"Ugh, ugh…"
The patient, who had seemed somewhat persuaded earlier, was now trembling in fear.
And who could blame them?
Just look at that gleaming knife—it looked like something a Roman gladiator or a renowned knight would wield. Even I, who wasn't about to be cut by it, felt a bit scared, let alone the patient who was about to undergo the procedure.
"Ahhh!"
*Thud.*
They probably wanted to run away.
But it was no use.
Even if I were to let them go, the people standing by the patient's side were all veteran assistants.
I'd heard that many people tried to flee before surgeries, so they were well-prepared.
The patient was restrained so tightly that it made me wonder if it was even possible to bind someone that securely.
The only thing the patient could do was scream, just like they were doing now.
"Yes!"
Not that it was a pleasant sight.
Pain isn't just physical, after all.
I didn't know much about it, but I'm sure there were quite a few people who suffered from PTSD after losing a limb.
This patient didn't need to go through that kind of pain.
So, I opened the gas canister and held it to the patient's face.
"Ugh…"
The patient, still restrained, inhaled the gas without understanding what was happening.
At first, they let out pained groans, but it didn't last long.
"Ugh… huh?"
Gradually, they began to calm down.
The problem was that the gas wasn't just affecting the patient.
I was prepared, so I covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve, but the others hadn't made any preparations.
"Ah."
This was entirely my mistake.
"Senior, senior!"
Especially the senior who was holding the patient's head in place—they were hit the hardest.
"Hahahaha!"
As a result, quite a few people—people who were supposed to be donors or hospital staff—started laughing and running around the square.
'This is bad.'
It was beyond just damaging our image.
But what could we do?
Those who ran off had already run off.
We still had to perform the surgery.
So, I rushed to the patient's head, taking the place of the senior who had lost consciousness.
"Pyeong. You assist."
Even though Robert Liston tried to stop me, I insisted.
I wanted to listen to him since he was holding the knife, but…
'No. I can't do that.'
I'd seen it before.
How that man cuts off a person's leg.
It wasn't that I was scared.
I'd seen plenty of amputations.
Not limbs, but internal organs—I'd even cut intestines myself.
But not like this.
'If I'm not careful, I might get cut too.'
The sound of the gleaming knife slicing through the air was followed by the crunch of bone being severed.
I was almost on the verge of fainting, so I don't remember exactly, but it seemed to take only a few seconds to finish.
Which meant that if I made a mistake and pulled my hand out too late, my fingers would be cut off.
Of course, since the patient was anesthetized, there was no need to rush, but habits are hard to break.
"I'll monitor the patient's anesthesia. I proposed it, so I should take responsibility."
Look at that.
Holding the knife like that.
Anyone could see he was ready to swing it with all his might.
If I held on and pulled my hand out too late, I'd be done for.
*Gulp.*
Even the seasoned assistants couldn't hide their tension—what could I say?
Besides, what I just said wasn't a lie.
'Respiratory arrest could occur. There could definitely be respiratory suppression. Even if not… cardiovascular side effects could happen.'
I didn't know much about laughing gas.
For one, it was illegal in Korea, and even if it were legal, no one would invite me to those kinds of parties.
Not that I had the time to go to parties anyway…
I just didn't have friends because I was too busy studying.
'No, that's not it.'
I got sidetracked, but the point was that we had to be prepared for any possible side effects of nitrous oxide.
Even propofol, which is supposed to be great, has respiratory suppression mechanisms—people have died from it locally.
Here?
Here, people could drop dead at any moment.
"Really? Well then… let's go!"
"Wait, wait!"
Fortunately for me, Dr. Robert was in a hurry to perform the amputation.
Of course, that was to be expected.
The patient seemed stable, but you never know.
Today was a historic day, and the pressure to perform well must have been weighing heavily on the doctor's shoulders.
I decided to use that pressure a little more.
"What is it?"
"Your, your hands. I brought this."
I held up a basin filled with nitric oxide.
"Ugh."
Though he turned his head at the foul smell, Dr. Robert surprisingly stuck his hand in.
He didn't scrub or clean it thoroughly, but he was at least considering the possibility.
'Yes, that's it. He wouldn't want to make an exception for the world's first attempt.'
The reaction from the crowd in the square was also quite favorable.
Humans have always been susceptible to pomp and circumstance, haven't they?
As soon as the suspicious-looking gas started leaking and the patient fell unconscious, everyone fell silent.
Of course, there was a brief moment of laughter when the senior ran off laughing, but it was short-lived.
And when Dr. Robert dipped his hands into the strange liquid, the crowd—a mix of science, religion, and superstition typical of the 19th century—watched in hushed awe.
That reaction seemed to positively influence Dr. Robert, a leading figure of this era's surgeons who had to rely on showmanship for survival.
"Alright, you all clean up too!"
"Yes, yes."
The students were, after all, obedient followers.
That's how teachers were in this era, and Dr. Robert had the kind of presence that commanded respect even from those who weren't his students.
So, everyone present quickly dipped their hands into the basin.
I would have liked them to scrub a bit more thoroughly, even under their nails, but I kept quiet.
Even this much was a significant improvement.
These guys used to cut into people's legs without even cleaning their tools, let alone their hands. Now, they were anesthetizing patients, washing their hands, and cleaning their tools.
*Boom.*
Anyway, Dr. Robert, fueled by the pressure, swung the knife.
Perhaps because of that, the knife moved faster than usual.
It was almost like a silver streak flashing by.
*Slice.*
At the same time, the skin was peeled away, and by the time I came to my senses, the sawing was already in full swing.
*Thud.*
The leg was severed.
It was truly a sight to behold, no matter how many times you saw it.
In terms of amputation alone, it could rival even 21st-century orthopedic surgery.
Of course, the complete lack of anatomical consideration was still a problem…
"Wow!!"
"Wow!"
"Robert Liston!"
As I was lost in thought, the square erupted in excitement.
I looked around, wondering what was going on, and saw everyone's faces flushed with excitement.
"This is a miracle!"
"Oh, thank God!"
It wasn't just the crowd in the square.
The reactions of those who had participated in the surgery were even more dramatic.
Especially Dr. Robert Liston, who threw down the knife he had been holding—the very knife he usually cherished—and looked up at the sky.
"God… Lord…"
He was praying.
The sight was eerily reminiscent of a priest offering a sacrifice, and it sent a slight shiver down my spine.
'Ah, this isn't the time to be standing around.'
Anesthesia was as natural as breathing to me, but to them, it must have seemed like a divine miracle.
I couldn't even begin to imagine what a surgery without screams meant to them.
So, I also knelt down and closed my eyes.
'If they think I'm a witch, I'm dead.'
My face was already yellow—no need to draw more attention by acting out.
If they started saying I'd used some kind of dark magic, I'd really be done for.
London in this era was a mix of science and superstition, so I had to be careful.
"Thank you, Lord!"
So, I prayed in the loudest voice I could muster.
Of course, Dr. Robert Liston, who was at the center of it all, heard me.
Then he came over to me.
"Pyeong, get up."
He lifted me up with one hand.
'huh…'
I didn't even need to exert any strength to stand.
Was this what zero gravity felt like?
As I marveled at the strength of humans, Dr. Robert looked at me with a satisfied smile.
It seemed like he'd made some kind of spiritual misunderstanding, but I didn't bother correcting him.
"Everyone! Look at this young man!"
In the square, which now resembled a church revival meeting, Dr. Robert raised my hand high.
All eyes turned to me.
They were probably wondering who this yellow guy was.
Black hair, yellow face, black eyes.
Some of them probably thought I was the devil's spawn just by looking at me.
"This is Pyeong, a faithful servant of the Lord and a Christian! His idea played a significant role in today's anesthesia!"
Oh.
Dr. Robert must have thought the same thing.
That's why he deliberately said this… and it was definitely a thoughtful gesture.
The follow-up was, of course, touching.
'Wow, he's really hyping me up?'
I would have been grateful just to be known as the idea guy.
"Wow!!"
"Pyeong!"
"Pyeong!"
Now my name was echoing through the square.
I couldn't believe this was happening.
I just used the gas they were playing with…
"Haha. All of this is by the grace of the Lord."
Of course, I didn't say that.
Saying something different from what I was thinking—that's my specialty.
I'd practiced so much to flatter my professors that my tongue moved on its own even in front of this many people.
"And if Dr. Robert hadn't agreed to the experiment, none of this would have happened. I'm truly grateful and congratulate you, Professor!"
Hey, this is…
You're really laying it on thick.
"Hahaha. I appreciate you saying that."
Of course, anyone who's lived a little knows that flattery should be done in moderation.
Especially people like professors, who don't need to care about anyone's opinions, tend to lose their sense of judgment and believe anything they're told.
Ah, of course, only the good stuff.
They never listened to the bad stuff, no matter how true it was.
Anyway, Dr. Robert Liston, who had done nothing more than pull a healthy tooth, acted as if he'd just won the Nobel Prize in Medicine.
"No, who else but Dr. Robert Liston could achieve such a groundbreaking feat!"
"Hahahaha!"
"This is all thanks to the professor's blessings!"
"Heehee!"
I didn't stop there and laid on the flattery even thicker. By the end of the day, we were practically sworn brothers, even if we didn't formally declare it.
"If you ever need help, just call me. I'll be there."
"Yes, Professor!"
"Call me 'brother' when it's just the two of us. I'm still in my 30s."
"Huh?"
"Huh?"
There were a few awkward moments, but anyway…
I'd just gained London's top surgeon, Robert Liston.