Do no harm, p.3
Do No Harm, page 3
“Be here on time or don’t come at all.”
A quip about watching the overweight doctor shove his ass in a corset came to mind, but she pushed it down. “Of course, sir,” was the actual response she gave.
If anyone was going to ask the question, it was going to be Theodore Darby—and he didn’t let her down.
“You dared even come when you were late.”
She looked at him nonchalantly. “I was. And it’s fine.”
“Yes,” Darby went on, narrowing his brown eyes, “that’s the odd thing. I would have been kicked out of this class.”
Her eyes flashed mischievously. “I can be convincing.”
“Enough,” came Dr. Halstead. Evie pursed her lips and clasped her hands, a sign of understanding her place. Outwardly, that is. Darby collected a group of lab coats for anyone who was interested and handed Evie her apron, the one she wore in every class to prevent soiling her clothing. She picked up her notebook and pencil, tucking the writing utensil in her hair for future use, and stood on one of the benches.
Surgical amphitheaters were the most interesting part of medical school. The rooms at CaPS, although technically built square, had benches that steadily rose up and outward in a semi-circular structure, leaving an open space in the middle. A large domed skylight was placed over the open area, letting in as much sunlight as possible for the audience to get a clear view of the instructors. Newly installed electrical lights had also helped.
Darby leaned into her as two nurses wheeled two cadavers into the room. “But really, Waldron, sleeping with the professor?”
Evie smirked without looking down at him. From her bench-high view, it felt nice to be above all the men in the room for once. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He snorted. “No thank you.”
This time she turned to him. “Is that what you really think, in your medical opinion?”
He adjusted his round glasses. “In my medical opinion, nepotism is nice.”
“Oh, come off it, Theo. Your father is a Senator. You’re hardly struggling.”
Darby smirked back. “The devil has your mind.”
Evelyn snorted. “Perhaps.”
“Alright,” Dr. Halstead interrupted their banter, “antiseptic. Mr. Portman, tell us what you know.”
“Uh, well sir, if we look at some of the research of Lister and Pasteur, they’ve shown that use of chemicals to…clean, have demonstrated a decline in patient deaths,” responded the tall Mr. Portman who read way too much.
Halstead nodded as he donned a pair of gloves. “Mr. Darby, can you tell me which solution by Lister I’m about to put on my gloves?”
“I would assume carbolic acid, sir,” came the confident voice beside Evie.
Halstead nodded again, dipping his gloves into two canisters of liquid. One of the nurses came over with cloths to dry off any remaining drips. He then continued with his explanation. “The two bodies you see before you were operated on for enlarged gallbladders. I have already taken the liberty of opening their abdomens. Come closer so you can see inside.”
The class shuffled forward and Evie took a large step onto the bench a level down from her. Darby shook his head at her.
Dr. William Halstead was no joke. He’d attended CaPS as well as the medical school at Yale. He’d been all around the world and wasn’t popular with all institutions. His views and methods could be quite radical, which was something that drew Evelyn to his mentorship. Her father had given him lodgings for the semester to come teach antiseptic surgery at the college. Some of the board members were not happy with this, indicating that it was teaching something that was not yet standardized. But Dr. Waldron, when pushed with enough evidence, would give in when the science felt right, regardless of opinion; it’s probably what made him such a good doctor to begin with.
“Your gloves, sir,” Evelyn spoke up. The class froze. Ugh, she’d done it again. You know, speaking. She felt a twinge of pain in her wrist and rotated it idly. “What are they made of that they can be bathed in carbonic acid?”
Someone coughed. Without looking up at her, Halstead continued moving towards one of the bodies. “Miss Waldron that is your second time speaking out of turn today.” The doctor paused, flexing his fingers. This time, he turned to meet her eyes. She knew he probably felt that having her anywhere near his amphitheater was horribly far beneath him. Let alone in his class. Let alone asking him questions. But what did she have to lose? So she got ejected? So be it. Maybe then she’d take a gentle stroll…
But she thought there was more of a challenging expression on Halstead’s face. As much as he probably didn’t like teaching a woman, he did respect an inquisitive mind. Something they had in common. Whether he liked it or not.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Lister and Pasteur. They were not the first to suggest the cleaning of one’s hands and instruments prior to surgery. Who was the first?”
God was she lucky she found his name so funny or she probably would have never remembered it. “Semmelweis, sir.”
“And how was his research received?” Halstead prompted.
Evie should have just given an answer. But where was the fun in that? “You mean before or after they tossed him in a mental asylum, sir?”
Snickers from the other twelve students in the class. Halstead bit his inner cheek to keep from smiling. “Rubber, Ms. Waldron, the gloves are rubber.”
She nodded and pulled the pencil from her hair to make a note.
Rubber—more uses? Can be pasteurized.
“Now, if you see here, the gallbladder of the individual on the right appears to be of normal size and weight.” Halstead turned from in between the two bodies to the other one. “But if you see the alternative, pay special attention to the surrounding tissue. What do you see?”
A student: “It’s dead tissue, sir.”
Halstead nodded. “Yes,” he pulled out not only the gallbladder which had clear black spots, but asked both of the accompanying nurses to gather around the body and pull open the abdominal cavity. “You see here? All along the connective tissue and the other, nearby organs, is Fournier gangrene.”
There were sounds of understanding and agreement throughout the students. Evie’s mouth popped open to ask a follow–up question, but she knew better. A third out-of-line behavior might actually get her removed.
Halstead’s eyes glowed as he faced the students. “Therefore we are left with the following questions: what was different between the two surgeries? What happened that one was a successful gallbladder removal, with death occurring from other causes, or this gentleman, who clearly died of gangrene?”
His dramatic pause filled the room.
“First of all,” he went on, “I’ll tell you that they were performed by the same surgeon. Second, they were performed with the same instruments and nurses, and in the same room as each other at different times. And thirdly, the same surgical methodology was used. Theories?”
There was a second of silence as the men thought.
“Medical histories?”
Halstead moved his head back and forth. “Possibly.”
“Response to drugs?”
Halstead nodded slowly. “Perhaps.”
Evie tapped Darby quickly on the shoulder. “The antiseptic!”
“What?” Darby mouthed.
“The antiseptic! Say it!”
“No, how could—?”
“Mr. Darby, did you have a theory?” Halstead asked through bushy raised eyebrows.
Darby froze. He was stuck. “Uh, well, sir, perhaps it had to do with the um, the antiseptic?”
A slow nod from Halstead…
And then a smile. “Yes, that was the independent variable. You see in this man’s surgery, the nurses and surgeon used their bare hands. They did not wash them, they did not pasteurize them, they simply went to work. However, on this individual, they utilized the antiseptic on their hands prior to the surgery. What does this tell us? Well, it takes us back to Lister’s concerns about the germ: an unseeable force that leads to the contamination of tissue. See here, the gangrene which seems to have come from infection. Antiseptic appears to be able to ward off these germs, therefore reducing the likelihood of death from infection even though the surgery was successful.”
Writing. Each student in the audience had a pencil scraping over paper. Evie was no different. This was huge. Up until now, it was unclear why some contracted—
The door to the classroom opened with a bang.
Shit.
The room turned to Samuel Waldron III, who stood angrily in the doorway.
Well, at least it wasn’t her father. But her brother wasn’t much better. He cocked an eyebrow and beckoned her forward.
She didn’t even want to look at Halstead. In fact, the fact that he wasn’t saying anything was probably even worse. Well, this is bad. Evelyn jumped off her bench and quickly gathered up her things, thrusting her pencil back into her hair.
“WALDRON!” Halstead finally bellowed. She froze on her way down the steps. She couldn’t meet his eyes. His voice suddenly lowered. Ugh, that’s even worse. “That apron stays here. It does not belong to you. And I rue the day I let you wear it.” She threw her things on the ground and yanked the cloth off. She dashed to the hook where she hung it back up, giving it a last look as if she may not see it again. There were some stains on it; blood of course, that one brown one that might be fecal matter, or could have been from a puss-filled sac that she cut into once. She bustled back to her dropped-books and notes.
“Leave them,” Halstead ordered. There was a split second, just one, where she had to decide if she was going to listen to him. She knew there had been a chance this might happen—her father had been very clear about her staying in bed. He said it was because she needed to recover from the accident. But really, she feared it was more for his reputation since she had apparently escaped a train crash unscathed.
So she rushed forward anyway and grabbed her items, before dashing out the door after her brother.
They didn’t speak through the hallway or down the stairs. They didn’t speak in the foyer or when they entered out into the sun. They walked to the end of the block and turned onto a side street where carriages couldn’t follow. And that’s when Sam started.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he blurted.
“Did you have class today?” Evie asked, quickly diverting the topic.
“Don’t change the subject, you always do that.”
“Well why are you babysitting me? Go back to your little school for lawyers.”
He sighed dramatically. “We go to the same school.”
“Right,” she countered, pulling the sympathy card, “but they’ll actually give you a degree when you finish.”
Sam made a tsk sound. “Don’t give me this again; you know there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“Wait.” Evie stopped on the dirt road, a hand to her chin, “Isn’t there a name for people who change laws?”
Sam narrowed his eyes at her. “I wish you had more common sense than humor.”
She laughed heartily as they continued walking. “So…what about going tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“The Madam’s.”
“Evelyn, are you mad? Father just sent me to pull you out of class and you think it’s a good night to be sneaking around in the city? Maybe that crash really did shake up your mind.”
“Are you sure it’s not just my feeble feminine ways?”
Sam snorted again. “Oh, it’s definitely that. Have you remembered anything from the crash?”
Evie shook her head. “No, nothing. Still completely black.”
“And you’re sure you can’t remember anyone you were on the train with?”
“Sam,” she sighed, exasperated, “I already told you this. I was coming home by myself. You know I went out to the Hamptons to visit Emily and her family by myself. There was no one else with me on the train.”
“Right,” Sam said doubtfully as they waited for a line of carriages to go by before stepping into the street, “but it could have been someone you didn’t expect to be there.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I already said there was no one.”
“Does the word Canopus mean anything to you?”
Evie slowed her steps. “Canopus? What the heck does that mean?”
Sam motioned for her to keep walking with him. “Do you recognize the term?”
“No, I don’t recognize the term. Is it medical?”
He shook his head. “No, no, just something I read in the papers about the train and thought it might sound familiar.”
“Samuel, I already told you, I don’t remember anything.”
“I know, I just thought you might recognize it.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Because if you did, you could tell me. Even if it seemed strange that—”
“Stop asking, Rigel! I just…I just don’t remember! Why would I lie to you about that?”
Sam just stared at her for a moment, blinking rapidly, not breathing. His head tilted the slightest bit. “What did you say?”
Evie sighed loudly. “I know you’re worried about me. And I love you for that. But badgering me about what I do or don’t remember isn’t going to change the fact that I simply don’t remember.” Her eyes tracked a carriage going by in Sam’s silence. Her voice softened. “But if I remember anything, I promise I’ll tell you. I promise on…Edward White.”
Sam seemed to take a deep breath and nod. “Glad to know you remember Supreme Court Justices.” He relented on his questions, dropping his arms around her shoulders. “Now let’s get home before I’m disbarred before I even take the exam.”
Sam and Evie didn’t talk the rest of the way home. While she thought that part of it was because he was angry with her for disobeying their father, she really thought that the reason was because he also thought it was idiotic that someone who was not harmed or injured needed to rest from…harm and injuries. She decided to go with the latter.
Before walking through the front door, Evelyn smoothed her skirts, as if that would make up for everything. It wouldn’t. She paused at the bottom the stairs to their Manhattan brownstone. Just from owning one of these houses, it was obvious to anyone that Evie and her family were very wealthy. Ironically, that didn’t come from a dean’s salary. Prestigious or not, it was still a research college, and while they had a lofty endowment, most of that didn’t make it into her father’s pocket. Instead, it was actually Evie’s mother who brought old, generational wealth. In fact, Evie had heard that their marriage had been quite the scandal—a wealthy woman marrying a working man. How solacious.
Then she took a deep breath, and followed her brother inside.
“I was really hoping it wasn’t so, Evelyn Rose.” Oh, the middle name. Always a bad sign. She felt herself wince. CaPS Dean Waldron had already known she was coming in through the door before she’d entered the house. Because turning into the sitting room, there he was, pipe in hand, round face red. He was sitting at the desk that was centered between the two long front windows. The drapes framing them had been hand sewn by mother’s first lady’s maid. She passed away a couple years ago. But mother made sure they were dusted and kept in order.
Sam, meanwhile, the bastard, clasped his hands behind his back and padded through the foyer towards the kitchen. Evie sneered at him as he abandoned her.
She stepped lightly into the sitting room through the French glass doors that remained open.
She could just listen. Or she could just start groveling now. But that’s no fun. And that’s definitely not what physicians do.
“I was feeling fine,” she said plainly.
Dr. Waldron huffed. “I don’t doubt that. But that’s not the point. You were told to remain in bed. Just because you don’t appear to have any injuries, doesn’t mean you don’t.”
“But Dr. Halstead is there. I cannot miss his lectures. Today we—”
“‘Can’t miss his lectures?’ Or what? You won’t graduate?”
Her heart squeezed in her chest as her mouth snapped closed.
He continued. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you are only allowed in those lectures because you are my daughter. Which means I can very well revoke that privilege just as quickly.”
Thoughts and thoughts and thoughts whirled in her head—so many she didn’t know where to start. There was so much he didn’t know about her. Or her partner in crime.
But her father sighed heavily, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The sweet smell graced her nose. He adjusted his glasses as he peered out the window. “Look, it took a lot of string-pulling to get your name kept out of the papers. If people knew that you had been the only survivor, we’d be dragged through the media. I paid a hefty sum to the train company to remove your name from ever being on the manifest.”
She took that as her chance. “You’re right, father, I’m sorry.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you? Sorry?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it quickly. Evie puffed air into her cheeks and tapped her foot, the lie on the tip of her tongue. But she shook her head. “Not even a bit.”
Dr. Waldron’s face re-reddened, his mouth opening in retort.
She stepped forward excitedly. “But father, he showed us the outcome of surgery done without proper washing.”
“Evelyn, I—”
“You should have seen the gallbladder that was operated on without antiseptic!”
The look on her father’s face—he could never turn down new medical research. She had him.
“And he had gloves, and, no, not just any gloves, rubber ones!”
“Rubber, you say?” Samuel Sr. whispered.
“Yes! And he dipped them in—”
“Samuel!” came mother’s screech. The two buckled. Martha stamped into the room. “You are supposed to be berating her, not egging her on! Evelyn Rose, room, now! You’ll get whatever is left of supper.”
She raised her chin to speak. “Moth—”
“Now!”
Evelyn turned on her heels and clicked out of the room. She moved through the foyer and hastened up the stairs. She heard her mother begin questioning her father and she couldn’t help giggling when she heard him say something about “antiseptic.”
