IX
HIS FIRST OPERATION
It was the first day of a winter session, and the third year's man waswalking with the first year's man. Twelve o'clock was just booming outfrom the Tron Church.
"Let me see," said the third year's man, "you have never seen anoperation?"
"Never."
"Then this way, please. This is Rutherford's historic bar. A glass ofsherry, please, for this gentleman. You are rather sensitive, are younot?"
"My nerves are not very strong, I am afraid."
"Hum! Another glass of sherry for this gentleman. We are going to anoperation now, you know."
The novice squared his shoulders and made a gallant attempt to lookunconcerned.
"Nothing very bad--eh?"
"Well, yes--pretty bad."
"An--an amputation?"
"No, it's a bigger affair than that."
"I think--I think they must be expecting me at home."
"There's no sense in funking. If you don't go to-day you must to-morrow.Better get it over at once. Feel pretty fit?"
"Oh, yes, all right."
The smile was not a success.
"One more glass of sherry, then. Now come on or we shall be late. I wantyou to be well in front."
"Surely that is not necessary."
"Oh, it is far better. What a drove of students! There are plenty of newmen among them. You can tell them easily enough, can't you? If they weregoing down to be operated upon themselves they could not look whiter."
"I don't think I should look as white."
"Well, I was just the same myself. But the feeling soon wears off. Yousee a fellow with a face like plaster, and before the week is out he iseating his lunch in the dissecting rooms. I'll tell you all about thecase when we get to the theatre."
The students were pouring down the sloping street which led to theinfirmary--each with his little sheaf of note-books in his hand. Therewere pale, frightened lads, fresh from the High Schools, and callous oldchronics, whose generation had passed on and left them. They swept in anunbroken, tumultuous stream from the University gate to the hospital.The figures and gait of the men were young, but there was little youthin most of their faces. Some looked as if they ate too little--a few asif they drank too much. Tall and short, tweed coated and black,round-shouldered, bespectacled and slim, they crowded with clatter offeet and rattle of sticks through the hospital gate. Now and again theythickened into two lines as the carriage of a surgeon of the staffrolled over the cobblestones between.
"There's going to be a crowd at Archer's," whispered the senior man withsuppressed excitement. "It is grand to see him at work. I've seen himjab all round the aorta until it made me jumpy to watch him. This way,and mind the whitewash."
They passed under an archway and down a long, stone-flagged corridorwith drab-coloured doors on either side, each marked with a number. Someof them were ajar, and the novice glanced into them with tinglingnerves. He was reassured to catch a glimpse of cheery fires, lines ofwhite-counterpaned beds and a profusion of coloured texts upon the wall.The corridor opened upon a small hall with a fringe of poorly-cladpeople seated all round upon benches. A young man with a pair ofscissors stuck, like a flower, in his button-hole, and a note-book inhis hand, was passing from one to the other, whispering and writing.
"Anything good?" asked the third year's man.
"You should have been here yesterday," said the out-patient clerk,glancing up. "We had a regular field day. A popliteal aneurism, aColles' fracture, a spina bifida, a tropical abscess, and anelephantiasis. How's that for a single haul?"
"I'm sorry I missed it. But they'll come again, I suppose. What's upwith the old gentleman?"
A broken workman was sitting in the shadow, rocking himself slowly toand fro and groaning. A woman beside him was trying to console him,patting his shoulder with a hand which was spotted over with curiouslittle white blisters.
"It's a fine carbuncle," said the clerk, with the air of a connoisseurwho describes his orchids to one who can appreciate them. "It's on hisback, and the passage is draughty, so we must not look at it, must we,daddy? Pemphigus," he added carelessly, pointing to the woman'sdisfigured hands. "Would you care to stop and take out a metacarpal?"
"No, thank you, we are due at Archer's. Come on;" and they rejoined thethrong, which was hurrying to the theatre of the famous surgeon.
The tiers of horseshoe benches, rising from the floor to the ceiling,were already packed, and the novice as he entered saw vague, curvinglines of faces in front of him, and heard the deep buzz of a hundredvoices and sounds of laughter from somewhere up above him. His companionspied an opening on the second bench, and they both squeezed into it.
"This is grand," the senior man whispered; "you'll have a rare view ofit all."
Only a single row of heads intervened between them and the operatingtable. It was of unpainted deal, plain, strong and scrupulously clean. Asheet of brown waterproofing covered half of it, and beneath stood alarge tin tray full of sawdust. On the farther side, in front of thewindow, there was a board which was strewed with glittering instruments,forceps, tenacula, saws, canulas, and trocars. A line of knives, withlong, thin, delicate blades, lay at one side. Two young men lounged infront of this; one threading needles, the other doing something to abrass coffee-pot-like thing which hissed out puffs of steam.
"That's Peterson," whispered the senior. "The big, bald man in the frontrow. He's the skin-grafting man, you know. And that's Anthony Browne,who took a larynx out successfully last winter. And there's Murphy thepathologist, and Stoddart the eye man. You'll come to know them allsoon."
"Who are the two men at the table?"
"Nobody--dressers. One has charge of the instruments and the other ofthe puffing Billy. It's Lister's antiseptic spray, you know, andArcher's one of the carbolic acid men. Hayes is the leader of thecleanliness-and-cold-water school, and they all hate each other likepoison."
A flutter of interest passed through the closely-packed benches as awoman in petticoat and bodice was led in by two nurses. A red woollenshawl was draped over her head and round her neck. The face which lookedout from it was that of a woman in the prime of her years, but drawnwith suffering and of a peculiar bees-wax tint. Her head drooped as shewalked, and one of the nurses, with her arm round her waist, waswhispering consolation in her ear. She gave a quick side glance at theinstrument table as she passed, but the nurses turned her away from it.
"What ails her?" asked the novice.
"Cancer of the parotid. It's the devil of a case, extends right awayback behind the carotids. There's hardly a man but Archer would dare tofollow it. Ah, here he is himself."
As he spoke, a small, brisk, iron-grey man came striding into the room,rubbing his hands together as he walked. He had a clean-shaven face ofthe Naval officer type, with large, bright eyes, and a firm, straightmouth. Behind him came his big house surgeon with his gleaming pince-nezand a trail of dressers, who grouped themselves into the corners of theroom.
"Gentlemen," cried the surgeon in a voice as hard and brisk as hismanner. "We have here an interesting case of tumour of the parotid,originally cartilaginous but now assuming malignant characteristics, andtherefore requiring excision. On to the table, nurse! Thank you!Chloroform, clerk! Thank you! You can take the shawl off, nurse."
The woman lay back upon the waterproofed pillow and her murderous tumourlay revealed. In itself it was a pretty thing, ivory white with a meshof blue veins, and curving gently from jaw to chest. But the lean,yellow face, and the stringy throat were in horrible contrast with theplumpness and sleekness of this monstrous growth. The surgeon placed ahand on each side of it and pressed it slowly backwards and forwards.
"Adherent at one place, gentlemen," he cried. "The growth involves thecarotids and jugulars, and passes behind the ramus of the jaw, whitherwe must be prepared to follow it. It is impossible to say how deep ourdissection may carry us. Carbolic tray, thank you! Dressings of carbolicgauze, if you please! Push the chloroform, Mr
. Johnson. Have the smallsaw ready in case it is necessary to remove the jaw."
The patient was moaning gently under the towel which had been placedover her face. She tried to raise her arms and to draw up her knees buttwo dressers restrained her. The heavy air was full of the penetratingsmells of carbolic acid and of chloroform. A muffled cry came from underthe towel and then a snatch of a song, sung in a high, quavering,monotonous voice.
"He says, says he, If you fly with me You'll be mistress of the ice-cream van; You'll be mistress of the----"
It mumbled off into a drone and stopped. The surgeon came across, stillrubbing his hands, and spoke to an elderly man in front of the novice.
"Narrow squeak for the Government," he said.
"Oh, ten is enough."
"They won't have ten long. They'd do better to resign before they aredriven to it."
"Oh, I should fight it out."
"What's the use. They can't get past the committee, even if they get avote in the House. I was talking to----"
"Patient's ready, sir," said the dresser.
"Talking to M'Donald--but I'll tell you about it presently." He walkedback to the patient, who was breathing in long, heavy gasps. "Ipropose," said he, passing his hands over the tumour in an almostcaressing fashion, "to make a free incision over the posterior borderand to take another forward at right angles to the lower end of it.Might I trouble you for a medium knife, Mr. Johnson?"
The novice, with eyes which were dilating with horror, saw the surgeonpick up the long, gleaming knife, dip it into a tin basin and balance itin his fingers as an artist might his brush. Then he saw him pinch upthe skin above the tumour with his left hand. At the sight, his nerves,which had already been tried once or twice that day, gave way utterly.His head swam round and he felt that in another instant he might faint.He dared not look at the patient. He dug his thumbs into his ears lestsome scream should come to haunt him, and he fixed his eyes rigidly uponthe wooden ledge in front of him. One glance, one cry, would, he knew,break down the shred of self-possession which he still retained. Hetried to think of cricket, of green fields and rippling water, of hissisters at home--of anything rather than of what was going on so nearhim.
And yet, somehow, even with his ears stopped up, sounds seemed topenetrate to him and to carry their own tale. He heard, or thought thathe heard, the long hissing of the carbolic engine. Then he was consciousof some movement among the dressers. Were there groans too breaking inupon him, and some other sound, some fluid sound, which was moredreadfully suggestive still? His mind would keep building up every stepof the operation, and fancy made it more ghastly than fact could havebeen. His nerves tingled and quivered. Minute by minute the giddinessgrew more marked, the numb, sickly feeling at his heart moredistressing. And then suddenly, with a groan, his head pitching forwardand his brow cracking sharply upon the narrow, wooden shelf in front ofhim, he lay in a dead faint.
* * * * *
When he came to himself he was lying in the empty theatre with hiscollar and shirt undone. The third year's man was dabbing a wet spongeover his face, and a couple of grinning dressers were looking on.
"All right," cried the novice, sitting up and rubbing his eyes; "I'msorry to have made an ass of myself."
"Well, so I should think," said his companion. "What on earth did youfaint about?"
"I couldn't help it. It was that operation."
"What operation?"
"Why, that cancer."
There was a pause, and then the three students burst out laughing.
"Why, you juggins," cried the senior man, "there never was an operationat all. They found the patient didn't stand the chloroform well, and sothe whole thing was off. Archer has been giving us one of his racylectures, and you fainted just in the middle of his favourite story."
The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of Adventure Page 9