The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [109]
“As a result of all this innuendo and confusion, Dr. Carroll,” Halsted went on, “Dr. Osler thought that you should hear the truth from us … from me … particularly since we will be working together.”
Working together? For a moment, I doubted my hearing. “Thank you, Dr. Halsted,” I said. “I would like that very much. I am mortified at having misjudged you.”
Halsted nodded perfunctorily, but his expression did not change. Still, he seemed much more to fear the rejection of others than to be rejecting others himself.
“Let’s sit and have some wine,” said the Professor, “and afterward, if you still wish to remain in our company, Ephraim, Mrs. Barlow can make us some dinner.”
I took a seat as the Professor poured two glasses of claret, one for me and the other for himself. I had arrived expecting to be eviscerated and instead I was apparently being … courted. I glanced to where Halsted was seated and saw a cup of tea on the side table next to his chair. After each of us took a sip of our respective beverages, Halsted replaced his cup on in its saucer and began.
“Let us first dispense with the obvious. My addiction to drugs is not to be denied, either in the past or, unfortunately, in the present. It is why, to answer your unspoken query, I do not take alcohol. I have learned that it is far too easy to substitute one dependency for another. But before you judge me, Doctor, allow me to enlighten you as to the genesis and history of my condition.”
I had heard of Halsted’s coca experiments before, but never from the man himself.
“As I believe you know,” he began, “I came late to medicine, during my final year at Yale. I had been an uninspired student before but medicine fascinated me such that I graduated first in my class from the College of Physicians and Surgeons in New York City.” Even reciting the story of his own life, Halsted seemed personally removed, as if he were listing a set of symptoms. “I was accepted on the staff of Bellevue Hospital and my interest turned from general medicine to surgery. Although Lister’s advocacy of asepsis had converted a small percentage of the staff, most of the surgeons continued to perform operations under filthy conditions, wearing street clothes and handling instruments with unwashed hands. One or two even smoked cigars as they cut.
“I was convinced that hygienic surgery would vastly reduce infection, and I became somewhat fanatical on the subject. Many of my colleagues grew more than a bit annoyed, being lectured to by someone no older than you are now, Dr. Carroll, but subsequent events have more than justified my behavior. Still, I was forced to move on to New York Hospital, which had a more enlightened view of scientific advance, and, I daresay, I began to build a sterling reputation as a surgeon and a researcher.” Halsted’s tone still did not waver, and there was not the slightest degree of braggadocio in his words.
“It was at New York Hospital that I met Welch. He was just my age, a brilliant pathologist, and was, at the time, teaching the first pathology course in the United States. He had converted an old morgue near the East River into a laboratory. We each saw instantly that surgery and pathology formed a symbiosis and we became both professionally inseparable and intimate friends. It is to that friendship that I owe my professional survival and quite possibly my life.
“As was customary, I left New York for two years to study in Europe. I wanted in particular to observe Billroth, who, with apologies to Gross, was certainly the finest surgeon in the world. While there, I observed the most extraordinary phenomenon, not from Billroth, but from one of his students. Mikulicz, the Pole, had taken to employing clamps to stanch the flow of blood whilst he operated on the large bowel, thus improving his view of the affected region. I realized immediately that not only would clamping render the tissues in the open area more visible, but that it would prevent surgical shock. That, in turn, would not only save lives in and of itself,