The Genius Doctor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 48

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 48
“There is but one cure for Diphtheria. Surgery.”
Edward swept his gaze across the assembly as he spoke.
“The child’s throat is blocked from above, so we must open a passage below to save him. I call this procedure the Tracheotomy.”
With that, Edward affixed a large diagram that Allan had drawn to the wall.
It showed a child’s throat split lengthwise to expose the windpipe, with a breathing tube inserted within.
“Hmm.”
“Mm…”
The faces of those assembled shifted markedly from before.
This “Tracheotomy” not only appeared plausible, but some present had actually encountered it in surgical literature.
“Ha, I myself have seen this technique performed. Yet I confess the thought of applying it to children suffering from Diphtheria never occurred to me. A genuine paradigm shift.”
Robinson, seized by the moment, offered his support.
Edward’s voice, gaining confidence by degrees, began to ring with authority.
“Indeed. Moreover, our clinic has already successfully performed this surgery four times.”
Murmurs rippled through the assembly.
“Four cases? Already?”
“And we’ve only just begun receiving calls for children presenting with the symptoms?”
The surgeons present were well aware that patients had begun showing such symptoms in recent weeks.
Yet four operations already seemed impossible.
“This surgery is assuredly no trifle. However, for a physician versed in anatomy and practiced in technique, it is entirely feasible.”
Edward proceeded to unfold, one by one, the practical insights he had gained from cases he had personally performed.
The positioning of the patient, how to locate the midline, the site and angle of the incision, the diameter and length of the breathing tube—all of it.
Wonder kindled in the eyes of the listening surgeons.
“…You mean you researched all of this alone?”
Edward, who had hesitated for a moment, soon nodded with assurance.
“I did.”
Robinson, observing from the side, felt his insides roiling.
‘Alone? Don’t make me laugh! Every bit of it came from that wretch Allan’s mouth, no question.’
Yet he could hardly voice such thoughts aloud.
“If you simply follow what I have just explained, the surgery itself presents no great difficulty. However, there is one more principle you must strictly observe.”
Edward’s tone grew notably grave.
“You must wash your hands thoroughly, wipe the child’s throat clean with alcohol, and boil all surgical instruments in water before use.”
Several faces creased with skepticism.
This was not the first time Edward had voiced such things.
At the very first meeting where he was formally admitted to these assemblies, it was precisely this “Sterilization” that he had expounded upon as the featured speaker.
Of course, they had all let it pass. The notion that such mere procedures could reduce infection and decay—was that even reasonable?
When his ambitious inaugural presentation was dismissed out of hand, Edward himself had been so incensed that he had stayed away from the meetings for some time.
“I know full well what you are all thinking.”
Yet this time, Robinson spoke slowly and deliberately.
All eyes turned toward him at once.
“A few weeks ago, I thought exactly the same. I dismissed his words with a sneer, doubted them. But when I followed Doctor Edward’s instructions, I saw infection and decay diminish noticeably. When I tallied it, the reduction was nearly half.”
The assembly stirred once more.
Some protested with “Is that even credible?” but Robinson raised his hand, commanding silence.
“I have witnessed it with my own two eyes. That is why I can speak thus. Moreover, this surgery is not something Doctor Edward is introducing to us for the first time. If we merely seize upon the technique and ignore the preparatory process, what kind of surgical practice would that be?”
At his words, the surgeons fell silent, eyeing one another uncertainly.
Edward regarded Robinson with evident surprise.
In truth, he understood well enough why Robinson had become so unusually gracious and deferential toward him.
It was because he had been caught red-handed falsely accusing Allan—a noose firmly placed around his neck.
That alone had forced his swollen pride to bend, reduced him to fawning.
Yet the fact that Robinson had himself implemented the Sterilization method was remarkable.
Edward had naturally assumed pride would have kept him from doing so.
For his part, Robinson’s feelings on the matter were equally complicated.
When he thought of Allan, he could no longer simply denounce him as ‘a ruthless man holding my weakness over my head.’
‘Damn it. That wretch Allan was right after all. He wasn’t trying to humiliate me with that talk.’
At first, he had tried it half-heartedly, with reluctance.
Reasoning there was nothing to lose by following instructions.
Yet it had actually worked.
Seeing his patients heal cleanly without forming pus, he had been shaken to his core.
“When did Doctor Robinson and Doctor Edward become such close friends, I wonder? The world truly is upside down.”
One of the surgeons muttered to himself.
Another surgeon took up the point.
“Well, managing the disease takes priority anyway, so there’s no point in us bickering over who’s right.”
“Quite so. Children are dying for want of breath as we speak, so we must save them first, mustn’t we?”
They all nodded in agreement.
Robinson, not to be outdone, seized the moment.
“The fate of Danford rests in our hands as surgeons. Surely we must use the Tracheotomy to dry the tears of those parents, yes?”
He laughed loudly, his voice ringing with false cheer.
Of course, the other surgeons’ eyes as they regarded him were far from warm.
‘Now that Edward’s stolen his patients, he’s decided to butter him up entirely?’
‘Pathetic. I’m ashamed we ever deferred to him as president of the association.’
Yet for now, they had to work together.
* * *
At that same moment.
Allan was at City Hall.
With a teacup before him, he sat facing MacIntosh, the chief clerk.
“…So in the end, the authorities must take action against the epidemic.”
MacIntosh spoke gravely.
He too could feel the dark shadow creeping over the city.
“Yes. The most important thing is prevention.”
Allan explained methodically.
Patients’ saliva and mucus must be strictly contained; dishes and towels they’d used had to be sterilized in boiling water without fail.
People should avoid gathering places where crowds swarmed, and homes must be ventilated frequently—these were the essential precautions.
“And this disease progresses to severe stages in mere moments. By the time the throat swells and the airway closes, it’s already too late. So even when symptoms are relatively mild, we must alert the nearest surgeon to care for the patient.”
“And once the disease is confirmed, the surgeon continues to monitor that patient, yes?”
“Yes. We must always be prepared to open the child’s airway through a Tracheotomy.”
From performing four operations, Allan had learned that surgery on patients already in advanced stages was fiendishly difficult.
One misstep could cost the child’s life.
The safest approach was to perform the Tracheotomy at the right moment—before severe cyanosis took hold and the throat swelled dramatically.
Yet determining that precise moment was not easy.
There was nothing for it but to track patients constantly and observe the progression of their symptoms.
“A Tracheotomy, you say…….”
MacIntosh seemed suddenly chilled; he drew his right hand across the back of his neck.
That hand, once treated for carpal tunnel syndrome, had recovered considerably since then.
“The cooperation of the surgeons will be essential, I imagine.”
“Edward is already holding a meeting to persuade the surgeons. Each of Danford’s surgeons has their own districts, so we can divide patients according to those boundaries.”
MacIntosh felt a quiet admiration.
Edward’s Clinic’s response was remarkable.
That a single clinic was outpacing the city authorities was, as an administrator, mortifying.
“So you mean to establish medical service zones.”
“Yes. And the city must be informed widely of this plan. We need to distribute printed materials and send messengers to teach people how to protect themselves.”
“Understood. I can issue those orders at once.”
MacIntosh nodded.
Then his expression grew troubled.
“But then—which surgeon will oversee Mudbrook? If the epidemic spreads, it will concentrate there.”
Allan fell silent, thinking.
Though the surgeons’ service areas were divided, no firm boundary truly existed between them.
Mudbrook especially—a slum—had no surgeon one could call its regular physician.
It wasn’t profitable.
“Those residents can be directed to the nearest surgeon, and Edward’s Clinic will take concentrated responsibility for any gaps.”
Because Edward’s Clinic had been excluded from the surgeons’ meetings, having no designated service zone worked to their advantage now.
“Hmm. It won’t be simple.”
MacIntosh’s tone held a weight of meaning.
Allan tilted his head, puzzled.
“We’re prepared to work ourselves hard.”
“No, I don’t mean that sort of physical exhaustion…….”
MacIntosh scratched his head in frustration.
Then he sighed deeply.
“The people there don’t trust surgeons. They have far more faith in unlicensed ‘healers.'”
“When lives hang in the balance, there’s no room to quibble between healers and surgeons. We need only cooperate.”
“They won’t cooperate. I’m told that lately, in that district, there’s an unusually fierce resistance to ‘putting a blade to the body.'”
As the administrative official who received real-time reports on public sentiment throughout the city, MacIntosh understood the situation well.
To begin with, the Mudbrook district was where Danford’s poorest commoners had always congregated.
They harbored deep-rooted resentment toward the privileged classes and possessed a formidable insularity that kept them tightly bound together.
Such groups inevitably followed blindly whoever commanded their internal discourse—and unfortunately, their leader showed no favor toward the surgeons.
“A healer named Oscar. He’s been treating the poor there for the past ten years, an established authority in that district. I suspect if you cannot convince him, the people of Mudbrook will never entrust their bodies to your care.”
“…And yet they cling to such stubbornness even as children die before their eyes.”
“For them, faith runs deeper than life itself. That is simply the nature of mankind.”
Allan had no counter to offer.
Recalling how the Vaccination technique had been received by the masses when it first appeared, before gradually gaining wider acceptance, it was not difficult to understand.
“In any case, the administration will spare no effort to contain this plague. Any measures you request will be implemented at once.”
Having heard MacIntosh’s assurance, Allan departed from City Hall.
The heavily overcast sky hung oppressive and low, as if torrential rain might break loose at any moment.
‘Oscar the healer…’
He walked forward, lost in thought.
He’d heard of the man by rumor and hearsay.
A city like Danford was overrun with unlicensed itinerant healers, and he had assumed Oscar was merely one among them.
‘If persuasion could only reach him.’
Yet Allan had already felt keenly how difficult it was to breach a wall of blind conviction, and unease began to settle in his chest.
As he walked, he encountered a crowd gathered in the middle of the street.
Figures in oil-stained robes waved crude Sun Crosses aloft, their voices trembling with fervent zeal.
“The plague is God’s curse!”
“Only by purifying the body and keeping the child’s soul spotless can we repel this demon’s breath!”
“Light incense! Drive out the evil spirits! As the prophet did, inscribe sacred marks upon the doorposts!”
Passersby cast uneasy glances at them as they passed.
Observing the zealots’ steps turn toward the alley leading into the slums, Allan continued forward slowly.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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