Chapter 154: Abdominal Surgery [5]
Even a sober Liston was terrifying. So what happened when Liston was high on Laughing Gas?
“Ha ha ha ha ha! The Lord has given me a revelation!”
In an era where the average height barely reached the low 160s, a towering man over 180 centimeters was now sprinting down the corridor while shouting prayers.
That sight...
He’s not a surgeon. He’s the lord of terror.
I thought I had seen it all since coming to the nineteenth century, but this was fear on a different level. It was bad enough to look at, but what made it worse was that I knew exactly what he was about to do.
“Wait!”
“Ha ha ha! Cadet! Thanks to you, I can finally open an abdomen!”
“No...”
Someday, yes, someone would have to operate on the abdomen. Surgery eventually had to open the abdomen. There were plenty of diseases in the abdominal cavity, especially in an era where basic medicine was practically nonexistent. Surgery was often the only hope.
But not today.
I ran after him, muttering “not today” like Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings.
“Huh? Why are you stopping me?”
“W-wait...”
“Why? The Lord told me not to hesitate!”
“No...”
It was not the Lord. It was a hallucination. Watching him laugh like a lunatic while drunk on gas sent a chill down my spine.
But it was not hopeless. There was one way out.
Nitrous Oxide, or Laughing Gas, was not as powerful as one might think. It wore off quickly unless it was inhaled continuously. I knew this because Colin once forgot to maintain the dose. The moment the knife touched the patient, the man screamed. That little mistake got Colin suspended for a week and earned him a few punches from Liston himself.
We just need to buy time...
So that was the plan.
Stall.
“Doctor!”
“Uh-huh?”
“I understand that you have been blessed by the Lord’s grace, but do we really need to run?”
“Well, you said we needed to do something, so I’m doing it!”
“No, no—”
Spin it. Spin the logic.
“Think about it. Did John run or walk in the wilderness?”
“He walked. For decades... Ah. I wasn’t told to run, was I?”
“Exactly! You should walk!”
Was this the right argument? I had no idea. But it made sense to both of us, probably because we were both out of our minds in different ways.
As time passed, Liston began to calm down. At least the hallucinations were fading.
Then came the real problem.
“Anyway, we’re doing the operation today.”
He said it in a completely serious tone, his face stern.
Yes. This was the sober Liston now, firmly convinced by his own delusion. That was the thing about delusions. The person having them did not know they were delusions.
Open...? Wait, is he carrying a scalpel?
No.
Just that giant Liston knife.
I mean, yes, surgeons often preferred their own instruments, but his was practically a machete. It was meant for amputations, not abdominal surgery.
But fine. This is a mountain we have to climb eventually...
The situation was bleak. “Brutal” did not even cover it. But I was not just any doctor. I was the ultimate optimist. A positivity king, if you will. If I had not been, I would have gone mad or died the first time I saw one of these butchery sessions.
But not me.
I could endure this broken system.
Somehow.
“Would it be alright if I assisted you?”
“No need. Isn’t your assistant amazing?”
“Yes, yes... But you saw what I did earlier, right? I think using a smaller knife this time would be a good idea.”
“Huh? Ah... You want me to open it like you did?”
“Yes.”
Wait. What were you planning to do?
Liston looked off into the distance, then said, “The Lord showed me a cross earlier.”
“Oh...”
“So doesn’t that mean I should cut in a cross shape? That’s probably how the patient can be saved, right?”
“No... Let’s just stick with the method we tested earlier.”
“Hmm. I don’t know... It feels like you’re dismissing a revelation.”
It was not a revelation. It was Nitrous Oxide.
I wanted to scream, but instead I kept calm and tried a different angle.
“Well, the Lord gave me a different vision. I saw a small knife. I think that is what He wants us to use.”
“Hm...”
“I mean, why else would He give us abdominal skin? Wouldn’t it go against divine design to just tear through it carelessly?”
“Ah... Yes. That makes sense. He wouldn’t create it for nothing.”
“Exactly. It’s about choosing wisely.”
“But... the cross...”
“Don’t get too caught up in symbols. Faith isn’t proven by shape.”
I had no idea what I was saying anymore.
“Hmm. That’s a good point. Alright.”
Somehow, he bought it. Maybe it took crazy talk to reason with a crazy person.
We returned to the ward where all the patients with abdominal pain had been gathered. The moment we opened the door, a stench hit us.
A disgusting mix of feces, pus, body odor, and something dog-like.
“Um, yes. I’ll follow your lead.”
Still, I smiled. Because we had overcome the worst of it.
“Can I choose the patient?”
“Ah... Yes, of course.”
“If something seems off, let me know.”
“That... yes.”
Hearing him say “if something seems off” was almost insulting, but technically he was not wrong. Liston was a genius.
“Alright, bend your knees.”
“Pardon?”
“Bend them.”
“Ah, yes.”
He was also a brute.
But it worked. The patients obeyed instantly. Unlike me, who had to talk people down for half an hour, Liston got results with a single sentence.
“Where does it hurt the most?”
“Here.”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“Huh?”
When it turned out the pain was not in the lower abdomen, Liston calmly moved on.
Good.
Lower abdominal pain usually meant enteritis. Of course, it could be something worse, but it was not as if Liston could tell.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Here.”
“Good.”
He followed my earlier method exactly. His memory was impeccable. Truly impressive.
“Ah. It still hurts when I press here.”
He grinned at the patient writhing in pain.
“Should I sleep here? Or go?”
“I’d rather go... I’m a bit timid.”
“You were laughing while cutting earlier. What kind of timidity is that?”
“It’s a thing. This room... feels full of Miasma.”
“There’s less in the classrooms?”
“Yes.”
“That’s just a feeling. There’s no technology to measure Miasma.”
“Still... wouldn’t it be better to operate in a room that feels more sanitary?”
The fact that I even had to say this showed how miserable things were. I really needed to invent a microscope, or at least find someone who had.
Wait... maybe microscopes already exist by now?
The nineteenth century was so inconsistent. They had Laughing Gas, but used it for parties. It would not surprise me if they had microscopes but used them for parlor tricks.
“Alright then. Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir.”
As much of a brute as Liston was, he was oddly kind to me. So we took the patient to the lecture room, where the staff was already preparing the operating table. Joseph led the way, while Colin and Alfred handled the sterilized instruments and new sheets.
They did not even question why they were doing it. They just did it.
Honestly, good guys.
“Let’s move the patient.”
“Yes, yes.”
We lifted him onto the podium, which had been set up like a surgical table. Alfred brought the gas, Colin took the assistant’s seat, and I...
Well, I just watched.
I was not the surgeon today.
Liston was.
If I let my guard down... the patient dies.
Abdominal surgery was not something you could just improvise.
Especially not with a sword.
“I still have my heart... turn it off...”
I realized I had been so focused on Liston that I had forgotten to check the patient. And now he had just muttered something very important, but Alfred was too busy giggling with the gas.
I’ll ask later.
For now, the surgery was about to start.
“Alright.”
“What do you mean, ‘alright’? How are you going to cut the abdomen with that sword?”
“I can do it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can. They don’t call me the Cutting Master for nothing.”
“No, no. You saw how I did it earlier. You can’t just slice through in one go. The body has layers, like a pear.”
“Ah, layers. But do we really need to separate them?”
How do I explain this...?
“Did the Lord create layers for no reason?”
“Ah.”
A look of enlightenment spread across Liston’s face. He solemnly set down his beloved knife.
Then he picked up the scalpel I had made.
He did not look pleased.
“What can you even do with something this small?”
He sighed like a knight stripped of his sword, but still said, “Skilled men don’t blame their tools. Since you used this knife, I’ll accept this handicap.”
A handicap? This scalpel was designed through centuries of trial and error! It’s surgical perfection!
But fine.
I nodded. Because I was me, and he was Liston.
“Yes, brother. Now—oh! Careful! Ah! I’m bleeding! Give me gauze!”