The Ice Swan by J’nell Ciesielski

As the same question was repeated yet again in a different syntax, Wynn glanced longingly at the pitcher of water mere feet away. His throat was parched after an hour-long presentation before the hospital board and another hour in which questions and accusation had been lobbed at him from every angle in the Paris School of Médecine’s lecture hall. The room seemed to shrink in on him with every passing minute. He dare not step away for a drink lest the white-haired doctors in the gallery smell weakness. He couldn’t afford weakness at this crucial moment when the old dragons had to be won over.

He’d been summoned to explain his cardiological surgery on Lieutenant Harkin after his supervisor learned of the rogue procedure and reported it to the board. Following a month of paperwork, Wynn had finally been called to testify.

“It is often the practice of qualified surgeons to ascertain whether an object is best left unremoved to forgo further complications. Death for instance.” From the second row, the questioning doctor squinted at him through large spectacles. “Why did you negate such a practice?”

Wynn tried not to think about the cool water as he answered the question. The same question. For the tenth time. “While this is a tried method, it is not always successful. In the case of my patient I felt he was better served to remove the object.”

“You felt. How quaint. A physician’s job is not determined by emotion but by studious examination, facts, and knowledge gained by those who have gone before.”

“All of which I consulted before making a final decision and gaining permission from the patient.”

“A patient cannot be trusted to know what is best for them. They have not the learning.”

A doctor at the far end of the front row stood up. With dated muttonchops and a pristine white coat, he commanded attention. “While I am in agreement that patients do not have the learning to understand the workings of our profession, I cannot agree that their opinion is invalid. A good doctor must weigh both. It speaks well of Dr. MacCallan that this Lieutenant Harkin confided in him regarding the continuing pain.”

The first doctor inclined his head, causing his spectacles to slip down his nose. “Your words are highly respected, Dr. Lehr, but a good bedside manner cannot be confused with medical aptitude.”

Wynn knew his kind. Shuffling behind his medical books and claiming they held all the answers, too afraid to seek improvement beyond the sacred texts. These men lived in the Dark Ages where medical advancement was akin to witchcraft.

Wynn wasn’t going to the stake based on that man’s stupidity. “If you challenge my aptitude, then you challenge Romero, Williams, Cappelen, and most recently a surgeon in Malta. All performed similar successful operations. As was the surgery performed in Cambrai last year, from which medical notes I used as a basis to my decision.”

“Youth’s arrogance often leads to downfall.”

“A physician’s age does not determine his arrogance. In fact, I’ve found that advancing age often hinders one’s ability to see past their own inclinations.”

A gasp sounded around the room, the inhaled vacuum quickly filled with murmurs of outrage. Hang it all. Wynn grabbed the pitcher and poured himself a liberal amount of water. He downed the glass in one gulp and forced himself to remain calm for the sake of crowd control. He was losing them fast, and if he didn’t recover the discussion they might bar him from medical practice for good.

“Gentlemen, please. I realize how heretical this may sound as the heart is considered a sacred organ, but as well-respected physicians you also know that it is another part of the body. We have an obligation to our patients and the welfare of future generations not to leave it a mystery.” He gazed across the rows of the lecture hall and into the upper galleries. Half empty as many could not spare time away from their patients, but enough had come. All different ages and levels of skill, but a common purpose drew them together. It must continue to bring them together if the world was to have any hope.

“Every man here has seen the horrors of war raging mere miles from our hospital doors. Soldiers, men, boys are brought to our operating tables broken and bleeding. It is our duty, nay, our vow to heal them within our powers and do no harm. I consider it a great harm to neglect procedures that can and will save lives. Lives that we will be held responsible for at Judgment Day.”

Another hour later Wynn had drained a second pitcher of water and packed up his presentation materials. He’d never talked so much in his entire life. All he wanted was to go home and pull the covers over his head until morning without saying a word to another soul.

Exiting the lecture hall, Wynn saw Gerard bounding toward him. “Brilliant.”

“I’m hoarse.”

“Tea with honey.”

The image of a silvery princess with a hole in her dress pouring him tea hit Wynn with a force he’d tried to ignore. She was out of his life, as she’d requested. Extracting her from his thoughts proved to be a mightier challenge. One that was defeating him no matter the soreness lingering from that night.

“You won them over,” Gerard said.

“Were we in the same room? I half expected a noose when I walked out here.”

“Certainly some of them will take more convincing, but you got them talking. Talking will lead to thinking. Thinking leads to change.”

“Changing me from a doctor to a broom pusher if some of them have their say.”

“Looks like you’ll keep your license another day, MacCallan.” Dr. Nestor, the administrative director of Wynn’s hospital, peeled himself away from a group long enough to reposition Wynn under his thumb. Or try to at any rate. “From now on you ask my approval before engaging in such a ridiculous stunt.”

“I doubt Harkin considers it ridiculous from the bed where he’s resting, still alive.”

Nestor stepped closer, bumping the tips of his shoes against Wynn’s. His breath smelled of the ham sandwich he’d eaten for lunch. “One more time. I’ll have you out on your—”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Dr. Lehr stood smiling at them as if not having observed the confrontation. “Dr. Nestor, a pleasure to meet you. You must be very proud to have such a forward-thinking physician on your staff.”

Nestor backed up and wiped a hand over his sweaty upper lip. “I, well . . . He surprises me at every turn.”

“No doubt.” Lehr dismissed Nestor completely and smiled at Wynn, displaying a row of squared off teeth. “My boy, I should like very much to examine your notes and X-rays. I have a few thoughts on myocardial infarction in relation to shell shock.”

Wynn grasped the man’s hand and shook it. “I would be honored.”

“Next week?” At Wynn’s eager nod, Lehr shook his hand once more. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my hospital. We have more and more patients coming in with what looks to be a second wave of influenza. Death rates are climbing higher than the first.”

Nestor elbowed his way back into the conversation. “Dr. Lehr, we’ve had a great many cases ourselves. I wonder if we might discuss treatment procedures. Perhaps to share your wealth of knowledge.”

“I would love nothing more, but for now I suggest you pick Dr. MacCallan’s brain. He seems more than up for the task.”

With that, Wynn considered his day a success.