heard he had once been stabbed by Liston. If you looked closely, his nose was a little crooked. I guessed it had not always been like that.
“You?”
“I… I’m fine.”
“If you’re not, leave.”
“No, I agree. I agree!”
Doctor Three did not even need prompting. Whether they meant it or not was irrelevant. On the surface, they were with us. That was what mattered.
Honestly, I wanted to turn this entire filthy treatment room upside down. We needed cleaners. No, we needed to burn everything. That pile of rags in the corner? Probably crawling with germs.
“Hmmmm.”
Once the opposition was more or less settled, the director approached me, humming awkwardly. His expression looked complicated.
Well, that made sense. They asked me here because they knew something had to change, but now that it was actually happening, they seemed worried. Too much change, too fast.
After all, Amputations still made up a significant chunk of the hospital’s income.
“Dr. Liston, Dr. Pigyeong. A word.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Director.”
So it was just the three of us now. Even if this was not the “inner circle,” it felt like one. I never had this kind of honor in my past life.
Let’s be honest, my knowledge is mostly bluff. But at least this time, I can sell it convincingly.
Someone else might have been nervous. But I was used to this. Surviving in nineteenth-century London had only reinforced my habit of positive thinking. Honestly, this could be a good thing. Rumor had it you would not lose a limb if you got treated here? That was amazing marketing.
Sure, Dr. Liston might be out of work for a while, but Amputations were not going away entirely. Other hospitals would keep doing them.
“Sit down.”
The director’s office had a surprisingly high ceiling. It was not exactly fancy, though. It was still the nineteenth century. Hospitals were not profitable businesses. You lived or died by luck, and revenue came mostly from desperate nobles and lower-class patients who had nowhere else to go.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
We both sat across from him. He tried to keep a neutral expression, but in the end, he sighed heavily.
“First of all, you did very well. Excellent work. But…”
“Yes?”
“If Amputations disappear entirely, what happens to Dr. Liston? From the hospital’s perspective… we still need some Amputations. If we treat everyone this way, won’t Amputation become obsolete?”
Worried that fewer limbs getting cut off might be a problem. Even he looked embarrassed just saying it.
“I mean, I know this is a good thing. But we have to keep the hospital running…”
“They won’t disappear entirely.”
I cut in quickly to reassure him.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
It was not a lie. There were no proper disinfectants, no antibiotics. It was impossible to save everyone. Sure, the number of Amputations would drop, maybe even below ten percent, but eliminating them completely? Not realistic.
“But they’ll decrease.”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Dr. Liston is a pillar of our hospital.”
That.
At the director’s pointed comment, Liston finally stepped in. He looked angry. Well, to be fair, his face always looked a little terrifying, but this time felt different.
“There’s something I haven’t even told Pyeong yet.”
“…You’re not leaving, are you?”
No way. That would not work. Without Liston, I would be just some loud-mouthed upstart. You needed a blade like Liston to give your words weight.
“I’m thinking of doing abdominal surgery.”
“…Stomach surgery?”
His words caught me off guard. Of all things, stomach surgery?
In modern medicine, abdominal procedures were common, even routine. The abdomen held entire fields of specialization: colorectal, hepatobiliary, pancreatic, gastric, you name it. But in this era…
“That’s not easy.”
The director’s face fell again. Touching the abdomen was taboo. People still died of stomachaches. Sure, you might open the bladder for a stone, but that was done in desperation, as in, “I’m going to die either way.” Full abdominal surgery? That was unthinkable.
“Patients will die.”
“A lot of them already are.”
The director had no rebuttal. He hesitated, searching for a response.
Liston was right. People were dying. Every day. Even in twenty-first-century hospitals, dealing with death was part of the job. But it was one thing when a patient was expected to die, and another when someone died who should not have.
“But if you open someone up and they die… the blame falls on us. It’ll be considered malpractice.”
“We’ll only operate on patients who would die anyway.”
“…Still…”
“And anyway, even without Pyeong, Amputations will decrease. You know none of the surgical techniques I developed use Anesthesia, right?”
“Wait, so you didn’t skip Anesthesia for convenience?”
“Of course not. I’m a doctor. I did it for the patients.”
“…Right.”
The director nodded, but his face still said, Really?
I did not blame him. Anyone who had seen Liston work probably thought of him more as a butcher than a doctor. But that was unfair. When there was no Anesthesia, Liston’s speed was everything. Would you rather hurt for thirty seconds or thirty minutes?
“Anyway, since the Anesthetics started taking effect, I’ve been thinking more. I practiced a lot.”
“Practiced? On who?”
“Corpses, obviously. Do I look crazy?”
“Ah. Okay.”
The director still looked skeptical. Honestly, I did not blame him. Dr. Liston looked more like a gang leader than a surgeon.
“Still, if Pyeong helps, we can start performing simple abdominal surgeries. I’ve been doing more dissections, and I’ve started to suspect a particular disease group.”
That caught even me off guard.
What? Since when?
There was a time when medicine advanced through dissection. Honestly, even now, autopsies revealed things nothing else could.
“Look at this.”
“…Is that pepper?”
“No, I said I’m doing stomach surgery! Why would I show you pepper?”
“Oh, I see it now. Is that the appendix?”
“Yes! Finally! Why do you always look at me like that?”
“I’m sorry. Don’t clench your fists. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not going to hit you!”
“Right, right…”
Rumor had it the director was the only one who could tease Liston to his face. Apparently, it was true. Even so, my curiosity faded quickly. Because what Liston said next—
“Anyway, when I dissected people who died from stomach pain, I found this strange swelling here.”
“A bulge? In that spot? Isn’t the whole area swollen, though?”
“No, just here.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s move on.”
“…Unclench your fists.”
Liston looked skyward, as if praying for patience, then continued. Honestly, I was impressed. He had figured this out on his own. That was amazing.
“It’s not every case, but sometimes you see this swelling. So if someone’s dying of abdominal pain, we open them up, check if it’s swollen, and if it is, we remove it.”
“…I hope it doesn’t swell.”
“It will.”
“…Ah.”
That last “ah” was mine. I was overwhelmed again.
Because this? This was peak nineteenth century.