Chapter 162: The Experiment... [4]
The change was dramatic. Just moments ago, a student had sworn he would die if he drank the water. Now he was pleading that he would die if he did not.
“Yes, I’ll drink it!”
“Yes!”
Had they not already been acting as if they were dying of thirst? Especially the ones with fevers. They were gulping down water, their mucous membranes dried out by the heat, which only made them thirstier.
“Eugh...”
But they barely had the strength to drink. Most of them simply lay there. If I left them like that, they would probably die.
That was how things were.
Originally, the world belonged to the strong...
No, no. That’s too Listonian.
I came to my senses and started distributing Distilled Water to my suffering comrades.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll need to add some salt.
This was exactly why oral rehydration was superior to IV fluids. With intravenous fluids, the concentration had to be controlled. While that was theoretically possible even in this era of rough estimates, I was extremely wary of manipulating things further. In a world with no sterilization protocols, not even the concept itself, it was not an exaggeration to say that the more I touched something, the more likely someone was to die.
“Drink.”
“Yes... yes.”
Their fevers rose even in the short time I was tending to them.
Is someone going to die from this?
It would make the perfect headline. Realistically, though, I doubted it would even make the papers. This was nineteenth-century London. Death was not news. And if a medical student died trying to advance science, no one would bat an eye. If anything, they would probably praise me. People were already dying during dissection practice.
Thankfully, we were at least forced to use gloves. That alone raised survival rates. Other schools still argued that gloves were “excessive.”
Only they’re dying, though.
I took a deep breath and helped him drink. There was not much else to do. If a patient could not swallow water on his own, if he developed Pneumonia and needed intubation, or even just fell unconscious and risked Aspiration Pneumonia, then IV fluids might be the only option.
But that still felt absurd in this era.
Better to delay it as much as possible.
“Ugh...”
“Okay, keep drinking.”
I tapped the forehead of one boy burning with fever and coaxed some more water into him. By the time I finished tending to everyone, it was already midnight. Those who had drunk water were now vomiting or having diarrhea, and the entire room stank.
“Damn it.”
Even Liston could not take the smell anymore and rushed out.
“There must be Miasma in that stench.”
“That...”
What would happen if I denied it now?
Nothing good.
That much was certain.
“I think so.”
So I simply agreed. Honestly, was there not some truth to it? Bad smells usually did indicate Miasma, bacteria, or viruses. If this kind of thinking could be refined, if we taught good habits instead of clinging to flawed ideas, maybe London could become a little more livable.
Feeling strangely optimistic, I returned to the lab with Liston and the others. He had warned Blundell to ring the bell he had rigged, the one designed to alert people if he ever woke up inside a coffin. The cord was long enough to reach the lab from the cemetery.
“Phew.”
“Is it worth all this effort? You’ll get better just by drinking water anyway.”
Liston chuckled after checking the bell one last time. He genuinely believed clean water could cure all infectious diseases.
If we leave it to him, they’ll start waterboarding people next.
Was I making a mistake?
Well, that was nineteenth-century London for you. Not only could anything imaginable happen here, but things no twenty-first-century person could even conceive of happened daily.
“That... It’s not certain yet. And if clean water alone could save people, then what would be the point of medicine—”
“Yes! I’m developing a new hypothesis. Clean water is the best medicine!”
Ah.
I had heard that one before, even in the twenty-first century. People who sounded all spiritual or “natural” said things like that, then turned around and sold you overpriced bottled water or some other nonsense.
At least Liston is sincere... but that makes him even scarier.
People with ulterior motives could be dealt with. But someone who was absolutely sincere and completely insane?
There was no fixing that.
Well, not right now...
I figured I should sleep while I still had the chance. Something told me I would not be able to later.
I lay down.
No one else seemed to be thinking that way, though. They were all lying around, chattering like middle schoolers on a field trip.
“If this works... Haha! I’ll go down in history!”
“Couldn’t we all stay? I helped lead the experiment!”
“Hahaha! Yes! It’s all thanks to Pyeong!”
“Thank you, Pyeong!”
“Thanks!”
Great.
You’re welcome.
But I needed to sleep. And now I had to monitor these poor students who had just ingested whatever the hell we had given them. I had no idea what side effects might follow.
“Ha ha ha...”
“Ha ha ha ha ha!”
“Hahahahaha!”
They just kept laughing.
Honestly, it was a little unsettling. Right next door, the students we had given water to were vomiting, writhing from diarrhea, and clutching their stomachs.
And these guys were giddy?
“Should we sleep now?”
“Yes.”
Finally, Liston yawned as he glanced at the setting moon, and that was the signal.
Silence fell.
Everyone knew. Speak now, and you died.
Figuratively, of course.
Unless you pissed off Liston. Then maybe not so figuratively.
If I had half his authority, I could have changed this era twice as fast.
I tried to fall asleep, grumbling to myself, when suddenly the rope moved.
No way.
Things had been quiet until now. I was starting to think either the Thames water was weaker than I expected, or people in the nineteenth century were just built different.
Jingling, jingling.
The bell.
It rang.
I had been this close to sleeping, but that sound killed the mood instantly.
“Ugh.”
I was not angry at the person who rang it.
Just at the whole damn situation.
My lips were dry. My mouth tasted sour. But what could I do? I was a doctor, and there was a patient.
A patient who, for all anyone knew, was in that state because of me.
Fuck.
Cursing under my breath, I walked over.
Not alone.
These ignorant nineteenth-century doctors might be clueless, but their passion could not be beaten.
I had brought nearly every piece of equipment I had designed or modified since coming here. Joseph, Alfred, and Colin had worked like slaves preparing a massive amount of water, just in case.
“Professor! He’s having trouble breathing!”
I turned to the student who had rung the bell, not for himself, but for someone else. Even though he was clearly suffering too, with a red bulge forming at the base of his spine.
The student lying on the bed, wheezing...
I recognized his face.
He had had a fever.
And it was still raging.
“Stethoscope!”
A crude one, designed more to check whether someone was alive than to diagnose illness, appeared. Joseph handed it over without hesitation. I put it on while removing the patient’s top.
Why are you still wearing clothes when you’re gasping for air...?
I sighed.
But now was not the time to nitpick.
Intercostal muscle movement... Already!
A clear sign of acute Respiratory Distress. If this was left untreated, Cyanosis would set in, followed by death.
Pneumonia...
The breath sounds were dull. It did not seem too severe, thankfully, but I could not be sure. My first real experience with Auscultation had been during my military service. At university hospitals, we would just take an X-ray if anything looked strange.
“Scalpel!”
“Yes!”
“Pull!”
“Yes!”
I made the incision with Joseph, who now looked more like a seasoned assistant than the wide-eyed boy from before. We cut into the neck and inserted an iron tube.
Yes, it could cause heavy metal poisoning if left in too long, but that was not my concern right now. The crisis came first.
“Hold the bellows!”
“Yes!”
The bellows, yes, the kind used in blacksmith shops, was connected to the tube. I had no way to make an Ambu bag with current rubber technology, so this was my substitute.
We began to ventilate.
It did not have the high-concentration oxygen of an ICU setup, so the effect was modest. Still, just being able to breathe again seemed to restore some clarity.
Then Alfred, who was manning the bellows, asked with a pale face.
“But, Pyeong...”
“Huh?”
“...How long are we going to have to do this?”
“Ah...”
There were no machines.
Liston, seeing my hesitation, said what I could not.
“Do it until I tell you to stop.”
“Ah...”