The Shadow of Great Britain

588: Chapter 297: 19th Century Medical Ethics Issues_3 588: Chapter 297: 19th Century Medical Ethics Issues_3 Arthur asked, “What’s the result?”

Hadcassle smiled and said, “The patient was already critically ill, with extreme weakness, faint pulse, and severe thirst, but after I administered four consecutive infusions, injecting 200 ounces of saline solution, he gradually awakened from his coma, showing significant improvement, and eventually recovered!”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but stand up joyfully, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders, “Mr.

Hadcassle, you have indeed not disappointed me!

I assure you, your treatment will soon be…”

Before Arthur could finish, there was a sharp snap as the door to the parlor was suddenly flung open.

“Hadcassle!

I knew it was you!

Have you had your fill of conducting medical experiments on patients, you Executioner?

I warn you, if you do not reflect on your actions, as soon as the cholera outbreak is over, I will certainly go to the Royal College of Surgeons in Westminster to have your medical license revoked!”

Arthur turned to see who it was, and standing in the doorway was an old gentleman, fuming with rage.

He strode up to Hadcassle in a few quick steps, raising his walking stick as if to strike him.

Hadcassle forcefully grabbed the stick, returning the gaze with equal anger, “Mr.

Rosenberg!

It is you who should be reflecting!

I have already demonstrated the viability of intravenous injections to you, yet you not only insulted me but also threw me out and even confiscated the paper I was intending to submit to ‘The Lancet’.

What is your intention in doing all this!”

Rosenberg?

As soon as Arthur heard the surname, he immediately recognized the old man’s identity; this was the chairman of the Liverpool Health Committee and the most reputable doctor in the area.

Arthur spoke up, “Mr.

Rosenberg, is what Mr.

Hadcassle just said true?”

With a glare at Hadcassle, Rosenberg said, “Mr.

Hastings, do not believe this man’s nonsense.

I did confiscate his paper, and I did call him a quack who disregards the lives of his patients, but I did it in the interests of the public’s health.

I bet he has just shown you how advanced his treatment supposedly is, but I can prove to you that it’s all just a scam set up by a street clinic’s lowly doctor!”

With that, Rosenberg snorted disdainfully and pulled out a document from his jacket, throwing it onto the table.

“Take a good look at this document!

It is the conclusion report of the cholera patients at Hadcassle’s clinic, by the statistics department under the Liverpool Health Committee.

According to the investigation, out of 56 patients who received saline injections, only 9 fully recovered.

In other words, the pathological conclusions drawn by Hadcassle and his derived treatment measures have not actually cured many patients.

His clinic’s survival rate is by no means at the forefront among the doctors in Liverpool, it’s not even middling.”

Arthur picked up the document and flipped through it, his brow furrowing more deeply, “This…”

The report showed that Rosenberg was not making baseless claims—it was all true.

But Arthur couldn’t understand why Hadcassle, whose answer seemed the most correct, had such dismal results.

Could it be data falsification?

Out of skepticism about the statistical data, Arthur decided to give Hadcassle another chance, and he asked, “Is this all true?”

Hadcassle’s face flushed, his fists clenched, and after struggling for a long time, he eventually chose the one he valued more between honor and conscience.

He nodded and said, “Yes, Mr.

Hastings.

My patient recovery rate is indeed not high, but would you be willing to hear my defense?”

If Hadcassle had told Arthur that the data was false, then Arthur, upon verifying this, would certainly not have given him the chance to explain.

But Hadcassle’s direct admission of his low healing rate had dispelled Arthur’s doubts.

Perhaps Hadcassle’s methods were not one hundred percent correct, but this doctor shouldn’t be out to hurt people intentionally.

Arthur nodded and said, “Of course.

And I believe Mr.

Rosenberg would also be very interested in hearing your reasons.”

Rosenberg, who had been ready to fly into a rage and throw Hadcassle out upon his admission of the problem, was forced to keep his disgust at bay and speak, since Arthur had spoken up.

“Fine!

Then speak.

But no matter how persuasive you are today, it won’t change the fact that you are an empiricist quack experimenting with new methods on patients.

I must say, Hadcassle, I am very disappointed in you!

If it weren’t for the respect I hold for your teacher, Dr.

Corbin, I would have already written to the medical association to revoke your medical license the day you came to me!”

When Hadcassle decided to barge into the ball, he had already prepared for the possibility of burning all his bridges.

He knew that after today, either he would achieve success and fame, or he would lose his medical license completely.

It had to be determined who the real quack was between him and the authorities of the Liverpool health committee.

Hadcassle took a deep breath and began.

“Mr.

Hastings, as I’ve said before, I am just an ordinary street doctor, and many of my patients come from working-class families.

And as for workers, as you know, unless they are seriously ill, they are absolutely unwilling to see a doctor.”

“And within the working class, many people suffer from other base illnesses in addition to cholera; their bodies are already extremely weak.

I swear on my honor to Hippocrates, although not all patients, the majority of my patients saw a significant improvement in their condition after receiving intravenous injections.

However, they died from other diseases during their recovery phase.”

“If being completely cured is the standard, then I admit that what I’ve done is not good enough.

But if it’s about curing cholera and bringing them out of critical condition, then my success rate would be fifty-five percent.”

Rosenberg retorted angrily, “Hadcassle, even without considering the sequelae, a fifty-five percent success rate is just slightly higher than the average cholera recovery rate of forty-five percent.

Besides, how do you know that the deceased patients didn’t die from other diseases!

Do you want me to spell it out for you more clearly?

How dare you, a person devoid of honor and morals, do such a thing!

Do you even know who this gentleman standing before you is?

I have always been speaking for you, trying to salvage a bit of dignity and honor for you, but I never expected that you would have the audacity to be this shameless!”

Arthur, who initially didn’t understand why Rosenberg was so angry, seemed to have now grasped the reason.

As a policeman, he was very clear on how to determine the cause of a patient’s death.

Arthur stared at Hadcassle and asked, “Did you perform an autopsy on the patient’s body?”