Surgeon at Sea

Captain Hogg sat down on the edge of his desk. He gave a sharp tug to his left ear, as though pulling the pin out of a Mills bomb.

'For every knot above the cruising speed of my ship,' he began quietly, 'the bill for fuel oil practically doubles itself. What do you think the Company would have to say? Eh?' He banged the desk. 'Operate, Doctor, operate!' he shouted. 'What do you think I pay you for?'

'Yes, sir,' I said.

I recognized at once that the Captain's advice on therapy had obvious drawbacks. In the first place, I had a meagre idea of how to remove an appendix. A medical qualification is like a marriage licence-it gives you official permission to go ahead, but it doesn't guarantee you know enough to tackle all the difficulties after the honeymoon. I had diligently attended the operating theatre in my hospital, but there were always so many students present whenever the surgeons removed an appendix that all I usually saw of the operation were the boils on the neck of the man in front of me.

The second difficulty was equipment. Although appendices have reportedly been removed by second mates with bent spoons and a bos'n's knife, I felt that my academic inhibitions made it impossible for me to operate skilfully with the products of an ironmonger's shop. Thirdly, there was professional assistance. Easter was an admirable character for whom I had a sincere admiration as a man of the world, but when it came to dabbling in clinical medicine he was as dangerous as an unlabelled bottle of strychnine.

I called him into my cabin.

'Easter,' I said earnestly, 'have you seen a case of acute appendicitis before?'

'Ho, yes, Doctor. Every time I eats pickles I'm reminded of it.'

'Pickles?'

'That's right, Doctor. I was on the Western Ocean run at the time. The old Doc was scared to operate, so he puts the patient in the ship's hospital and tells me to keep him on a light diet, see. That night I goes along and asks if there's anything he wants, like, before I turn in, and the patient says to me "Yes," he says, "I should like just a few pickles."

"Pickles!" I says. "You can't have no pickles! Don't be balmy! The Doctor would have me over the side if I was to give you pickles. We of the medical fraternity don't reckon pickles is a light diet. Not for 'arf a minute we don't." I says.'

'Well the next morning I brings him 'is breakfast-two poached eggs done special-and when I goes to shake him-Cor! He was cold to the touch. Them pickles was his last wish, Doctor, and I refused him. Sad, ain't it?'

'Quite so, Easter,' I said. 'Let's have a little less of your reminiscences and a little more action. We must operate on this man before sundown. Do you realize what that means? We must strip the hospital, scrub it out with antiseptic, rig up some lights and an operating table, and find some instruments from somewhere. Savvy?'

'Very good, Doctor. We of the fraternity always rises to the occasion, as they say.'

'Well, start rising.'

He hesitated.

'If might be so bold, Doctor…'

'Yes?'

'Perhaps it might make things go a little easier if you and me was to have a bit of the medical comforts to start with.'

I clapped him gratefully on the shoulder. 'Capital idea, Easter. Reach down the bottle from my locker.'

Rumours of my intended surgical assault spread through the ship faster than the news of a landfall. It was not only a pleasurable interruption to the tedium of the voyage but it had the attributes of mystery and originality as well. The crew hadn't had such fun since a boiler blew up off Panama.

I shut myself in my cabin and opened the text-book of surgery I had prudently included in my packing. Turning over the pages to appendicitis, I ran my finger down the print. I started to read the section headed 'operation.'

'The incision is made at McBurney's point,' it said. Oh God! What was McBurney's point? It sounded like a mountain in California.

There was a rap on the jalousie.

'Come in!'

I unlatched the door. It was the Chief Engineer.

'I heard about this wee party you're having, Doc,' he said affably. 'I reckoned you'd be needing some lights so's you can get a good squint at the innards. I can rig up a cargo cluster for you, if you're willing.'

'Thanks very much.'

He gave a grin.

'Of course, you won't mind me turning up to see the fun, Doc, will you? I reckon I ought to be there in case the lights go on the blink. You never can tell with these cargo clusters.'

'That'll be all right, Chief.'

'Thanks, Doc. Give us a shout when you want to stand-by.'

I opened the book again, and had read far enough to learn that the appendix may be in any of six positions when Hornbeam put his head round the door. He laughed loudly.

'Hello, Doc! Making you do a bit of work for a change?'

'That's what I'm here for,' I said casually.

'Reading it all up in the old almanac, I see,' he said genially.

I shut the heavy book with a bang and dropped it behind the bunk.

'One must refresh one's memory,' I said. 'Even Lord Lister had to do that sometimes.'

'What I came down for, Doc,' he went on, 'was to offer you a bit of a hand. I remember seeing one of these done in the war when I was trooping. Thought you might like me to hold the blood-bucket or something.'

I considered.

'All right,' I said. 'I'd be pleased to have someone with common-sense around. You won't faint, will you?'

'What, after all these years at sea? I'll come along later.'

I was still looking for my place in the surgery book when I saw Sparks in the doorway. He brushed aside a couple of imaginary companions and grinned at me.

'Yes?' I asked uninvitingly.

'I hear you're going to carve 'em up, Doc.'

'I am intending to operate, certainly.'

'Wouldn't mind if I watched, would you? I'm a bit of a photographer, and I'd like a few pictures to show the kids.' His grin widened. 'Makes a change from seagulls.'

'I don't think there'll be enough room for me and the patient if you come too.'

'Would you like to send a message to his mother?' he asked.

'No, I would not.'

'Haven't got a spot of gin handy, have you?'

'Not now. Later. I'm very busy.'

'All right, Doc. Have a good time.'

He went off, singing with his friends. But there had now collected outside the door a bunch of deckhands, led by the Bos'n with his cap respectfully in his hands.

'What the hell do you want?' I asked crossly.

'Sorry to disturb you, Doctor, only seeing as we're all pals of Erb's, we was thinking you'd let us come in, see, to 'ave a dekko. 'E says its all right wiv 'im, as long as we behaves decent.'

'Go away,' I said. 'Go away at once. All of you. Who do you think I am? A music-hall turn? I shall report you all to the Mate.'

I slammed the door and returned to the intricacies of appendectomy.

***

I found Easter in the hospital. He had dismantled the cabin furnishings and was on his knees scrubbing the deck, stripped to the waist.

'How's it going?' I asked.

'It's bloody 'ot.'

'What's the temperature?'

He got up and inspected the thermometer in the corner.

'Hundred and six,' he said.

'Can't you put the forced draught on?'

'Blows soot in.'

'Oh, all right. We'll have to put up with it I suppose. How have you got on with the operating table?'

He had a wooden trestle table along one bulkhead which he set up proudly. It left just enough room on either side for the pair of us.

'I got it off Chippy,' he said. 'He uses it for mixing the paints on.'

'It's better than nothing. If you scrub it hard enough it'll be reasonably sterile.'

As I spoke, two large, rusty drops fell from a pipe crossing the deckhead on the spot where the operation wound would be.

'Damnation! Can't you do anything to stop that?'

Easter shook his head.