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This excerpt shows Semmelweis in action. It demonstrates his struggles with Dr. Klein, his nemesis, and it also shows Semmelweis’s obsession with finding out the truth. Dr. Rokitansky is his mentor.
Summer 1846
Semmelweis had chosen an inconspicuous seat near one end of the oval table for the departmental committee meeting. The sun’s rays slanted through the windows and the walnut surface of the table gleamed. The other participants shuffled into the room. Dr. Klein, a smirk on his lips, offered brief handshakes to the others before settling down in a central position.
Semmelweis frowned as the government functionaries took their places; he knew that few of them had any medical experience. Some were discussing the recent insurgence against von Metternich and his policies. The chimes of the pastor’s bell rang out far away on the wards, making his resolve tighten: another mother was about to succumb to the fever, another baby destined never to be held in her arms.
Following the preliminaries Johann Klein stood up. He glanced down at his notebook and cleared his throat.
‘Gentlemen, we are meeting to discuss the disparity in the mortality rates within the First and Second Clinics. As per usual, the rate in the First Clinic far exceeds that of the Second. We have lost more than three hundred patients already this year.’
There was a low murmur among the government functionaries. Semmelweis rattled his fingers on the table. Klein waited for calm before continuing.
‘I am displeased that so many mothers and infants are continuing to die at our great facility. As ever, I have deliberated at great length about what the causes of this may be.’ His right hand fiddled with the buttons on his waistcoat. ‘It has come to my attention that the walls of the First Clinic are truly in a very poor state.’
Semmelweis’s shirt stuck to the back of his neck as he leant forwards. ‘Do you honestly believe, Herr Doctor Klein, that the walls are the culprit? The walls?’ He took a deep, laboured breath. ‘With all due respect, the walls of both clinics are identical, yet the patients in the Second are not dying in their droves …’
Klein’s eyes darkened. ‘Of course it’s the walls! And if it is not, Semmelweis, then it must be the will of God. I do believe we have to accept that there are forces here, forces beyond our control.’ He sneered. ‘Don’t forget that a month or two ago I let you instigate the birthing methods used by the midwives. Rolling the patients onto their sides. Did that improve the statistics? No. Not one iota.’
Semmelweis stood up, loosening his collar.
‘I agree that that didn’t work, sir, but we must keep on searching for the truth. And regarding the walls - there are lying-in hospitals throughout Austria, with buildings and walls in far worse conditions, yet their mortality rates don’t even approach our own.’
Klein curled his fingers softly around Semmelweis’s arm. His oily hair gleamed.
‘As I have said, sometimes an explanation cannot be given.’ His grip tightened. ‘Don’t forget that we both wish for the same outcome. I agonize, just as you do, over these monstrous rates of death.’
Semmelweis wrenched his arm away and paced around the room. Through the windows lay the courtyard where women strolled in the sun, some with their husbands, some with new-borns bundled in their arms. They were the survivors. The lucky ones.
He spun round to face Klein. ‘We have to find a solution to this problem. Thousands of lives have been lost. We … we must keep on searching.’
Klein’s pale eyes flashed, pupils sharp as pin-pricks.
‘Sit down, Semmelweis, and calm yourself.
The faces of the functionaries turned towards Semmelweis, who licked his dry lips.
‘I cannot calm myself, Herr Doctor Klein. I remain totally dissatisfied with your explanation as to the reason for this disease, and I won’t hesitate in my quest to identify the true cause.’
*
Semmelweis remained behind after the meeting to talk with some of the functionaries. One had lost a niece to the fever and his goose pimples rose as he listened to the man’s harrowing tale. He reassured the man that he was doing all he could. He couldn’t face Klein again that morning so, once the officials had departed, he walked over to the deadhouse. The students had finished their early morning dissections and Rokitansky was alone. The putrid stench of flesh haunted the air. Rokitansky was bending over a body, tinkering with its internal organs.
Semmelweis coughed. ‘Herr Doctor.’
Rokitansky laid down his scalpel, shaking his head. ‘It’s always, always the same. Over and over. These … these abscesses. These inflammations of the uterine membrane, of the veins.’
‘I know, sir.’ Behind the flicker of the candles, Semmelweis grimaced.
‘What causes it, Semmelweis? What is this poison that creeps within, causing such utter devastation? Why, after ten thousand cuttings, am I still no nearer to finding out the truth?’
Semmelweis moved across and took up the scalpel. Rokitansky stood still, his heavy breathing the only sound in the grotesque surroundings.
‘Rest awhile sir, while I finish the procedure.’
Rokitansky closed his eyes. He had nothing more to give.
Semmelweis cut deeper into the body, delving, dipping, piercing and prodding. He knew the answer to the puzzle lay there in front of him.
It lay somewhere deep inside every cadaver he dissected, deep inside the remains of every soft, female corpse.
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