Excerpt 3:

 

 

This excerpt demonstrates Semmelweis’s struggles, following his discovery that handwashing truly saves lives.

 

One hot, late summer’s day Semmelweis met the administrator in the shade of the hospital courtyard. They sat facing each other. Above them birds fluttered to and fro, chirping and chattering.

     

‘You have indeed made a difference. I want to congratulate you, most heartily. Our patients are surviving. It’s been nearly a month since one died.’

 

‘Thank you, sir. I too am overjoyed with the results.’

 

‘How are you finding your time now on the ward? I hope the dissenters are quieter now?’

 

‘Most are, but not all. The matron responsible for the linen still grumbles. She refuses to accept that the sheets must be changed between patients. If she sees only a few spots of blood then she argues to keep the sheet. She complains that I cause her more work.’

 

The administrator sighed. ‘I am sorry to hear that. I will speak to her today.’

 

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that. Cleanliness is the sole reason why our patients are walking out of here alive, with their babies healthy and thriving.’

 

The wall behind the men ran one length of the courtyard and on the other side of it lay the cemetery. The cemetery was full of the bodies of mothers who hadn’t been able to walk away, the mothers who had succumbed to the ravages of the puerperal fever.

 

The two men rose and shook hands, before taking their leave.

 

                                                                                  *

 

‘Dr. Semmelweis, Dr. Semmelweis, please come.’

     

A young nurse stood at the entrance to the ward, waving her arms. Semmelweis saw smudges of tears on her cheeks.

 

‘It’s the mother in the first bed. She’s in a terrible way.’

 

He was startled. This was Josefin Zoltan – an older mother. He had chatted with her at length and reassured her during her long labour. The birth had gone well and he’d thought that she and her little boy would be leaving to go home soon. She’d felt a little unwell the day before, but …

 

He hurried to her bedside. A nurse sat clutching her hand. Semmelweis knelt down to check her pulse, but it was too late.

 

There was none.

 

He scratched his chin, unable to speak. Something must have happened. Somebody must have violated the rules. He made his way up to the small file storage room. He himself had attended Josefin Zoltan during the week she’d been admitted. But who else had? He searched through the daily rotas and discovered that two other physicians had also attended her. One was an elderly doctor who had frequently congratulated him on the improved figures. At the basin, he’d scrubbed so hard that Semmelweis had worried he’d lose a layer of his skin. The other name belonged to a doctor he didn’t know so well, a man called Gregory Korkiov.

 

Semmelweis resolved to keep watch.

     

The following day he sat near to Korkiov in the canteen, knowing the man had just come up from the deadhouse. Semmelweis watched him pick up his cutlery with his blood-smeared hands. His arrogant voice rang out as he spoke to a colleague. After lunch Semmelweis followed him, moving into the shadows whenever it was necessary. Korkiov approached the ward where a queue had built up at the washbasin. Semmelweis viewed him from behind a pillar. His eyes widened as Korkiov stared at the long queue, then wiped his hands on his frock coat and sidestepped it, creeping through the doors onto the ward.

 

Semmelweis ran through after him, shaking his fists. ‘Come with me. I need to speak to you now.’ He dragged him away from the bed, the bed where Frau Zoltan had died the day before, and pushed him out into the corridor. The people waiting by the basin turned to stare.

 

‘Do you know what you have done? You have killed Frau Zoltan. By not washing your hands.’

 

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t killed anyone.’

 

‘Show me your hands.’ 

 

‘What do you mean?’ Korkiov shifted from one foot to the other and moved his hands behind his back. An ugly red stain moved up his neck.

 

‘Show me your hands. NOW.’

 

Korkiov lifted his arms to Semmelweis and unfurled his thin fingers. They were stained with blood and the smell was foul.

 

The young nurse who had lost her sister to the fever strode across from the basin.

     

‘I don’t understand why this regime helps. But I know that it works and that most of us are following the rules.’ She whirled round to face Korkiov. ‘Can’t you see that it is working? Until this week, we hadn’t lost a patient since June …’

     

Korkiov grabbed her, a sneer riding his lips. ‘How dare you lecture me on how to do my job, you stupid woman.’ He slapped her hard and she sank to her knees, weeping. His bloody handprint glistened on her collar. One or two people gasped out loud.

 

Korkiov strode over to the basin and dipped the tips of his fingers into the solution.

 

‘As if this makes any difference. Any difference at all.’ He flicked water towards Semmelweis and then re-entered the ward, slamming the doors behind him.

 

                                                                           *

 

Korkiov was dismissed the next morning and told never to return.

 

Semmelweis gathered the staff around the washbasin once the rogue doctor had departed. ‘I’d like to thank all of you for adhering to the new methods. You will have noticed that so far it has made a tremendous difference.’

 

Footsteps rang out behind him and the rotund hospital administrator appeared with a huge smile.

 

‘I agree. A round of applause please, for Dr. Semmelweis. I sincerely apologise for the behaviour of Dr. Korkiov. You have improved our hospital statistics beyond recognition and for that I wish to thank you.’