Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Discovery of Bacteria (1)
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And... the first step of the plan.
A microscope.
Robert Hooke invented the microscope in the 17th century. Humanity got its first glimpse of the basic structures that make up living organisms. Hooke's microscope helped lead to the discovery of cells.
Of course, human cells can't be seen without staining, so what he actually observed were the plant cell walls in cork.
This is the lab.
Anyway, a microscope is nothing more than two or three lenses. All the other parts just make it more convenient to use.
Ah, my neck hurts.
Isn't there an easier way to make one of these?
"Professor. What are you doing?"
"Oh, perfect timing. I'm making a microscope."
"What's that?"
The simplest way to explain a microscope...
"You know a magnifying glass? It's like stacking several of them to enlarge the subject. If one magnifying glass gives 10x magnification, two together should give 100x, right?"
"Is that how it works?"
I haven't actually tried it myself, so I wouldn't know.
I've used microscopes a few times, but I've never built one.
"If we get the focus right, it should work. The problem is, I've never made one before..."
Estina pondered for a moment.
"Should we ask a clockmaker or an optician? If it's not too complicated, they could probably make it. Especially with just two lenses."
Hmm. Wouldn't I need to draw up blueprints for that? I'm not confident. For now, let's start by calculating the focal length.
"Will that work?"
"Even without full blueprints, if we explain exactly what we want, something should come out of it, right?"
That made sense.
"Do we have a protractor?"
"I'll fetch one later."
In my previous life, I never had to look through a microscope myself—I'd just hand off samples to pathology or the lab department. Even then, the clinical pathologists handled most of the staining and preservation.
Now...
Not only do I have to peer through one, I have to build it from scratch. This is going to be rough for me, and for Estina too.
To keep using grad students long-term, I need to recruit more as soon as possible. That way, I can delegate more work and avoid burnout.
"Estina. Where do we usually recruit grad students from? You can't handle everything alone."
"Um... Looking among upperclassmen undergrads is probably the most reliable, right?"
Guess I need to start holding classes first.
Normally, TAs prepare lesson plans and materials, but Estina still has too much to learn. I'll have to do it myself.
"Estina. Sit in on the class too."
"Ah, got it."
"I'm thinking of structuring the lessons to help with research. The goal of our work is ultimately to train healers who know new things, after all. I'll show as many experiments as possible during the process."
"Looking forward to it."
What are you looking forward to, Estina?
Half the work will be on you.
Benjamin or Benyamin?
Maybe just a pronunciation difference.
Anyway. The student patient was lying in his bed. He looked fine on the surface, and fortunately, the swelling in his arm had gone down quite a bit.
"Patient. Feeling any better?"
"Yeah, seems okay. I can move my arm. Still hurts a little, though."
I looked at Benjamin.
"Wait one more day before moving your arm. The bone hasn't fully set yet."
"Does this need a splint or something?"
No need. There's already a metal rod pinned into his arm bone—adding a splint won't make it any stronger. Just be careful.
"No, just take it easy. No bumping into things, no vigorous movements."
The patient nodded.
"Can I go home like this?"
"Discharge is a bit premature. There's still infection risk, and you need practice moving your hand."
Fortunately, he seemed to understand.
The hospital—even by my era's standards—is relatively clean. Wound dressings are changed daily, or even multiple times a day.
"Understood."
"Patient. Any questions?"
"My arm hurts a little."
"Well... yeah. We cut open your arm and nailed the bone, so of course it hurts."
Benjamin looked up at me with eyes that screamed, What kind of lunatic is this guy? Ah, shouldn't have phrased it like that. I thought about my next words.
"If 0 is no pain and 10 is the worst pain imaginable, how bad is it?"
"Uh, about a 3?"
It might seem primitive, but asking for a 0-10 pain score is the simplest and most efficient way to assess pain.
A 3 isn't severe.
Still, keep in mind that pain should ideally be at 0 at rest. Even a 1 can be enough to keep someone from sleeping.
For now, just prescribe acetaminophen.
"For mild pain, we'll give you acetaminophen. It's a mild painkiller that should ease the surgical site discomfort."
Tylenol, in brand terms.
I turned to Estina and handed her a vial of acetaminophen. She took it carefully.
"Give the patient three of these a day."
"Yes. Before or after meals?"
There was no difference.
"After meals."
Estina nodded.
"Estina. Did this patient have a fever?"
"No."
Fever could still develop. No reason to second-guess the Tylenol. It prevents reswelling too.
"Pay close attention, Estina. If swelling worsens, the sutures could burst or lead to necrosis. That's why we're prescribing something to reduce inflammation."
"I see."
I pondered a bit more.
Should I use prophylactic antibiotics?
This patient was operated on in an OR without positive pressure ventilation. Dust and contaminants could easily have entered.
I turned back to the patient.
"There's a chance dust got into the wound during surgery. To prevent any bacterial infection, we'll administer cefazolin."
On second thought, it might've been better to give prophylactic antibiotics before surgery. Not mandatory for prevention, but still.
"What's that?"
"It's a prophylactic antibiotic. It prevents the wound from getting infected by bacteria—uh, from rotting away."
The patient nodded.
Come to think of it, to others, it must look like I'm pulling things out of thin air. I removed the air bubbles from the cefazolin syringe.
"Injection coming up. Cefazolin, 2 grams. It might sting a bit."
I injected it into the patient's other arm. That should eliminate almost all infection risk. He winced.
I capped the needle and pocketed it.
Time to wrap up.
"Patient, are there any immobile fingers on the injured arm?"
"No. Moving them still hurts, though."
I checked both of the patient's hands. All five fingers on the operated side moved fine.
What else to check? Oh, right—rhabdomyolysis. A potential complication of compartment syndrome.
"Has your urine changed color at all?"
"No. Why?"
I weighed my word choice for a moment.
"If there was muscle damage from compartment syndrome, it could lead to rhabdomyolysis or something similar, releasing muscle breakdown products. That might discolor the urine and damage the kidneys."
"What does that mean?"
Estina stared at me blankly too.
I mulled over a simpler explanation. Even in my previous life, I never skimped on details just to simplify—I'd explain fully if asked again.
It's important to convey precise information.
But how to simplify this?
"Basically, damaged muscle can leak into the urine. Yours is a normal color, so that's good news."
A shame, really.
If we could run blood tests here, I'd see rhabdomyolysis markers, kidney function, infection levels—all in numbers.
"One more thing, patient. Fingers don't have muscles of their own—the muscles in your arm move them. So even just wiggling your fingers will hurt the arm."
"I see."
"Look here."
I showed him the tendons on the inside of my wrist. Estina tilted her head.
"These tendons run from your fingertips all the way to the arm muscles. The surgery site is right around here, so yeah, fingers will hurt the arm."
Benjamin nodded. That should be clear enough. Not complicated stuff.
"I'll head out now, patient. Glad surgery and recovery are going well."
The student in the bed nodded. Estina followed me out of the ward.