Chapter 164: The Experiment... [6]
I was not sure whether it was because we had poured water into him, or because people in this era were just absurdly tough.
His breathing is getting better...
Did that usually happen just from pouring salt water into someone? If that were the case, modern medicine would not need ICUs or ventilators. Just buckets of saline. But reality was not that kind. People died all the time, even with the best equipment and care.
Is this really Earth?
Are these people even human?
The thought came to me too naturally. It could not have been a coincidence. It had to be something more.
Were they actually alive?
“Haha. Water really is a cure-all.”
Liston laughed after removing the intubation and stitching the patient up. I stayed quiet, partly in awe, because it really did feel like I was witnessing a miracle.
Looking again, his technique was not bad. Considering how little time had passed since I taught him, he was already pulling off fairly clean sutures. If he could just work on aligning the wound edges better, he would be well on his way to mastering the skill.
Definitely not a Sword Master for nothing.
“Okay. I think that’ll do. Hmm.”
Liston saying something like that was fine. He was a surgeon in name and practice, and now that he stayed close to me, we could prevent most disasters before they started. Despite his gruffness, he had a surprisingly delicate touch. Ever since I had handed him that weird bottle of water, his confidence in me had probably dropped a bit, but among nineteenth-century doctors, he was still, remarkably, quite prudent.
That guy, though...
Blundell was the real wild card. This was the man who first tried mixing blood and transfusing it. The same man who dreamed of preventing Premature Burial. Sure, he had not made any more mistakes since I gave him the Stethoscope, but his past actions made me question whether he was confirming death or confirming a kill. I mean, stabbing a corpse’s heart to see whether blood spurted out? Where did that even come from?
If it had been him instead of me, he probably would have just dumped water into the patient outright.
The problem now was that since we had already started using this method, I would be stuck handing out water for a while. Ordinarily, this would not be a big deal. But what if the timing was wrong? Like when a medicine or a wound needed immediate intervention, and instead I handed them... water?
No, actually, maybe this was working.
Maybe water really was a panacea in the nineteenth century. It might be better if they just stuck to water instead of doing all their strange “treatments.” These people did not look at patients with theories or hypotheses. Just wild imagination.
“Is everything okay now?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Whatever the reason, the water seemed to be helping. It had been hell trying to produce enough Distilled Water just a day or two ago. You could not exactly hand out half-boiled water to patients already dying from dehydration. But giving them nothing was not an option either, not when they were clearly suffering from vomiting and diarrhea. I could not explain all the underlying mechanisms, and honestly, it had been one of the rougher stretches of my stay here.
“You idiots! Boil the water!”
I finally snapped again.
“What the fuck? I don’t know what that means, but it sounds good. Is that an insult?”
“Yes. It’s an insult.”
“Alright, then! Did you all hear that? Fuck you guys! Boil the water! Move your asses!”
And just like that, I awakened the devil.
Mr. Fuck. That was Liston’s new nickname, or rather, title. The moment he learned the word, he had been using it every day. He said it had a certain power to it, even if no one understood the meaning. And when it came to English swearing, well, there was something creative about it. Blunt, but effective.
“This is good.”
He seemed convinced the word had magical properties. Maybe it was ridiculous, but the truth was, we had gotten through the crisis. That was what mattered.
“Gentlemen.”
Liston, clearly moved, gathered the students who had participated in the experiment.
All twenty of them.
No one collapsed.
No one died.
Conducting the experiment might have been foolish, but the outcome, no deaths, was a genuine success.
“Good work. Thanks to you, medicine has taken another step forward. I truly mean it. The concept of Miasma itself may need to be redefined.”
He patted the shoulder of one student in particular, the one who had had the worst symptoms. Fever, diarrhea, and even now there was something questionable going on around his rear end. But the guy was beaming with pride.
It was kind of gross, but...
Lift your chin. You earned it.
How would history remember this? Could this be the site where the concept of microorganisms was first born? So what if they had feces on them? These people had literally risked their lives for science, and they had succeeded.
“Alright then, let’s go to the director.”
“The director?”
Liston did not waste time basking in congratulations. He left the ward right away. It still smelled terrible in there, and the cold air did not help.
“We need to report this.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Let’s go.”
There was still urgent business to handle.
Ledger, our so-called director, was more than just a hospital administrator. He was a big name in London’s social and medical circles. If he accepted our findings, the medical field in London would take a leap forward.
“So... Miasma isn’t really ‘bad air,’ but more like... living things?”
“Yes. I’m not saying the air is harmless. There’s still something in it. But there are different kinds of harmful agents. And these are the truly dangerous ones.”
Liston burst into the director’s office and plopped down a sheet of paper. On it was a crude drawing, green-tinted to represent germs. It was intentionally simplified. If we tried to distinguish between E. coli and Staphylococcus at this stage, it would only confuse people.
“Hmm.”
The director frowned in deep thought while Liston began explaining the experiment.
“You fed it to them?”
“Yes.”
That caught the director off guard.
It was the one moment I understood how he had made it this far in life.
Only for a moment, though.
“Shouldn’t you have tested this on the poor instead of on students? Wouldn’t that have been safer?”
“But that would have cost money.”
“Ah.”
These guys...
Did you hear that, Satan?
They were worse than you.
“Anyway, as soon as they drank the contaminated water, the weaker ones developed vomiting and diarrhea. Some barely lasted three hours.”
“You’re weak.”
That was not the point, so I cut in.
“Hey. I’m not weak. Aren’t those symptoms from the Miasma?”
“Ahh. Right. The strange thing is, the ones who got sick first also recovered first.”
“Interesting. So the weaker ones...?”
Liston turned to me, then nodded.
“Yes. I think the concentration of Miasma decreased over time.”
“Ah... So it flushed out of their system? That’s similar to Hippocrates’ teachings.”
“No, not really.”
He glanced at the director, whose expression grew more pitiful the longer he tried to follow.
“How do you make that face while talking to your superior?”
“Because I can.”
“That’s how it usually is. Go on. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
Liston recited what I had told him, almost word for word.
“So if we assume that these ‘Miasmas’ are actually microorganisms, the symptoms weakened because the infectious agents left the body?”
“Yes.”
“Impressive. So drinking clean water helped reduce the intake of these harmful agents?”
“Yes.”
“But what if you just happened to be naturally strong?”
“Even Blundell tried it. And I’ve heard good things from other patients, too.”
“Ah. Then...”
It felt like things were going my way, but I also felt uneasy.
“Hmm...”
The director nodded, seeming to understand. But he quickly fell silent again.
Still, this man had once been at the top of his field, according to Liston. Just because someone declined academically did not mean they had always been wrong.
But to survive as a doctor in this era...
You needed more than medical skill. Plenty of doctors went out on house calls and never came back. It was not for nothing that horseback riding was taught in medical school. You had to be able to escape.
Or fight.
Or both.
“Looking at it again... This seems plausible. Let’s publish it. Who’s the lead author?”
“It should be fair.”
“Hehe. You really love Pyeong, don’t you?”
“I have to. I’ve learned more from his methods than I ever did in all my years of medicine.”
“Still... it might not be accepted right away. It’s too radical. You could be attacked.”
In the twenty-first century, “attacked” meant criticism. An academic rebuttal or debate.
But back here, it could be much more literal.
“Would it be a big deal if I went with you?”
“I think so. Pyeong, did you hear that? I love you too. You should never walk alone.”
Here, the warning was not metaphorical. People had been locked in asylums for less.
“Yes. I’ll remember that.”
“And... are you going to Paris for the conference?”
“Yes.”
“Huh?”
That caught me off guard.
Sure, Liston might be invited to a conference, but...
“I’m taking Pyeong with me. It might be dangerous to reveal this without backup.”
“You’re doing the same experiment?”
“Yes. If we challenge those who oppose us to try it themselves, pride will push many of them to volunteer.”
“The French do love dramatic gestures.”
“Yes. And thanks to Pyeong’s adjustments to wound care, the number of amputees has already dropped. He’s done a lot.”
“Take care of yourself. Even if France is nearby, the journey isn’t easy.”
“Are you talking to me?”
“No, I meant Pyeong. You can swim if the boat sinks, right?”