CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: Harry Vidler’s Operation

Andrew’s dreams of success and wealth were coming true. His practice was growing every week. His business relations with Hamson and Ivory were very close, and were earning him a lot of money. Deedman was also sending him patients. And now le Roy, who owned a large food factory, had offered him a post as medical adviser to his company. Andrew had a feeling of power; he could do nothing wrong.

Then – quite suddenly and without warning – his whole life was changed.

One evening in November the wife of a shoemaker came to his house. Her name was Mrs Vidler, a small, cheerful woman of middle age whom Andrew knew well.

‘Doctor,’ she said, ‘my husband is ill. He has been ill for several weeks, but he refused to come to you because he didn’t want to trouble you. Will you call and see him, Doctor?’

When Andrew called next morning, Harry Vidler was in bed with a bad pain in his stomach. He examined Vidler and found that, although not seriously ill, he needed an operation to be done quickly. He explained this to the Vidlers, who asked him to arrange for a good surgeon to do the operation in a nursing home.

That evening Andrew telephoned Ivory. ‘I would like you to do a stomach operation, Ivory,’ he said. ‘The patient is a shoemaker. He has very little money; and so I shall be grateful if you will reduce your charges for him.’

Ivory was pleasant. They discussed the case for several minutes; and then Andrew telephoned Mrs Vidler.

‘Mr Ivory, a West End surgeon, has agreed to do this operation for thirty pounds,’ he told her. ‘His usual charge is a hundred pounds. So I think this is very satisfactory.’

‘Yes, Doctor, yes.’ She sounded worried. ‘It’s very kind of you to arrange this for us. We’ll find the money somehow.’

A few days later, Ivory did the operation in a private nursing home. Vidler was very cheerful. Before he was put to sleep, he smiled at Andrew and said: ‘I shall feel better after this.’ The next moment he was asleep.

Ivory took his surgeon’s knife and made a long cut in Vidler’s stomach. At once a large flesh bag of poisonous matter sprang out of the wound like a wet ball. This bag was the cause of Vidler’s pain. Ivory tried to catch hold of the ball and cut it away from the inside of the stomach. He must have tried 20 times, but on each attempt the ball slipped out of his hand.

Andrew looked at Ivory in annoyance, thinking: ‘What is the man doing? Why does he find it so difficult?’ Suddenly he realized that this was the first stomach operation that Ivory had done for him. He walked nearer to the table. Nobody else seemed to be worried. Ivory, the doctor who had put Vidler to sleep, and the nurses were all quite calm. But for some reason, Andrew had a feeling of fear.

In the end, Ivory gave up the attempt, and cut a hole in the bag itself. At once the bag burst, and spilled the poisonous matter into the stomach wound.

Andrew watched in disgust. But still Ivory was not worried. He cleaned away some of the poison, and then tried, without success, to stop the bleeding. A wave of anger swept over Andrew. ‘Good heavens,’ he thought, ‘this man is not a surgeon! He has no idea what he is doing.’

The second doctor said in a quiet voice; ‘I’m afraid that he’s dying, Ivory.’

Ivory did not answer, did not appear to hear.

‘Yes – he’s dead now,’ said the other doctor.

Ivory laid down his instruments. ‘A pity!’ he remarked. ‘The shock of the operation must have killed him.’

Andrew could not speak. He suddenly remembered Mrs Vidler, who was waiting downstairs.

Ivory read his thoughts. ‘Don’t worry, Manson,’ he said, ‘I’ll speak to the little woman for you. Come with me.’

Andrew followed him down the stairs to the room where Mrs Vidler was waiting.

‘My dear lady’ said Ivory, putting his hand gently on her shoulder, ‘I’m afraid that we have bad news for you. Your poor husband, in spite of everything that we did for him-‘

She turned white. ‘Harry!’ she whispered.

‘Nobody,’ Ivory continued, sadly, ‘could have saved him. And even if he had lived-‘

She looked up at him. ‘I understand. Thank you, Doctor, for being so kind.’ She began to cry.

He went out of the room, and again Andrew followed him.

‘Well, that’s done!’ Ivory said coldly. ‘I’m sorry, Manson. I didn’t expect that to happen. Of course, the man didn’t die during the operation. I had finished before he died. So there is nothing to worry about. There’ll be no need for an inquiry.’

Andrew was trembling with anger. ‘Oh, stop talking!’ he shouted. ‘You killed him! You’re not a surgeon! You never were and you never will be a surgeon!’

Ivory gave Andrew a bitter look. ‘I advise you not to talk in that manner, Manson!’

‘It’s the truth! Oh, God, why did I trust you? Why?’

‘Be silent, you fool!’

Andrew was almost blind with anger. ‘You know that it’s the truth. You did the operation so badly that it was almost murder!’

For a moment it seemed as if Ivory would hit him. But, with a great effort, he controlled himself, and walked out of the room.

With a sad heart and an aching head, Andrew went home. He returned just in time for his evening surgery. Many people were waiting to see him. He looked at them and thought: ‘The same stupid faces! There’s nothing wrong with most of them!’

He then went into his room and began his duties. Trying to behave in his usual friendly manner, Andrew made polite conversation with each patient, and then told Christine which medicine to give him. After the surgery, he sat down to work out his accounts, as was his custom every evening. But he could not think clearly.

‘Well, how much money have you made today?’ Christine asked him.

He did not, could not, answer. When she left the room, he sat quite still, like a man in a dream. ‘Oh, God, what have I done? What have I done?’ he kept saying. Suddenly he noticed the bag of money which his patients had paid him for his services that day. Another wave of anger swept over him. He picked up the bag and threw it across the room.

He jumped up from his chair. He was hot; he could hardly breathe. He ran outside to the back of the house, and was sick.