Chapter 167: Upton [3]
“After…”
Hernia surgery. Honestly, it was not that big a deal. Sure, it was a different story if the gut started to rot, but that was rare. Especially in a place like modern-day Korea. Go out into any city, and you would find a hospital worthy of the name. As for me, I had been a professor at one of the best. That said it all.
“Are you nervous?”
“Uh? Yeah.”
As Joseph said, I was nervous. You might think it was because the patient was some kind of VIP. But no, that was not it. Not that he was not important. I was just not the kind of person to discriminate based on that.
Is it always like this?
I had planned to do the surgery at home. I had only asked if there was a treatment room in the village, just in case. You never knew. In many ways, this place was better than London. Of course, that was partly because the local craftsmen had long gone bankrupt and been pushed into London’s slums.
“Should we take him to Dr. Liston?”
“No, no. We’ll do it here.”
After seeing the so-called treatment room earlier, I had nearly lost my lunch. I honestly thought I had walked into a slaughterhouse. It stank. That was the treatment room? I quickly turned back and came home. Thankfully, Joseph did not ask why. Better not to say things like, “Are we seriously doing it there?”
“I don’t know, but if you looked at it under a microscope, I bet there’s tons of miasma.”
What a wonderful little guy. Who cared if the terminology was a bit off? If the intention was right, that was what mattered.
“It has to be done here.”
I stood tall and looked down at the table. Even if it was still stained with kimchi broth, this was now an operating table.
“Let’s clean it thoroughly.”
“Uh? Oh. Right.”
“It’s your dad. We need to be extra careful.”
“Y-yeah. But… do you really do it like this?”
Was he implying “dad” was some lesser being? Or was I just being overly sensitive? I gave him a look, and he responded like I had wronged him.
“No, think about it. If there’s miasma on the floor, it can move, right? It’s alive.”
“I heard it’s microscopic…”
“Yeah, but it could get on our hands and transfer.”
“Can’t I just not touch it?”
“Hehe.”
By that logic, why even bother with sterile operating rooms? Why wear gloves or gowns? Just wash your hands and go. This kid clearly did not realize how easy it was to miss tiny things when you were concentrating on something else.
Should I push him a little more?
If I pushed back, maybe he would shut up and behave. But no, it did not work.
“Let’s clean it together.”
“Fine. Just say the word.”
Then my parents jumped in to help. I did not know whether certain expressions were in use during Joseon times, and I had no interest in checking. More importantly, this was Joseph’s house. Even if I was not trying to impress anyone, a little effort was due.
“Still, I’m not very good at this.”
“Well, you’re not exactly athletic, but you’re amazing at surgery.”
I had to hold my tongue. Okay. Deep breaths. They said a person who endured patiently could resist killing three times, right? I was beginning to understand that proverb literally. Thankfully, Joseph seemed impressed by my restraint and pitched in to help clean. The result was the cleanest table I had seen in all of nineteenth-century England. Certainly the cleanest surgical table.
“Uncle, can I lie down here?”
“Uh? Uh, yeah, slowly—Oh, dear. Once it’s out, it never goes back in smoothly.”
“This isn’t some evil spirit, is it? Should I bring a priestess?”
No, no. Please just stay still, ma’am. If a priest walked in here, I swear I would—
“Unholy! Trying to drive out an evil spirit with a knife and no faith!”
“Ah? Then let us begin the chapter. I’ll offer the blessing.”
One was the worst and the other was the best, but both were terrifying to imagine. And sadly, the odds of them actually happening were far too high.
“No, no.”
“But what if this is an evil spirit? What if it jumps out when you open his belly?”
“If you’re really worried, take a seat over there and pray quietly.”
“Oh, right. I’ll do that. Goodness, it’s because of that man selling alcohol…”
Apparently, they were from a brewing family. Honestly, shouldn’t you put down your wine glass before complaining? For a moment, a morally questionable comment popped into my head, but I pushed it down. Now was not the time.
“Eugh…”
The man groaned, probably from the effort of lying down. Normally, you would lie down in a surgical gown, but since we had nothing of the sort, I just had him strip and placed a cover over him. We were within the realm of surgery, after all.
I did not ask him to strip completely. God knew he would start claiming the hernia was an evil spirit. That kind of thing was normal in the age before anesthesia. But not anymore.
Luckily, Joseph had picked up some laughing gas during a recent village trip.
“Dad.”
“Huh?”
“Sweet dreams.”
“Uh? Uh-oh… uh…”
When it came to administering gas, no one beat Joseph. Even though the trip was not far, I had packed my equipment just in case. His control of the dosage was perfect, something even I could not replicate easily.
Psssshh.
“Good heavens! What are you doing?!”
With the patient unconscious, I pulled down his pants. My father, watching, gasped. Then he looked at me, then at his own lower half. I could tell he was feeling a strange sense of defeat. Not judgment, just resignation.
“I’m doing surgery. It’s protruding right here.”
“Can’t you just lift the cloth a little?”
“Nope. Joseph, tell him about miasma.”
“Ah, Father. So, you see…”
Joseph eagerly jumped into his explanation. It was full of holes, but that was better. My father had no scientific background, and sometimes too much accuracy just led to unnecessary questions. People back then were ruled more by belief than understanding.
“I see, I see.”
He nodded with the blissful ignorance of someone who did not understand a thing.
“Alright. Go stand outside and keep others from coming in. Just bring the alcohol when we ask.”
“Yes, yes.”
Once he left, I re-sanitized the surgical area. The man had a lot of hair. It needed shaving.
“All of it…?”
“Yeah. Miasma.”
“Right, right.”
Using “miasma” as the all-purpose justification of the day, I shaved him down and picked up the scalpel. I wiped it clean.
It’ll be fine. I’ll monitor him for two or three days before heading back. Neither Dr. Liston nor Alfred is the type to complain if I return the carriage a little late.
Slice.
With that, I made the incision. All thoughts of infection or miasma vanished. I was in the zone, fully focused on the surgical field.
Slip.
The inguinal ligament was stretched, just as I expected. I gently pushed the protruding intestines back with gloved fingers. The patient twitched, only a slight reaction from the stimulation.
If I had touched a blood vessel, it could have gone badly. I made a mental note to secure some muscle relaxant before attempting anything more complex in the future.
But my hands kept moving. The ligament had stretched, so I carefully narrowed it with simple sutures. Luckily, it had not progressed far, so a tight closure was not needed. Too tight, and I risked complications.
Not hard for me.
“All done.”
“Already?”
“This is a simple procedure.”
“Wow… You really are good at surgery.”
“Well, I’m the best at surgery.”
“That’s why you became a professor, huh?”
Since it involved his dad, Joseph was positively beaming as we reached the end of the surgery.
“My friend’s a professor! Hahahahaha!”
Ah, no. That idiot had inhaled some gas while hovering near his dad. The good news was that he passed out away from the surgical area.
Anyway. Closing now…
I turned off the gas and waited for the patient to wake.
“Ugh… wha…”
Ten minutes later, he opened his eyes, dazed.
“You okay?”
“Yeah… Uh… When does the surgery start?”
“It’s already done.”
“What? Surgery usually—”
He was probably picturing the chaos of a town-square operation. He muttered in disbelief for a while before falling asleep again.
Later, I explained everything to the coachman, who chuckled and said he was glad. Apparently, he was hoping for more drinking time. Despite being drunk for three days, the man remained infection-free.
Lucky bastard. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just plain luck.
“Are you heading back now?”
“Yeah.”
“Paris…”
Now that seemed to hurt more than the surgery. Just thinking about the sea made him wince.
“This isn’t the time for me to be like this.”
As Joseph and I prepared to leave for London, the man suddenly remembered something. He dashed inside and returned, furtively handing me something behind his wife’s back.
A talisman.
I had never seen one here before. But it felt… solid. A good charm.
“Father…?”
Joseph stared at his father in betrayal. After all, the man was a devout Quaker who drank too much but never dabbled in superstition. And now this?
“When you’re out at sea, you need these things.”
“What?”
“Men and horses alike. Even the Puritans who went to America brought theirs!”
“They did?”
Even those who fled in search of religious freedom could not give up superstition. My fear of sailing only deepened.