Indeed, the 19th century in Europe saw a plethora of inventions, with the medical field being no exception. However, separating the wheat from the chaff among these so-called advancements was like finding gold in a sea of dung. The moment Smith heard about this "latest technology," his instincts screamed that it was utterly unreliable.
Frederick and Victoria, upon hearing the suggestion, exchanged troubled looks. While not well-versed in medicine, they still recalled the catastrophic failure of Edward Martin's "cutting-edge British technology" during their child's previous treatment. Not only did the contraption fail to improve their child's condition, but it also caused chaos, claiming Edward Martin's life in the process.
To this day, the couple shuddered at the memory of that "medical accident." The thought of what might have happened if the flying rivet had struck their child instead was too horrifying to contemplate.
Thus, as Frederick and Victoria exchanged glances, they each read the worry and unease in the other's eyes. Meanwhile, the audacious proposer seemed blissfully unaware, continuing enthusiastically:
"We've just developed an electroshock therapy device that can treat the young prince's condition!"
"I knew it..." Smith rolled his eyes, his expression growing heavier.
To a 21st-century individual, electricity is ubiquitous—its absence would bring society to a grinding halt. But in the mid-19th century, electricity was still a mysterious novelty, its potential uses largely unknown. For "bold and enterprising" physicians, however, experimenting with its medical applications seemed like the logical next step.
And thus, 19th-century medicine—more steeped in mysticism than science—encountered the enigmatic phenomenon of electricity. Physicians began experimenting with electrical therapy for a variety of ailments.
Simply put, any condition that could be "treated" by bloodletting could also be "treated" with electricity.
The method? There was only one—electric shocks.
Yes, in 1860, a time before even electric lights existed, what other treatment method could there be?
Just from these two points alone, the reliability of such treatments was questionable. Any modern, educated individual in their right mind wouldn't hold out much hope for the efficacy of such procedures. Yet in the less technologically advanced 19th century, this kind of treatment garnered widespread belief, from royalty to commoners alike. Smith observed that most of the doctors present were positively glowing with excitement at the mention of "electroshock therapy."
"They're really going to try this?"
Smith internally groaned, recalling "Smiling Willi's" words:
"If anyone ever offers you electroshock therapy, don't do it!"
Smith could still hear the tone and cadence of Willi's voice. Back then, "Smiling Willi" had been recounting his harrowing childhood experiences. In an effort to treat his disabled left arm, poor Willi had undergone all sorts of treatments that bordered on black magic, including, of course, electrotherapy.
According to his recollection, every electrotherapy session involved him being strapped into a sturdy chair with leather belts, his left arm affixed with numerous electrodes. When the switch was flipped, a numbing stiffness would spread through him, followed by waves of sharp, piercing pain. It wasn't the dull ache of swelling or the blunt pain of impact—it was an acute, needle-like agony, as though countless fine steel pins were stabbing him all at once.
Smith had thought at the time: everything about this sounded less like medical treatment and more like the torturous interrogations of revolutionary prisoners in a dungeon. The absurdity of it all carried a tinge of melancholy and bitterness.
Meanwhile, under the fascinated gazes of the assembled doctors and the anxious eyes of the royal couple, the proposer continued:
"This equipment was originally designed by my mentor, Dr. Golding Bird, and later perfected and built by me!"
At this, exclamations of admiration erupted around the room. The reason? Dr. Golding Bird held a prestigious reputation in the medical field. A renowned 19th-century European physician, he had made significant contributions to pharmacology and urology, earning the status of a master. Beyond that, he was also an inventor, having developed the flexible stethoscope—the precursor to the modern version—and made notable strides in battery and circuit design. It seemed only natural that such a figure would create an electrotherapy device; indeed, during his lifetime, he had been a leading advocate of the technique.
Due to his parents' medical background, Smith knew a bit about Dr. Golding Bird. Unlike charlatans who sought fame and fortune through flashy gimmicks, Bird was a genuine physician committed to saving lives. Though his electrotherapy practices now seem misguided and error-ridden, they were groundbreaking for their time. Moreover, his treatment methods and equipment typically avoided excessively high voltages or currents for safety reasons—a small mercy. His disciple would surely carry on this cautious approach...right?
As Smith mulled this over, Bird's protégé pulled a blueprint from his bag and presented it to the group.
Smith squinted at the design, noticing it depicted a large apparatus. If Edward Martin's previous contraption—with its compressed air tanks and treatment bed—could be carried by six men like a coffin, this new device would require an entire room for installation.
From his vantage point, Smith couldn't make out the details of the blueprint but noticed an elaborate signature in the lower-right corner.
"Thomas...Young? Hmm, Thomas Young?"
Smith pondered. Was this Thomas Young an unknown name in medical history? He didn't know, but at the very least, Smith had never heard of him. Judging by the man's youthful appearance—he seemed no older than 30—Smith couldn't resist mentally quipping:
"Still too young..."
Meanwhile, Thomas Young began explaining the design:
"As we all know, the effectiveness of electrotherapy depends on the voltage and current. According to the latest research, the higher the voltage and stronger the current, the faster the results!"
"Faster my foot! You mean faster to death!" Smith was aghast at Young's opening statement. Even knowing that many 19th-century medical "facts" and "latest research" were pseudo-scientific nonsense, Smith still felt an instinctive urge to punch someone when faced with such serious-sounding absurdities.
And yet, many of the doctors present nodded in agreement, as if Young's words were gospel truth. Smith's frustration boiled over, and he felt like shouting:
"With quacks like these, how can medicine ever progress?!"
But being unable to speak, he could only continue listening as Young rambled on.
"Dr. Bird's original design relied on primary batteries for power," Young said, oblivious to Smith's increasingly murderous glare. Adjusting his monocle—a gesture that made his face even more loathsome—he continued, "This design had advantages in portability and cost but limited the voltage and current, as well as the overall power output. As a result, the therapeutic effects were not particularly pronounced. To address these shortcomings, I've made corresponding improvements."
"Now, let me explain." Dr. Thomas Young drew out a small foldable pointer, like a teaching rod, and gestured toward the blueprints as he spoke:
"This device is powered by a generator. To keep the size manageable, the generator isn't steam-driven but instead operated manually by four men turning a crank. Since human-powered generators produce unstable voltage and current, I've designed a battery system to ensure steady output. The electricity generated doesn't go directly to the patient; it's stored in the battery first, then delivered via wires to provide treatment!"
Hearing this, Smith furrowed his brow. To him, the contraption seemed more like an electrical device than a medical one. This only deepened his unease.
Dr. Young, however, continued with pride:
"Thanks to this design, the device can deliver up to 100 volts of stable electricity—"
At the mention of 100 volts, Smith's heart skipped a beat.
By Smith's era's standards, the safe voltage for the human body was 36 volts, and even that varied with environmental conditions. For instance, in humid environments, the safe voltage could drop to 12 volts. Moreover, this so-called "safe voltage" merely ensured that a person wouldn't be electrocuted to death; prolonged exposure could still cause serious harm. To hear Thomas Young suggest using 100 volts—was he trying to shorten the patient's life?!
Smith, not being a medical professional, lacked a deep understanding of medical history. In the mid-19th century, many electrotherapy devices indeed operated at 100 volts. They didn't kill patients outright because they delivered electricity intermittently, like tapping out Morse code, rather than continuously. This wasn't due to an awareness of safety concerns but because doctors believed intermittent shocks were more effective.
Regardless, this only strengthened Smith's resolve to reject such treatment. To him, this near-occult electrotherapy was no different from bloodletting: pseudoscience at its worst!
The royal couple, Prince Frederick and Princess Victoria, shared similar concerns. While their medical knowledge was limited, their parental instincts urged them to question the treatment:
"Dr. Young, I mean no offense to your expertise," Prince Frederick began, his tone measured. "But could you elaborate more on the principles behind this device and its effectiveness?"
"And its safety," Victoria added pointedly.
"Of course, of course!" Dr. Young calmly returned the blueprints to his briefcase and removed his monocle.
"Its principle is very similar to bloodletting," he explained. "Both aim to promote blood circulation. However, while bloodletting does so by removing blood, this device achieves it through electrical stimulation. You know, when the body receives electrical impulses, muscles contract reflexively, and the heart rate increases. The effects are actually superior to bloodletting!"
Smith felt a surge of anger at Young's pseudo-scientific claims. Yet, looking around the room, he saw most of the doctors nodding in agreement. Finally, he spotted one doctor wearing a disdainful expression—only to realize it was the advocate of bloodletting. Apparently, his objection stemmed not from skepticism about the treatment's safety but from resentment that Young claimed electricity was more effective than bloodletting!
"As for safety, there's no need to worry!" Young assured the royal couple, unfazed by the bloodletting advocate's scorn. "Though it's cutting-edge technology, we've conducted extensive clinical trials over the past few months. None of the participants experienced any adverse effects afterward. It's extremely, extremely safe!"
"And during the treatment?" Victoria interjected, having caught Young's phrasing. "You mentioned no adverse effects afterward. Does that mean there are unpleasant reactions during the treatment? Will it be painful for my child?"
"I must admit," Young said with apparent sincerity, "patients may experience tingling and dizziness during treatment, but these symptoms disappear once the session ends."
"How long would a single session last?" Frederick asked, his brow furrowed. Casting a tender glance at Smith, he turned back to Young.
"For the treatment to be effective, the sessions shouldn't be too short," Young shrugged. "Considering the prince's young age, I'd recommend one session a day, lasting one to one and a half hours."
"Oh, dear God!" Victoria gasped, immediately covering her face with her fan as she began to weep softly.
"Dr. Hamilton, what do you think?" Frederick, his eyes red-rimmed, turned to Clark Hamilton, the pediatrician. "Is there a less painful yet equally effective alternative?"
"I'm afraid not, Your Highness," Hamilton replied with a shrug. "I agree with Dr. Young's proposal. For this condition, electrotherapy is necessary."