Resurrectionist

“The operation to remove a stone or stones is one of the most important a surgeon can perform. It requires not only a detailed understanding of anatomy, but also a mind that never wavers and a hand that never shakes.” Carslow paused in his address and ran a stern eye over the faces of the onlookers.

Then the surgeon turned to the waiting dressers and removed his coat. “Let us begin.”

A dresser stepped forward to take the surgeon’s coat, exchanging it for an apron that had been hanging on a hook next to the door.

Carslow addressed the room once more. “There are only two safe routes to enter the bladder; the first is from directly above, through the lower abdomen. This is referred to as the high operation. The second is by way of the perineum, known as the lateral operation. It is the latter that I shall be performing today. However, before I begin the procedure, I shall require the services of two more assistants.”

Carslow placed a forefinger to his lips. His eyes swept the encircling tiers. Hawkwood, watching from above, had the impression this was a charade enacted before every operation. He could see students nudging each other and grinning as if it were a contest where the team captain got to pick his right-hand man.

The surgeon’s gaze settled on the second tier down, to the left of where Hawkwood was standing. He pointed. “You, sir, and the young gentleman to your right; if you’d be so kind as to join us. Your names, please? Mr Liston and Mr Oliver, is it? Very well, if you would attend my colleague Mr Gibson, he will instruct you.” Carslow ushered the two students in the direction of his companion, who was still standing by the table, his hand placed reassuringly on the patient’s shoulder.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’d kindly prepare the patient by placing him in the lithotomy position.”

The audience watched as the hinged headboard was raised to form a shallow angle and locked. A linen cloth was placed over the table. The patient was then laid on his back, hands by his sides, with the back of his head resting against the slanted board. His legs extended out beyond the end of the table, above the tray of sawdust.

The patient’s nightshirt was lifted and rolled back over his chest. Beneath the gown, the man was naked. His skin was as pale as paper. On Carslow’s instructions, a strap was secured around each of the patient’s ankles. On a further nod from the surgeon, the patient’s knees were drawn up and back towards his chest, and his legs were pulled apart until his genitalia and buttocks were fully exposed.

Carslow again addressed the onlookers. “The patient must be restrained and kept absolutely still. The slightest deviation, a slip of the blade for example, could mean inadvertent damage to the patient’s leg or rectum, or even the surgeon’s finger, and we would not want that, now, would we?”

A polite ripple of laughter ran around the room. The look of alarm on the patient’s face made it clear that at least one man present did not share the surgeon’s sense of humour. His body was visibly quaking.

Carslow moved towards the foot of the operating table. His hands hovered over the row of instruments.

“Mr Liston and Mr Oliver, a wrist each, if you please. Mr Allerdyce and Mr Flynn, if I may direct you to take the patient’s ankles and knees. A firm hold is required, gentlemen. Are you ready, Mr Ashby?”

It was the first time the patient’s name had been used. But from the stricken expression on his face, Hawkwood suspected that the poor man had probably forgotten what his own name was. There wasn’t even so much as a weak nod.

Carslow cocked an enquiring eye at the dressers, the two students and his colleague, Gibson. All five helpers nodded back imperceptibly. Hawkwood saw the muscles along their forearms stiffen as they took up the strain.

The surgeon’s hand dropped to the table. It rose into view holding a straw’s-breadth metal rod, curved at one end like a large un-barbed fishhook. The implement was held up for the audience to see. “The bladder sound. Note the groove in the outer curve of the staff.”

Holding the rod in his right hand, Carslow leaned forward, took hold of the patient’s flaccid manhood with his left hand, held it upright and, without pausing, placed the hooked end of the rod into the tip of the penis and pushed it down inside the shaft.

Christ Jesus! Hawkwood clenched his fists at the unexpectedness of it.

A bellow of pain erupted from the patient’s mouth and his body arched. The table became a melee of thrashing arms and legs.

“Hold him still, gentlemen! Hold him! Calm, Mr Ashby! Calm!”

It was clear from the speed with which the two dressers hauled down on the straps that they were accustomed to grappling with patients. The two students, however, despite their hold, had plainly been taken by surprise at the ferocity of the resistance. It was only with the help of the surgeon’s chief assistant, Gibson, who laid himself across the patient’s chest, that they were finally able to renew their grip.

It took several seconds before the man on the table was held fast. Through it all his head continued to whip from side to side like a newly landed fish.

Hawkwood found that his palms were slick with sweat. It had been an extraordinarily unnerving scene. There couldn’t have been a man watching who hadn’t imagined himself in the patient’s position as the probe went in.

Ignoring the patient’s yells, Carslow continued where he had left off. Gripping the metal staff once more, he began to feed the rod down the inside of the penis. His voice remained measured, though louder than when he had started, to counteract the noise from the man struggling on the table. “We place the rod through the urethra and into the bladder, like so, and we listen …”

Hearing the surgeon’s words, Hawkwood was suddenly aware of how still the rest of the room had become. It was as if everyone was holding his breath. Even the patient’s cries subsided into a series of low mewling sounds, though the pain must have been excruciating. Then, to Hawkwood’s astonishment, the surgeon bent and placed his ear to the base of the patient’s cock.

“There!” Carslow announced. “The villain is located.”

Hawkwood realized the surgeon had been listening for the click as the curved end of the rod knocked against the stone.

Swiftly, keeping a hold on the end of the rod, which was sticking out of the patient’s penis like a stopper in a decanter, the surgeon reached for his scalpel.

Hawkwood’s stomach twisted.

“Hold him fast, gentlemen, if you please.”

The dressers bore down on the patient, exerting pressure. The leather straps were pulled tight.

“Now for the first incision. I place the blade against the perineum, so. And remember, slowly and deliberately …”

Placing the point of the blade against the skin behind the patient’s scrotum, he pressed in and drew it carefully down towards the patient’s rectum. The flesh parted like grape skin. Blood welled. A bleating wail rose from between the patient’s clenched teeth.

Hawkwood sucked in his breath.

The patient writhed as the surgeon continued. “I divide the prostate gland and with the point of my blade I press against the bladder wall, feeling for the groove in the bladder sound, while taking care to avoid damage to the surrounding tissue.”

Blood, Hawkwood could see, had started to drip from the incision.

A pig-like squeal rose from the head of the operating table.

“Heads!” The shouts came out of the blue, from the top tier away to Hawkwood’s right. “Heads!”

Jesus, now what? Hawkwood wondered. And then he realized the calls were coming from spectators who were unable to see the operation because the heads of the dressers were blocking their view.

Other students took up the chant. Obligingly, the dressers leaned away from the table, still maintaining their control of the patient’s legs. As the cries ceased and the onlookers settled down, Hawkwood could see that the patient also seemed to be becalmed, as if he’d surrendered to the inevitable. Carslow’s assistant, Gibson, was stroking the man’s sweat-streaked head and whispering in his ear.

The wound had started to bleed profusely. A thin dark-red stream was seeping down the cleft of the patient’s buttocks and dripping into the blood box beneath the table.

“Having located the groove, I cut through the wall of the bladder, using the groove in the sound as my guide.” The surgeon’s voice rose from the foot of the operating table. “I take my forceps, insert them through the perineum and on into the bladder, and remove the stone. Note that the insertion and extraction is gradual rather than