Chapter 151: Abdominal Surgery [2]
They said he was doing a little better now, but that was only after arriving at the hospital. Honestly, it was a strange stroke of luck that he had been neglected because he had no money. Hospitals in this era were... well, let's just say you were more likely to find butchers than doctors. It was fortunate he had not fallen into their hands.
The real issue is... are these people's daily lives nothing but constant abuse?
This was nineteenth-century London. In my previous life, I had held a certain romantic image of England. The land of gentlemen. The British Empire. From distant countries, England had always seemed like an ideal place. I had read British travel accounts from the twentieth century describing Joseon as terribly uncivilized. Naturally, I assumed England must have been far ahead back then.
But these people... have they ever even seen a tadpole?
They were always talking about the smell—human waste, mostly. So what else could the stench drifting from the Thames be?
Honestly, something catastrophic was bound to happen eventually. I don't know much British history, but if people are drinking water from that river, nobody's making it through the summer unharmed.
Ah. No. This isn't the time for that.
I snapped out of my thoughts.
Dr. Robert Liston, standing beside me, was wearing a strange expression. He was tracing a cross on the patient's abdomen with his finger.
Was it the sign of the cross?
Or was he marking an incision site?
Common sense suggested the former.
Knowing him, it was probably the latter.
“Um, Professor?”
“Huh?”
“Shouldn't we ask about the symptoms first?”
“Oh—right. Haha. Even I forgot. I get a little excited when there's a patient in front of me.”
“Yes, well... haha.”
Okay... surgeons really are just glorified knife-wielders.
Still, starting to plan an incision before even knowing what was wrong was a bit excessive.
“Patient.”
“Ugh...”
I stopped Liston's barbaric attempt to carve a cross-shaped incision and began questioning the patient instead.
The moment he opened his mouth, I noticed it.
Blackened yellow teeth.
Not many remained.
It might have been poor dental hygiene.
More likely, it was the water.
No, no. The Thames is basically a sewer now.
There were so many problems that I did not even know where to begin.
Nothing was done properly from beginning to end, and that chaos contaminated everything.
Still, I could not simply throw up my hands and say it could not be helped.
Even if these were harsh times.
“Yes, sir. Does your stomach hurt?”
“Yes, but... I'm fine... I can still work.”
How old was he?
Judging by appearance, he looked to be in his fifties.
I would bet he was not even thirty.
It was not just the teeth.
Malnutrition and years of hard labor had aged him far beyond his years.
In the twenty-first century, looking old was often a cosmetic issue.
Here, biological aging was all too real.
“Don't worry about the money.”
“Huh...?”
“What is it?”
“I-I don't want to be experimented on.”
Despite his obvious pain, he tried to sit up in panic.
The other patients also stirred and began trying to escape, but Liston raised a hand.
“Why are you all overreacting? This'll cure you!”
“It's free... free at this hospital... Wait—hold on! That guy!”
“It's Liston! Cutting Master Liston!”
“He's going to slice me open!”
Usually, Liston's name settled people down.
Today, it only made things worse.
His reputation was working against him.
To be fair, maybe it was not just him.
Our hospital had several so-called masters.
Cutting Master Liston.
Bloodletting Master Jémel.
Blood Transfusion Master Blundell.
Of them, Jémel was responsible for the most accidents.
They're still experimenting with bloodletting...
Honestly, I had never even bothered learning the details.
Just thinking about it gave me a headache.
In modern times, repeated deaths would provoke outrage.
But this was not modern times.
If someone died in a hospital, nobody cared.
Unless it was outright murder, nobody investigated.
“Everyone, calm down! We aren't conducting experiments.”
“Who... who are you?”
“Ah, I'm—”
The panic was intense, and I was not helping much.
Fortunately, our talkative Joseph arrived at precisely the right moment.
“If I may explain on the professor's behalf, he is the inventor of anesthetics and the father of pain relief. He also created tonics and conducted live anatomy demonstrations at the Royal Theatre. Thanks to those achievements, he became the youngest professor at the medical college.”
He sounds like a salesman.
Then again, haven't medicine men always been salesmen? People who talk well and sell well? That's probably why the expression exists.
“Oh...”
“He's amazing...”
“Well, Liston's still a cutter, but... a master's a master.”
“But why are we—the poor ones—being used?”
Joseph's speech calmed the room.
Liston even gave him a thumbs-up.
A rare occasion where words proved more effective than threats.
Once the atmosphere settled, I seized the opportunity.
“As you've just heard, anesthesia is now possible.”
Technically, it had been possible seventy years ago.
Back then, however, it was little more than a party trick.
“In any case, this is a tremendous leap forward for humanity. While others only dreamed about it, Dr. Liston turned it into reality.”
I have said this before.
Liston is a barbarian.
A talented barbarian, but a barbarian nonetheless.
At the same time, he is my strongest supporter.
If praise costs nothing, there is no reason not to use it.
“Haha, that's too much praise.”
Look at him—he's eating it up.
“With anesthesia, we can proceed without rushing. And that means we can attempt abdominal surgery.”
“Oh my God...”
“As expected of us...!”
“You lunatics.”
Why are they getting excited over abdominal surgery?
If I hear one more compliment, I'm going to stab someone.
The power of reputation was terrifying.
Still, a new era really was beginning.
An era in which people dared to open the abdomen.
“We're not cutting randomly. We'll examine the symptoms first. Dr. Liston discovered something while reviewing previous cases, and I'd like to confirm it.”
“What about the right to refuse?”
“Of course you have that right. But do you want to die without trying? Some of you are seriously ill.”
“Th-that's true...”
“I'm not cutting blindly. I promise. Dr. Liston and I are among the best physicians in London. He's the finest surgeon in the city. Trust your lives to us.”
I spoke as smoothly as Joseph would have.
Perhaps too smoothly.
Several patients, feverish and only half-conscious, nodded immediately.
It felt like a scam.
But what other choice did I have?
If it's appendicitis, there's usually a fever.
But what if it was not?
What if I opened the abdomen and found cancer?
Or something that should never have been touched?
Even if the law never came after me, my twenty-first-century conscience certainly would.
Still, I could always argue that surgery had been medically necessary.
Even if that argument was flimsy.
And with nitrous oxide as our only anesthetic and our primitive assistants, the patient might die anyway.
What if it's gastritis?
Or pancreatitis...?
You do not cut open everyone who complains of abdominal pain.
Many diseases originate internally.
What if we operated and they died?
Damn...
I shook my head and approached the patients with fevers.
Liston looked annoyed.
“We should just open all of them.”
What kind of logic is that? He's insane.
And he's still thinking about cutting people in the shape of a cross.
The man really does have the instincts of a serial killer.
“Let's examine the symptoms first. Didn't you say the area was swollen?”
“Yeah.”
“Then there should be a fever, right?”
“Isn't that a stretch? Does swelling cause fever?”
“Ah...”
You don't know that either?!
There was so much they did not know that they did not even realize what they did not know.
I did my best not to show my frustration.
“Anyway, rather than rushing in and making things worse, let's at least examine them properly first.”
“Fine, fine... Right here?”
“What?”
“AAAAAGH!”
Liston suddenly jabbed a finger into a patient's lower right abdomen.
He pressed so hard I thought he might punch straight through.
“Oh, it hurts?”
Of course it hurts, you maniac...
I stared at him in disbelief.
Liston merely looked pleased with himself and began drawing another cross on the patient's abdomen.
Absolutely not.
You could not press like that.
If it was appendicitis, that much force could rupture the appendix.
“Wasn't that a little too rough?”
“Was it? I thought I was being gentle.”
“That was gentle?!”
“If I really pressed hard, I'd make a hole. Want to see?”
“No thanks.”
After settling things down, I approached another patient.
“Alright, sir. Bend your knees.”
“Why? Are you going to cut me?”
“Why would I cut you now? I'm checking your abdominal tension. It's easier when the knees are bent.”
“Oh... okay.”
Now that I thought about it, Liston had simply stabbed his finger into the previous patient.
No preparation.
No examination.
Nothing.
I needed to teach him the basics first.
So I called the others over and demonstrated how to examine abdominal tension correctly, comparing the patient's abdomen to that of a healthy person.
“See? Softer now, right?”
“Oh. It really does feel different. How did you know this?”
“I learned it from my mother.”
It was a difficult question.
But if Liston was the Cutting Master, I was the Bluffing Master.
The lie came naturally.
“Ah...”
People never question you when you mention your mother.
It's a timeless rule.
Alright. Time to examine them properly.