EXCERPT: 

 

In the dissection theater, the apron-clad professor carefully performed an autopsy.  He explained each step of the process, displaying each organ and explaining its purpose.

     “The intestines, as you can see,” he said, “consist of both smaller and greater portions.  Here, Herr Berg.  Take hold of this end and walk over to the door.  Herr Rauch, take the other end and go to the other door and we will measure how long—I said take the ends, both of you!  Hurry!”

     The two young men did as they'd been ordered, albeit with little enthusiasm.  Ingersoll was made to bring the end back to the first student, for the large operating theater was still not large enough across to contain the entire intestine.  When the small intestine had been stretched to its limit, Huang Zhou volunteered to take the ell-stick and mark off the length seven times and a portion more.  Thus, it was found that the organ, stretched in such a manner, measured twenty-two feet.

     Of course, the professor might have simply read off the measurement of the small intestine but, with this display, the students were not likely to forget.  Having only himself graduated a year before, Professor Hans Teufel was the youngest of all the professors.  He taught nothing by rote, but rather he excited the imaginations of his students with autopsies and surgeries.  He did not simply demand that they memorize the organs of the bodies and the humors they contained, he asked that they apply what they had learned to new and unknown situations.

     Some students hated Teufel for the challenges he threw before them.  Huang Zhou, however, excelled in such an educational environment and Teufel quickly recognized him to be his best student.  The respect was mutual.

     “Revered professor,” said Huang Zhou, one day after class, “I came to the West so that I might advance my education of those subjects which we of the East lack.  At one time, the medicine of the Celestial Empire was far greater than that of the West.  We made herbology and acupuncture into sciences, whilst European surgeons only sought to bleed every patient for every malady—including anemia.

     “However, like all great empires, ours suffers from resting upon its laurels. Chinese medicine has not advanced in centuries, held back by Buddhist reverence for cadavers. Here in the West, doctors may dissect all the bodies they wish.”

     Teufel scoffed in ill-humor.  “I wish it was as simple as all that.  If we had a sufficient number of bodies to dissect, we would certainly train more physicians, perhaps even common surgeons, in the practice of medicine.  We might also have a better understanding of why so many blood transfusions fail to save the patient.”

     Huang Zhou knew of what Teufel spoke.  “As the only bodies available are those of executed criminals,” he said, in irony, “perhaps one should hope for more crime.”

     “That's about what it would take.  But think of the experimentation we could perform, without so many restrictions. We might see if Long's claims about ether hold true under all circumstances—or chloroform, or nitrous oxide.  Or is it better to perform surgeries without anesthesia, to enhance healing, as some insist?”

     “Such experiments would, perforce, need to be performed upon living subjects.”

     “Yes, but the human brain and the brains of animals are far too different.  We'd learn very little.”

     “And to conduct such experiments upon human subjects would be a violation of one's Hippocratic Oath—Do thou no harm,” Huang Zhou said, throwing out the name of the Greek doctor as a challenge.

     Teufel took the bait.  “Oh yes. Dear old Hippocrates.  Just think of all the suffering and death that could be avoided were it not for those strictures.”

     “I often have.”

     Prof. Teufel looked at him, perhaps seeing him truly for the first time.

     “Come to my house tonight, Herr Chow.  I'd like to speak more.”

     Huang Zhou agreed.

​