No matter how influential Dumas had become in Paris, he couldn't just summon skilled craftsmen on demand.
Under normal circumstances, it might have been possible, but these were anything but normal times.
The entire city was in ruins—saying it had been "destroyed" wouldn't be an exaggeration.
Where could we even find craftsmen now?
Even if we knew someone, the chances were high they were already dead.
"Hmm."
"You've got quite the knack for attracting patients, haven't you?"
The first to arrive were my companions.
To be precise, it was Blundell, Liston, Joseph, Alfred, and Colin.
These men, accustomed to the dissection room, paid no mind to the stench.
But they were intensely interested in the surgery itself.
Especially Blundell and Liston.
"Breast cancer?"
"A boil on the back?"
Their focuses were slightly different.
Blundell, being an obstetrician, naturally had more interest in women's ailments.
Liston, on the other hand…
"Why bother with anesthesia? Just cut it open."
He was saying things like that.
Honestly, considering what he usually did…
It wasn't entirely unreasonable.
'Most patients still have to be restrained anyway.'
This wasn't just because Liston was a brute.
General anesthesia—ether or nitrous oxide, as we used—was far too dangerous.
I hadn't mentioned it, but roughly one in twenty, maybe even one in thirty patients…
It wouldn't be wrong to say they suffered because of it.
The reason no one spoke up was simple: in this era, people had long grown indifferent to the deaths of those already sick enough to require surgery.
"But cutting without anesthesia would be too painful. She's already too weak…"
"Did you ask her?"
"Huh?"
"You know as well as I do—anesthesia is still far from perfect."
"Well… that's true."
What we needed was a local anesthetic.
Lidocaine…
One shot of that would solve everything.
'But then again, lidocaine is practically a miracle drug in this era.'
Calling it "just one shot" feels almost blasphemous.
Sticking a needle in and numbing the area? That's nothing short of divine grace.
Back in my time, it was taken for granted, but here in the 19th century? A literal godsend.
"Even I wouldn't be able to endure breast surgery. Would you?"
"No. I couldn't. How could anyone?"
Anyway, I kept talking with Liston.
It was clear he believed that if a patient could endure it, they should undergo a mastectomy without anesthesia.
If left to his own devices, he'd definitely go through with it, so I had to intervene.
Fortunately, Liston was at least somewhat sensitive to patients' suffering, so he was quickly persuaded.
"Fine. Let's do it this way. I'll go talk to her… We'll just do the back without anesthesia."
"Hmm."
"And for the chest, we'll use anesthesia. No need to force her onto her stomach."
"That… makes sense."
Would this have sounded convincing back when I first started practicing medicine here?
I'm not sure.
But it does now.
Yeah, the back is something she can probably endure.
It's not like we're cutting too deeply anyway.
"Madame."
While I was lost in thought, Liston strode over to Sophie Germain.
I could see fear flickering across her face.
Of course.
To her, he must have looked like the Grim Reaper himself.
And honestly, doctors in this era weren't far from that image—especially someone like Liston, whose appearance alone could scare the life out of anyone.
"Yes? My back? Ah… I can endure that. But… is surgery even possible for the chest?"
"I wouldn't know."
Thankfully, Sophie Germain, ever the scientist, suppressed her fear with reason and kept the conversation steady.
Liston shrugged at her question and pointed at me.
"If it's Dr. Pyeong from Joseon, it's possible. He'll probably explain it by saying, 'This is how we do it in Joseon.'"
Somehow…
It felt like he was mocking me.
That bastard definitely knew.
He was aware this was just an excuse…
'But since he's letting it slide, he must not be planning to make an issue of it.'
Thank goodness Liston was broad-minded.
"It's true. Joseon is undoubtedly a country with abnormally advanced medicine."
"And among them, Dr. Pyeong, having received excellent training in Britain, is the best."
"Yes, our professor is truly the greatest."
Or… was he?
Judging by Joseph, Alfred, and Colin's reactions, I couldn't tell if they were being sincere.
And I wasn't sure if such exaggerated praise would help convince a scientist like Sophie Germain.
"I was told this was incurable. I had given up, but… if you insist, I'll trust you. It's not like I have anything left to lose."
But it worked.
'I should start promoting Joseon more aggressively from now on.'
Not that I'm trying to be a traitor or anything.
That came out wrong.
Anyway.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Pyeong from Joseon. So for now, we'll operate on your back without anesthesia. For the chest, we'll use anesthesia. The procedure…"
I walked over to the patient and quickly sketched a diagram on paper.
It wasn't a consent form—more of an explanation.
Even though there were no legal requirements, I thought it was the right thing to do.
'Pyeong, why bother? They won't understand anyway.'
'Exactly. Patients aren't as rational as we are.'
'I… don't really get it, but I'll follow your lead, Professor.'
That was the reaction from my students.
Looking at them, they were practically the embodiment of elitism.
'Hmm…'
Liston's reaction, however, was a bit different.
Surprisingly, he didn't often join me in surgeries.
Well, he was there for critical ones, like prostate operations…
For noble patients, 19th-century doctors usually gave explanations beforehand.
But during all those countless amputations, Liston's standard explanation to patients mostly boiled down to:
—We have to cut it off. Otherwise, you'll die.
Short and simple.
There was no explanation of how it would be done, what would happen afterward, or the phantom pains that often followed.
I never dared to argue with him about it.
I knew it was something that needed to change, but…
There were too many problems to fix, and I couldn't waste energy on just one.
Besides, we were still dealing with the aftermath of the Thames water incident…
"You really are different, aren't you?"
But it seemed my efforts hadn't gone unnoticed.
As I finished explaining and checked the surgical tools, Liston spoke up.
"Huh?"
"You've had patients run away before, haven't you? Fewer lately, but still."
"Ah… yes."
Of course, as usual, his perspective was a little different from mine.
But at least his next words were positive.
"I used to have to use force every time. Once, I even punched a patient in the gut."
"The… the patient?"
"You think a patient punched me? Don't be ridiculous."
Actually… that's pretty common.
In emergency rooms, patients sometimes…
It's sad, but I'm sure many doctors have been hit.
"Anyway, I had to do that. But now that you explain things in detail, it seems to happen less. Look—that patient's lying still, isn't she?"
"That patient… probably just can't move easily."
"Ah, is that it? Well, that's good too. Great. If someone tries to run even after an explanation, I'll just make it hurt more."
"No, that's—"
"I'm joking! Hahaha! As if I'd do that!"
This bastard…
You were joking, right?
You sounded way too serious when you said it was "great"…
"Anyway, are we doing everything in one go today?"
Liston asked, eyeing the sparse array of tools I had laid out—just a scalpel, retractors, and sutures.
'Realistically… how could we?'
A mastectomy…
In modern surgery, it's a basic procedure.
Sure, there are specialists, but even residents can assist in it.
But…
It's not something you can just wing like this.
For one, we needed more instruments.
Most importantly, for visibility.
'It'd be great if we could run tests, but… that's impossible. In the end, aiming for a cure…'
The best option would be a radical mastectomy.
But was that even possible now?
Without imaging, without knowing exactly how far the cancer had spread?
And even after surgery—could we analyze the tissue?
No, not right now.
Meaning we wouldn't even know if we'd fully removed the cancer.
'Even if we could check… we wouldn't reopen her, and there's no radiation or chemotherapy available.'
Even in the 21st century, with all those options, cancer wasn't always curable.
And here I am, getting greedy?
That's just delusional.
'We'll aim to prolong her life, even if just a little. And… minimize surgical complications.'
I made up my mind.
I also decided what tools we'd need.
It's a shame, but there's no other way.
One step at a time.
"No. Just the back today. That alone will be hard enough."
"But with anesthesia, the patient won't feel it, right?"
"Her body… will know, won't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Condition matters. You saw it with cholera."
"Ah. Right. Definitely… I suppose."
Look at her now.
When she first arrived, she was practically at death's door…
This wasn't even a path—just hacking through the wilderness alone.
But now?
Finally, everyone here had come to accept—if not in theory, then in practice—that the patient's condition, their immune strength, was crucial in fighting disease.
A monumental step forward.
"Fine, you've got a point."
"Yes. Once we operate on her back, she'll be much more comfortable. She'll regain strength… and it's not like we're leaving immediately, right?"
"True. We've barely held any anatomy lectures because of cholera. Only problem is, most of our students are dead."
"Ah."
"But we'll be here a few more weeks."
"Then let's give her time to recover before the next surgery. Even a week?"
"Do as you like. That's… how they do it in Joseon, right?"
"Ah… yes."
The skeptical look I got in return was a small price to pay.
It should be fine.
Anyway, after settling on a rough plan with Liston, I turned back to the patient.
In the meantime, to my amazement, my students had already positioned her on her side and were cleaning her back with fresh water.
Fresh water. Cleaning.
Both were… miracles.
"Hey, wash your hands."
"Oh. Right."
Everything that followed was equally miraculous.
"If you don't, you'll get cholera."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
There was some misunderstanding mixed in there, but…
I didn't bother correcting them.
Even if their hands turned red from the chlorinated lime, it was better than not washing at all.
"Hey, Pyeong!"
"Yeah?"
"You too—dip in!"
Ah.
Wait, what?