James White - Mind Changer

“No!” O’Mara broke in, and then for the first time in many years he laughed out loud. “I’m relieved, not disappointed. And, well, thank you for your help and advice, Sergeant. Unless you need me for anything else, I’ll change into coveralls again at once because I’m pushed for time.”

“A moment before you change? said the other. “My congratulations on your commission, sir.”

One of the sergeant’s long, shiny, sticklike and multi-jointed forelimbs swept out sideways and upward to come to a rigid halt beside its head and, for the first time in his life, O’Mara found himself returning a salute.

He did not have to undergo the embarrassing experience again, even though the dining hall for warm-blooded oxygenbreathers was crowded with Corps and medical personnel. His crisp new coveralls with their bright, painfully clean patches denoting his rank and departmental insignia, O’Mara was relieved to find, aroused no comment or even notice. During dessert he was joined by a trainee nurse who had asked politely to take the empty place at his table, but as it was a Tralthan with four times his body mass and six elephantine feet, he doubted that it had been attracted by his uniform.

Even though the operating theater’s occupants were all warmblooded oxygen-breathers, it was clear that the atmosphere of stress and tension in the place could have been cut with a blunt scalpel. The bony features of the Melfan surgeon in charge of the team were incapable of registering any expression, as was the domelike head of its massive Tralthan assistant, but the mobile fur of the Kelgian anesthetist was twitching and tufting violently. The only person in the room who looked composed was the Earth-human who was the deeply unconscious patient.

The Melfan raised a forelimb and clicked its pincers together for attention.

“I should have no need to remind you of how important the next twenty minutes are to the future of other-species surgery? it said with a glance toward the overhead vision recorder, “or that this is considered to be one of the simplest procedures that are performed routinely in many thousands of hospitals throughout the patient’s home planet and on other Earth-seeded colony worlds. The diagnosis has been confirmed as a clinical condition which, due to the patient’s delay in reaching hospital, has become lifethreatening and requires immediate surgery. Are we all ready? Then let’s have it out.”

The blade of the scalpel, its handle designed to fit precisely the Melfan pincer, flashed brightly as it caught the overhead lighting; then the reflection became pink-tinged as it made a longitudinal incision in the right lower quadrant of the abdomen.

“Normally a shorter incision would suffice? said the Melfan, “but we’re not trying to impress anyone with the minimal size and neatness of the work here. This is strange country to all of us and I want to give myself room to look around. Ah, there is a thick layer of adipose tissue overlying the musculature, we’ll have to go deeper. Control that bleeding, please. Quickly, Doctor. Clear the operative field, I can’t see what I’m doing.”

There was a low, faintly derisive sound as the delicate tips of two of the Tralthan assistant’s tentacles holding the suction instrument moved in from the side ibriefly before withdrawing again a few seconds later to reveal the upper surface of the ascending colon at the bottom of the shallow, red crevice that was the wound.

“Thank you? said the Melfan surgeon, laying aside the scalpel. “Now we will tie off and excise the… Where the hell is it?”

“I don’t see it, either, sir? said the Tralthan. “Could it be attached to the underside of the colon or—”

“We’ve studied the anatomy of this life-form closely for a week? the Melfan broke in, “so we shouldn’t have to do this. Oh, very well. Library, display physiological classification DBDG, abdominal area, Earth-human male. Highlight position of the appendix.”

A few seconds later the large wall screen facing them lit up with the requested picture, the lower end of the ascending colon and the appendix projecting downward from it enclosed by a circle of red light.

“That’s where it is? said the Melfan, pointing with its free pincer at the outlined area, “and that is where we went in. But it isn’t here.”

“Sir? said its assistant, “the literature suggested that on Earthhumans this could be the simplest of all surgical procedures lasting only a few minutes, or one that can be taxing, difficult, and lengthy. This is because, and I may be quoting inaccurately from memory, the normally healthy organ, which is thinner than a digit and only two to eight inches in length, when diseased, inflamed, and filled with pus can be enlarged to many times that size. If this happens, the organ is very mobile and may grow toward one of a number of other organs within the abdominal cavity, so that the patient’s symptoms appear to involve a different organ. I’m still quoting from memory, but this can make an accurate diagnosis difficult. Is it possible that the case has been misdiagnosed?”

Without looking up, the Melfan said, “I am constantly referring to the same memories, Doctor. But what a stupid set of internal plumbing these Earth-human DBDGs have. One wonders how their species was able to survive and evolve intelligence. But no, for now we will assume that the diagnosis was correct. My problem, that whether the appendix is short and thin or lengthy, greatly distended, and growing into another area, or has perhaps become entangled with the small intestine, is that I can’t find either it or its attachment point to the bowel. Suggestions would be welcome, Doctor.”

There was a long pause before its assistant said, “I realize that it doesn’t appear to be either diseased or inflamed, but is it possible that the short length of organ visible to us is, in fact, a part of the distended appendix rather than the bowel? After all, it is in the correct position.”

There was another period of silence. The Kelgian anesthetist’s fur rippled with impatience. It said, “The patient’s condition is stable, Doctors, but it could terminate from old age while we wait.”

Ignoring the remark as one did with Kelgians, the Melfan went on, “I’m going to extend the incision in both directions so as to see more of this area of bowel, which will enable me to lift it into the operative field and find the attachment point even if it is hiding on the underside. After which we will release it from any adhesions or local entanglements and deliver it into the wound where we will tie off, incise, and complete the procedure. Here we go. Be ready with suction, Doctor.”

The incision was enlarged, its edges pulled apart, and the bowel lifted higher in the operative field.

“Still nothing visible,” said the Melfan. “Doctor, your digits have more tactual sensitivity. Go underneath and see if you can feel anything.”

“Nothing, sir? said the Tralthan.

The Melfan hesitated a moment, then said, “I’ll extend the incision again. We’ll save a few moments if you keep holding it. But carefully, it’s very slippery… Don’t grab for it! Let go!”

Its surgical assistant had laid aside the instrument that had held the section of bowel above the wound while the other hand continued to hold it gently and firmly in position. But not firmly enough. Suddenly the bowel slipped between the Tralthan’s digits and it made an instinctive grab for it, but succeeded only in pulling it higher above the operative field and into the path of the surgeon’s scalpel. A four-inch long incision appeared suddenly on the bowel which gaped open and began leaking its liquid contents.

“So now we’re faced with doing a bowel repair and we still haven’t found the appendix yet? said the Melfan surgeon angrily. “This, this is not going well. This minor operation is fast becoming a major disaster.”