"Which one should we use?"
Normally, this kind of deliberation should happen before laying the patient down.
I swallowed my retort as I watched Liston mutter to himself over the unconscious patient.
No point risking a beating.
Besides, the real issue wasn't criticizing Liston—it was deciding what to disinfect with.
Two candidates remained:
Phenol (carbolic acid) and iodine.
I wanted to use iodine.
At least, I did until now…
'The iodine thing had another name… Betadine? Some kind of improved version?'
Hearing the word "iodine" from others, unlike when I muttered it alone, made me… suspicious.
It wasn't just iodine.
The problem was…
'Phenol isn't a perfect solution either.'
That left human trials. But how?
For once, my mind was blank.
"Pye, no ideas?"
"Huh? Oh, no. None, boss."
"Don't they do this in Joseon?"
"Well…"
Would they?
Joseon's medical system outright rejected surgical advancements.
Would they disinfect before acupuncture?
Unlikely.
"No."
"I see. What now?"
My usual quick answers had dried up, and time slipped away.
Not that everyone stayed silent.
Alfred tried.
"I think—"
"Quiet, you."
"But—"
"Fancy a phenol bath? I'll applaud your dedication."
"Ah."
No use.
No—disaster nearly struck.
Alfred was basically our group's test subject.
So naturally, even I briefly wondered if we should dunk him.
"Hmm."
While we stalled, the patient woke.
Despite Liston's knock, he recovered fast—tough guy.
Though no one stays tough around Liston.
Add agonizing abdominal pain, and he was immobilized.
"Ugh… You bastards!"
At least he could yell.
Just not as loud—fear of another hit.
Luckily, Liston seemed done with violence.
"Boss, maybe don't pour it on his face?"
Instead of fists, Liston grabbed the phenol and iodine.
He shoved them at the patient—I thought he'd actually douse him.
"Do I look like a savage? I'm a rational scientist. Disappointing."
"Ah… Not pouring, then."
"I'll ask."
"Ask?"
Ask what?
Before I could ponder, Liston—holding phenol in one hand, iodine in the other—did just that.
"Which do you prefer?"
"Uh…"
The patient stared blankly.
Liston sighed, then grinned and brought both bottles closer.
"Which."
Phenol reeked.
Iodine wasn't much better—less stench, but its yellow-brown hue looked toxic.
The patient stayed clueless.
Of course.
If doctors didn't grasp disinfection, how would a patient?
But sensing imminent danger, he blurted:
"G-Give me a second!"
"Take your time. See, Pye? Democracy in action."
"Uh…"
Letting patients choose their medicine.
Even the 21st century didn't do this.
Truly progressive.
Such an open mind!
Wait, no. Doctors should recommend the best option, not poll preferences. Medicine isn't a survey.
My brief admiration collapsed.
But Liston, ever impatient, mistook my stunned silence for approval and smirked.
"Good. We'll do this from now on. Only two options anyway—easy to compare. Plus, if things go wrong, we can blame them. Right?"
He announced this in front of the patient.
The patient paled.
Blundell, who should've objected, just chuckled.
"Brilliant! Rational. Scientific. Democratic. Britain leads the way!"
"Hahaha!"
"Truly, Professors!"
"Inspiring!"
The others?
Too busy sucking up.
Me?
No different.
Strangely… it did seem logical.
Was I succumbing to 19th-century thinking, or was this actually sound?
"Hmm…"
While we debated absurdities, the patient agonized.
Eyes darting between phenol and iodine, he finally chose the one Liston subtly favored—phenol.
Possibly because its fumes were unbearable.
Literal sinus-clearing potency.
If I winced from a distance, imagine the patient.
"T-This one, please."
"Good."
"Eek!"
"Boss, not hitting him!"
"Right. Gas it is. Alfred, handle it."
"Yes!"
Liston reflexively raised a fist, then jerked his chin toward the patient's head.
Alfred expertly—too expertly—covered the man's mouth and nose with a rubber mask I'd specially ordered.
Not that it mattered… It had holes.
Reason?
-He's turning blue.
-Why?
-Dunno.
-Ah!
Last time we tested (on a stray dog, thankfully), the gas tank lacked oxygen—just nitrous oxide.
The dog nearly suffocated.
At least it survived. Maybe humans would've too.
Whoosh.
Alfred administered the gas. The patient gasped, then collapsed.
"Now, pour."
Liston drenched the exposed abdomen with phenol.
I braced for a hiss—none came.
Wait, that was the hydrochloric acid corroding a table elsewhere.
They bought that to pour on people?
We almost got burned at the stake…
"Huh?"
"What?"
While I shuddered, Blundell frowned.
The patient's skin was changing color.
Oh shit.
Phenol bleaches.
Had it chemically whitened him already?
No—too fast.
Wiping the area revealed black grime.
Phenol's potency dissolved the filth.
"Ah."
"How is he this filthy?!"
"Ugh."
Men who'd once shrugged at grime now gagged.
Now they knew it was miasma-laden.
Hence:
"Uh, boss?"
"What?"
"His skin… might peel off."
"Better than leaving this on."
"But still…"
Liston became a scrubber.
So thorough, I considered hiring him—with soap, not bleach.
The patient's abdomen was now pristine.
'Maybe phenol is right for this era.'
Most people never bathed.
Could iodine handle that level of grime?
My faith in iodine wavered.
"Let's cut. Pye, assist."
"Yes."
"You too."
"Huh? Oh. Right."
Gloved hands—also wiped with phenol—began the incision.
Sschick.
Smaller scalpel, practiced hands…
And Liston? A genius.
I'm skilled, but he's better.
The cut was flawlessly precise.
"Boss? Too small?"
"We'll manage. Can always widen it. Won't take long."
"Ah, okay."
Yet he made it smaller.
Barring laparoscopic surgery, this might be the tiniest incision possible.
Pre-sterilization, I'd never dared go this small—organs needed extraction space.
"Heave—"
Like now.
Liston fished out the swollen appendix, tied it off, and snip.
Then, repositioning and suturing.
Except the critical step remained:
'Moldy bread… No way.'
My trust in penicillin dwindled daily.
Maybe Killian recovered despite the mercury.
Cops used it on hopeless criminals—seemed like an execution method now.
No antibiotics, then.
My chemistry gamble failed…
"Let's pray."
"Yes."
So we prayed—fervently.
Please, no infections.
This patient especially.
His survival would prove disinfection's worth.
Not that operating in a non-sterile, non-pressurized room eliminated infection risks.
One case wasn't enough.
So we operated on more penniless patients with right lower abdominal pain.
Final tally:
- 6 chose phenol.
- 4 chose iodine.
Sadly, 2 had no appendicitis.
Physical exams alone were unreliable.
"Can't be helped."
Liston's reaction let me proceed unfazed.
Truly, he was remarkable.