"Ugh…!"
"Aaah, save me…!"
The casualties numbered roughly ten.
Among them, the minor injuries…
By 21st-century standards, three; by 19th-century standards, six.
If they can stand up on their own, it's considered a minor injury.
Trying to treat them in that state might only cause more pain.
No…
There's a high probability that's exactly what will happen.
"Joseph, move out."
"Disinfect and wrap them?"
"Exactly."
"Okay. Hehe."
But that doesn't mean we'll just leave them be.
So I sent Joseph out first.
Joseph, the master of sterilization—no, the lunatic of sterilization—immediately began disinfecting the injured patients with phenol.
Everyone was a target.
'It's a duel, but… I can't just let them die.'
At the very least, I can disinfect them, right?
Of course, even by 19th-century standards, it's impossible for us to treat all patients classified as seriously injured.
Even with me here, it's the same.
Why?
There's one thing I've learned since coming here…
A 21st-century doctor can surprisingly accomplish very little on their own.
The mindset itself is quite different.
"Move aside! Before these quacks kill someone!"
Over there…
Was Dr. Joseph, his face pale, running toward us.
This bastard's specialty is murder… no, nose removal… no, rhinoplasty.
But look.
Just look at him now.
"Where does it hurt?!"
He's running over like a madman, grabbing one of the seriously injured patients we haven't even checked yet, and shaking them!
If you don't know what you're doing, at least stay still…
Where does he get the courage to act so recklessly?
Who treats trauma patients like that?
"Professor! Over here!"
I'm building up quite a bit of frustration…
But unfortunately, I don't have two bodies.
'If this were the hospital I originally worked at…'
I'd probably send out other specialists and residents while I took care of triaging.
Triage might sound easy, but it's essentially the stage where you decide who's likely to die and prioritize saving others.
It sounds cruel, but when facing a large-scale disaster with limited resources, efficiency is key.
It's the belief that all lives are equal, so saving two is better than saving one, and saving three is better than saving two.
'Triage…?'
But right now, I can't even perform triage.
If I say, 'This is the situation, so secure the airway first, make sure they're breathing, and get their blood circulating!', what do you think will happen?
First, they won't even understand what I'm saying.
Normally, they'd panic, but… they won't.
Instead, they'll act on their hidden instincts and start swinging knives.
"Hyung, hyung! Put the knife down!"
Look at that…
Look at our Liston hyung.
He's already gone full throttle.
"Why? His leg is injured. Plus, the wounds from being crushed by the pillar. If left like this, it'll likely rot. We need to amputate."
Who else but the Amputation Master…
He's already drawn the massive Liston sword he carries on his back.
The only comforting thing is that it gleams so brightly it reflects even London's gloomy sunlight.
That means it's been cleaned thoroughly and sharpened to perfection.
"No, no. Let's examine the wound first."
"What's the point of examining it?"
There's nothing Liston can't cut with that sword.
It's no exaggeration…
He could probably slice through a stone pillar, couldn't he?
So a leg would definitely be cleanly severed.
But… there's a step that needs to come before cutting.
"You need to examine the wound to decide whether to amputate or not."
"What are you talking about? Ah, hahaha."
Observation.
You have to examine the wound.
It's such an obvious step that I hadn't emphasized it until now…
Which is why Liston laughed so heartily.
-Bring the boiling oil!
I thought I heard something ridiculous amidst his laughter…
But it couldn't be, so I ignored it.
Right now, dealing with Liston alone is overwhelming enough.
"You don't know much about trauma, do you? Hahaha. This kind of wound needs to be cut. There's no other way! It'll rot otherwise!"
In the past, even this would've been impossible for Liston.
Think about it…
A man of his size, wielding a sword, saying he wants to cut someone—who would dare stop him for fear of what might happen?
And his logic isn't entirely unreasonable.
Cutting away an infected wound might be the better option.
Especially with 19th-century hygiene standards.
But…
"What causes wounds to rot?"
"Huh?"
"What makes wounds rot?"
As I continued speaking, I watched Joseph pour phenol on our patient's leg.
"Aaahhhhhhh!"
It must be excruciating.
Actually, the standard procedure is to clean such wounds with saline solution first, isn't it?
Pouring disinfectant directly into the wound rather than on the skin is closer to torture than treatment.
But what can I do?
This is the limit right now.
Besides, finding clean water in the heart of London is far too difficult.
I'm not talking about sterilized solutions, something you'd only find in fantasy… just water that isn't horrifyingly dirty.
"Miasma."
"Right. What happens if we eliminate the miasma?"
We continued our conversation against the backdrop of Joseph's rhythmic pouring of phenol solution and the patient's screams.
It sounds peaceful, but witnessing this scene would surely send shivers down your spine.
It's terrifying.
Two doctors calmly conversing while a patient screams in agony.
"Ah! I see! Then perhaps…?"
"Of course, if there's a fracture, we might have to amputate. But… don't we need to examine it first?"
"We need to clean it, then."
"Our Joseph is cleaning it. He's a pro."
"Ah, haha. Right. You're correct."
"Let's examine another patient. They're already taking two over there."
"Huh, we're falling behind."
Well, from my perspective, they're the ones who are falling behind.
Ah, the meanings are different.
If we're a bit slow—falling behind, then they're truly falling apart.
No, seriously, where else would you see injured people being carried around haphazardly like that…
"Let's at least take a look. There's a good chance they're just disposing of bodies."
"Is that so…? People seem more concerned about us, though."
"About us?"
I wondered why, but it made sense.
On our side, patients are screaming bloody murder, while on their side…
'It's quiet…'
In hospitals, when patients grow quieter, it almost always signals a bad situation.
Generally, someone who's moderately noisy isn't in too much pain.
When someone is in excruciating pain, they grow quiet.
Of course, death also brings silence.
From what I can see…
'Let's not entertain unnecessary thoughts.'
It's hard to focus solely on the tragedy unfolding on their side when ours is just as bad.
"Ugh…"
The patient Collin just unearthed…
This patient, who was crushed under the collapsed stone pillar, was clutching his chest.
He was groaning unnervingly.
Whoosh.
The other patient was screaming, so it seemed like he was in real pain, but this one is actually more dangerous.
The leg…
Well, a leg injury can still kill you.
But the chest is far more dangerous.
So I ripped his clothes open.
"Oh my."
"What on earth is he doing?"
"Shh. Don't you know who that is?"
"Who?"
"It's Cheolseon's… Pyeong."
"Ah."
I could hear whispers from all around.
In an era where hospitals are taboo, stripping someone's clothes is bound to cause a stir.
"Hey, shut up if you don't wanna die!"
"Eek!"
Silence finally fell after my reputation and the gang members intervened.
Come to think of it, people as good as those gang members are truly rare.
They'll give you a pancreas for free.
They'll filter out people who'd drink urine.
And now, they're even helping maintain order.
'If I ever open a hospital for real, should I start a gang?'
Wouldn't that be a feasible plan?
If Liston hyung and I announced we were taking over London, hundreds of people would gather.
"Dumb… Give me the stethoscope!"
"Huh? Isn't that for checking if someone's dead or alive? Are you panicking? This guy's still groaning."
"No, just hand it over!"
"Uh, okay. But I'm Blundell. Not your apprentice."
"I know, just give it to me!"
"A-Alright."
Anyway, the patient's chest was covered in bruises.
It seems he fell forward first and was lying there when a piece of the pillar landed on him.
So what kind of situation is this?
It's a screwed situation!
"Hmm."
As soon as I got the stethoscope, I listened to the patient's breathing.
Should I say it's fortunate or unfortunate…
I could hear his breathing.
But there was one troubling thing.
"…Damn it."
"What, is he gone? Can't you hear his breathing?"
I cursed reflexively.
His heartbeats were growing fainter.
Back in the 21st century, working as a doctor… honestly, I rarely used a stethoscope.
During my internship, it was mainly to confirm if an L-tube was properly placed in the nose.
Why?
Because we could just take an X-ray…
Or call an internist and ask.
But here, I can't do that.
Even if we're dying to, we can't find anything resembling an X-ray, and if I call an internist, they'll probably just bleed the patient first.
"No. A syringe!"
"A syringe…?"
"Ah, just hand it over!"
"Uh, but I'm Liston."
"Ah, please!"
"Fine."
Anyway, it's only since coming here that I've started properly training with a stethoscope…
And based on my training, this patient is experiencing cardiac tamponade.
"…Damn it."
I kept cursing.
Cardiac tamponade…
Literally, it's a condition where blood or fluid fills the sac surrounding the heart, pressing against it.
What happens when the heart is compressed?
It can't beat.
Meaning it can't pump blood throughout the body!
Can't you just do chest compressions or cardiac massage?
Unfortunately, no.
If the pericardium is already filled with fluid pressing against the heart, compressing the chest won't help.
"Hah!"
So there's only one treatment I can perform now.
Stab.
Trembling, I plunged the syringe near the patient's heart with a guttural shout.
'I've got it!'
To anyone watching, it would look like I just stabbed his heart.
But as the one doing the stabbing, I know.
I pierced the skin and a thin membrane.
I didn't pierce any muscles.
Wait, did I?
I'm not sure, but either way, the blood flowing out now isn't from the heart.
"Uhh…"
"He… he killed him!"
"He killed a man!"
The blood filling the pericardium was draining out.
If it were the heart, whether the atrium or ventricle, it wouldn't flow out so feebly.
Especially the ventricle, right?
Only blood pressure could push out this thick syringe like that.
"Shut up, you bastards!"
"Look, look at it!"
"Huh? Uhh…"
"Call the police! Call the police!"
The ignorant onlookers were shouting at me.
The doctors might be better off, but even they were the same.
Everyone was speechless, just staring wide-eyed.