Chapter 23: It’s the Doctor [2]
Chapter 23: It’s the Doctor [2]
Robert Liston.
This unparalleled devil—no, surgeon—had been so busy over the past month that he scarcely had time to breathe.
Even without any evidence, it would have been obvious enough, but I had physical proof as well.
The years on that knife... no, damn it. The blood clots had increased.
And not by a little, either, but by a lot.
Had he been renewing his prime these days or something? Toward the end, they had increased every single day.
Which meant that just as many people’s arms or legs had been cut off.
There had probably been plenty of dead people too.
The dead had no voice, so there was never any danger of harming Robert Liston’s reputation.
Of course, their families probably had a lot they wanted to say....
But who knew.
Would they really dare even open their mouths in front of Robert Liston holding a knife?
“Here... these are the puerperal fever rates in Ward One.”
“Rates?”
“Ah, that is... the proportion of cases. Of puerperal fever.”
“Ah, yes. But that... it just happens on its own. If you are unlucky, it happens.”
Blundell shook his head.
How nice it would have been if I could hit him hard enough to make that head snap the other way.
Luck? Did he just call it luck?
These bastards, really....
Not only would they not admit they were wrong, they were inconsistent even within that.
Sometimes it was miasma, other times it was luck, and then at other times they spewed nonsense about water veins and whatever else.
You should take a look at the midwives and learn something from them.
It was not as though they properly understood the reason hands needed to be washed, either.
But even if only by habit, they at least washed them with water.
Though when I put chloride of lime in front of them, they flared up in anger just the same.
Anyway, while doing the survey, I additionally compared the patients attended only by midwives with the patients seen by doctors, and naturally there was a difference in survival rates.
The midwives were better.
At least they washed their hands with water, and they did not perform autopsies.
“As you can see... it is around 4%.”
“Hm.”
“The other wards... the lowest is 18%, and the highest is 24%.”
I forced down the anger that had built up for all sorts of reasons and kept speaking.
How long had I wanted to say this over the past month?
I had endured for a full month just to say this obvious thing—that the ward where people washed their hands had a lower infection rate, that is, a lower puerperal fever rate, than the other wards.
Maybe that was why I felt tears prickling a little.
“Hm....”
Yet this bastard Blundell kept pursing his lips.
Did he want to say it was coincidence? Was that it? If so, I wanted to pour the chloride of lime straight into his mouth.
“There really is quite a difference.”
Fortunately, Robert Liston was showing interest.
It was not empty talk either. He truly meant it.
At that moment, he was staring fixedly at the stack of documents I had brought.
“Who conducted this survey?”
The words that came out, however, were not especially friendly.
No, rather than the words themselves, what should I call it—the atmosphere was somewhat sharp.
In truth, because he looked frightening, anything he said felt that way.
Anyway, I avoided his eyes and answered.
“I led it, but... Joseph over there and Senior Alfred also carried out the survey with me, and we cross-checked it as well.”
“So in the end, friends did it together?”
“T-that is true.”
“Even so, it looks like meaningful data....”
As if he had only said it in passing, or perhaps not, Robert Liston paced around with the documents still in hand.
His eyes were clearly fixed on the figures.
Which made sense.
The difference was astonishing.
When someone got puerperal fever, noble or not, they often died just the same, but now that number had dropped sharply.
It was no exaggeration to call it a dramatic change.
“It is so meaningful that it is almost too meaningful. To think something like this could happen just from washing hands... hm....”
If anything, it seemed he was dissatisfied because the effect was too dramatic.
When Robert Liston reacted like that, Blundell also seemed to gain some courage.
“That is exactly what I mean. Does this make any sense? A hypothesis proposed by a student who only just entered medical school cannot possibly be verified to this extent!”
Beneath that, there was probably dissatisfaction toward me as well.
No, more than dissatisfaction, perhaps contempt?
I could understand it.
Even I had unconsciously felt prejudice rising in me whenever I dealt with people who looked different from me.
And that was me, someone who had lived in the twenty-first century. So what would these people be like?
Even so, I could not forgive it.
As I was keenly reminded that understanding and forgiveness belonged to different realms, I looked at Robert Liston.
Hoping he would smash this bastard’s skull and make everyone wash their hands.
“We lose nothing by trying, do we?”
Oh.
As expected, the title of doctor really suited him more than butcher.
“Why not try it for one more month? This time in every ward.”
Robert Liston slammed the stack of documents down so hard it made a thud.
It did not seem like he had put them down all that forcefully, but one corner of the desk cracked slightly.
Naturally, it was not Robert Liston’s desk.
“Ah....”
Blundell stared weakly at his broken desk—an expensive-looking jet-black hardwood desk, no less—then nodded.
Was it because he thought that if he complained about the desk, his own head might be the next thing split open?
It was hard to know why, but anyway, it was good news.
If everyone going in and out of every ward began washing their hands, then the number of people dying in this hospital would drop sharply.
As for dying from other causes... that was beyond what I could do.
Cancer, for example.
There was nothing I could do about that now.
Surgery?
If I stepped in, I could perform the surgery perfectly.
But cancer surgery without anesthesia—no matter who I was—was a bit....
“Ah, and Pyeong.”
Anyway, once my business was done, I stepped out with the proud bearing of a triumphant general.
Or rather, I was about to.
I would have, had Robert Liston not called me.
“Yes, Professor!”
Who would I dare hesitate before?
I spun right back on the foot I had just set down and hurried to Robert Liston.
Blundell was trying to fit the broken pieces of his desk back together.
They did not seem likely to stick at all.
Just like the hair on his head that had fallen away would never grow back again.
“These days, the people going in and out of the wards... the people in this hospital, I mean.”
“Yes.”
Robert Liston continued speaking without so much as glancing at Blundell.
His expression was quite serious, and since I was good at flattering people, I made it very obvious that I was paying close attention.
“There are quite a few among them who curse you. You know that, I assume?”
“Yes. I know.”
“Looking at the results... there is certainly enough value in being hated for. But tell me... do you not think this chloride of lime is too harsh?”
I did.
Of course I did.
Chloride of lime.
Chemical formula: Ca(Cl₂)·CaCl₂·2H₂O.
Had you ever tried washing your hands with this?
This was basically bleach....
If you had, and if there were actually someone telling you to wash your hands with it, you ought to report them—whether to the labor office or the police.
“It is harsh. I also think every day about how it might be improved....”
Thinking that, my eyes naturally fell on my own hands folded politely together.
They were red.
And they hurt.
What would happen if I kept washing them with this? Maybe I was overthinking it, but it felt like it could even cause cancer.
“Really? You have thought about it? It did not look like it, seeing the way you carried on.”
“Y-you saw that?”
“I left the knife there, so I took a look now and then. I like people who can raise that kind of hell. If a man has something in his heart that he wants to accomplish, then he ought to go that far for it.”
“Ah....”
Unexpectedly, that was what won Robert Liston over.
Was that a good thing?
I did not know.
I was not sure whether there was anything worth learning from this man.
But... if I used him well, maybe I could clear away every obstacle, including Blundell...?
“But a man must also care about his reputation. Otherwise, he must possess skill great enough to overwhelm everything. It is one or the other.”
Maybe because it was being said by a man who already possessed power, it was forcibly convincing.
But....
There was something even the great Robert Liston did not know.
All of this was my scheme.
“Yes, I will try to find something gentler.”
Would I have answered like this if I knew how to make alcohol cheaply?
No.
The first problem was that it could not be stored.
It all evaporated....
It would have been nice if I could turn it into a gel, but if I could do that, I would have studied chemistry instead.
Soap... even that alone would work, for now.
Running water and soap.
To be precise, the key was the surfactants in soap.
Most viruses could not withstand that combination.
Of course, it would not achieve sterilization, but for that, a negative-pressure system would be needed.
And in nineteenth-century London, even if you wanted to die trying, there was no such thing.
“Yes, well, I shall look into it too. But in order to remove something like... whatever it is that clings to the hands—whether one should call it miasma or an unknown substance... in any case, I cannot imagine what would be needed.”
Unaware of my true thoughts, Robert Liston said that, and I went back outside and picked up the chloride of lime again.
No matter how often I smelled it, I could not get used to its harsh odor. It hit my nose sharply.
In truth, that was one reason the others hated it, but it was also one reason they found it convincing.
Since the miasma theory was, in the end, a hypothesis derived from smell, the fact that this harsh, deadly-smelling substance covered over the foul odor made it seem like common sense.
“Ah... how long do we have to keep washing with that?”
“This is driving me mad. Washing is fine, but... is there nothing else? It’s too harsh.”
As I walked the corridor holding it, Joseph and Alfred stuck to either side of me, chattering.
It was exactly the reaction I had been aiming for.
You bastards.
Was that not how people were? If you tormented them terribly at first and then eased up a little, they felt gratitude rather than anger.
How did I know?
Because I had experienced it.
From the moment I entered the university hospital—starting as an intern, then becoming a resident, a fellow, and then a clinical assistant professor...
I had really gone through hell, but because the intern year and first year of residency had been so utterly awful, I felt grateful as I moved upward.
Objectively speaking, every single stage was hard, yet that was how it felt.
Heh heh. This was what you called shock therapy.
Surprisingly enough, that was also a term used in psychiatry.
“The patient lives, doesn’t he? You are becoming doctors, and you can’t even do that?”
For the sake of that shock, I hid the fact that there was another method besides chloride of lime.
I felt no guilt.
“Aaaagh.”
I was washing with it too, was I not?
You damned bastards.
Because of you, I....
Had about a week passed like that?
That day as well, while I was blowing on my reddened hands as usual, Alfred approached, his hands just as red.
Fortunately, just as the others had changed, Alfred no longer openly showed dissatisfaction either.
Since the handwashing directive before entering the wards had been expanded to all wards, survival rates had improved dramatically—so much so that there was no need to calculate the statistics any longer.
“Yes, Senior.”
“My father said... because of the rubber, he wants you to come by once.”
“Oh. Is it working?”
“No idea. But it seems something did come out of it. He said it’s on the way, so let’s stop by.”
“Of course. Sounds good.”