by Frank Wynne
The American film Fantastic Voyage was based upon this imaginary premise, but in Bontarō’s day the procedure was no longer a fantasy. Dr Friedman’s micro-gamma rays were being used far and wide throughout the Japanese medical world. Surgeons reduced to one-thousandth the size of the human body rode in proportionately-diminished submarines, and it was a routine chore for them to travel through the human body and do their operations from within.
Sayuri’s surgery was scheduled for 3 October. Four doctors were set to perform the procedure: the operating surgeon would be Dr Inokuchi, said to be without peer among cancer specialists. His first assistant was to be Dr Hirano, his second assistants Bontarō and the patient’s brother, Gōichi. In Bontarō’s case, he had stepped forward and requested that he be allowed to participate. Naturally he was motivated by his undisclosed love for Sayuri.
‘So you’ll join us, will you?’ After Dr Inokuchi gave his premission, Gōichi clutched Bontarō’s hand and thanked him in a voice brimming with emotion.
It was a funny feeling, climbing inside the body of one’s beloved. Consider for a moment how fascinating it would be to enter into the body of the woman you love and examine her stomach or her heart or her large intestines. As an assistant surgeon Bontarō had already entered the bodies of some twenty women patients, but this time he awoke each day with a tingly sort of feeling inside, and he could not force himself to remain dispassionately detached.
‘I wonder if a woman as beautiful as Sayuri really does have a stomach? And intestines too?’ Logic clearly dictated the answer, but to a man in Bontarō’s state of mind it seemed remarkable that she could have such commonplace organs.
29 September: SS Reaction Tests; Cardiological Tests.
30 September: PTA Test.
One might think these are tests for the patient, but that is not so. They are tests for the doctors who will be performing the operation, to determine whether they have the strength to endure changes in atmospheric pressure within the patient’s body. Bontarō and Gōichi naturally underwent these tests, and were given passing marks in the examination room.
On 2 October, Bontarō found time between his chores and his research to drop into Sayuri’s room. Her aunt was just in the process of peeling some fruit for her.
‘Well, tomorrow’s the day!’
Sayuri, unaware that she was suffering from cancer and under the impression that she had tuberculosis, was not in particularly low spirits.
‘I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, after all, you and my brother will be going inside my body.’
‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. All you have to do is fall asleep for three hours, and we’ll be inside you and finished off before you know what’s happened.’
‘How rude!’
Still, as he saw Sayuri blinking her eyes to ward off the sunlight that poured through the window, he thought how beautiful she was. Her aunt was the glamorous actress Yoshinaga Sayuri, who had enjoyed great popularity in the Japanese film world some fifty years earlier, and it was said that Sayuri was the very image of her.
‘In any case, you set your mind at rest about tomorrow,’ he said, leaving the room. With the gentle autumn sun stroking his shoulders, he felt happy.
*
3 October, 10 a.m. In Operating Theatre No. 27 at K. University, doctors and nurses wearing large white face-masks and gowns – and looking very much like astronauts – gazed gravely down at the body of Sayuri stretched out on the operating table. She had already been anaesthetized, and was as motionless as a wax doll.
‘It’s 10.05, isn’t it?’ The surgical team, led by Dr Inokuchi, nodded goodbye to the anaesthetist, the cardiologist and the nurses, and entered a separate chamber. This room was in fact an elevator. After thick doors had closed with a dull clatter, the entire chamber was filled with a purple radiating light. The micro-gamma rays were beginning to pour in from all directions.
With each passing second their bodies grew smaller, but they were unaware of the change, since they were all shrinking together.
The elevator began its descent underground. Down below a submarine twice the size of a flea was awaiting them.
The vessel was supplied with aqualungs and all the necessary surgical equipment. Gōichi, the patient’s brother, had been selected to pilot the craft.
Once the four doctors had boarded the submarine, it was automatically sucked into a gigantic glass tube by a pneumatic inhalator. The glass tube was in reality the hypodermic syringe being used by the doctors up above.
In the United States microscopic-sized doctors were introduced into the patient’s body through the eye duct, but in Japanese hospitals at Tokyo University, Keiō, and here at the K. University Medical Centre, they were sent along with the injection fluid into the patient’s bloodstream, employing a technique discovered by Doctor Okazaki, a member of the Japan Academy. The injection fluid was scheduled to be shot into the patient’s body at 10.30 a.m.; beside Dr Inokuchi, Bontarō started the countdown.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven …’
Soon they felt a minor shock, then a landscape like the surface of the moon opened up before their eyes. But it was not the surface of the moon; it was Sayuri’s epidermis. They had arrived at the spot where they would be injected into her body. As far as they could see the area was thickly overgrown with what appeared to be reeds withered by the cold of winter; this was in fact the downy growth of hair on the surface of her skin.
Although he had already participated in twenty intravenous operations, on this occasion Bontarō was deeply moved. Ah, so this is Sayuri’s skin! Careful that Inokuchi and Hirano did not observe him, Bontarō studied her epidermis with excitement in his eyes. A second shockwave. Churning bubbles of water thrashed about both sides of the vessel. At last they were being injected into the patient’s body.
How can one describe the insider’s view of the bloodstream that appeared momentarily outside the window of their submarine?
Lord Bagen-Saylor, who observed the very bottom of the ocean depths, wrote the following description in his book The Mystery of the Sea:
I have never witnessed a realm as splendid, as sumptuous and dazzling as the bottom of the ocean. I had never known that a palace so magnificent could exist upon the face of this planet.
These words of Lord Bagen-Saylor can be applied to the view of the human body afforded to physicians in the year 2005. Inside the bloodstream, dancing about randomly overhead, were swarms of white and red corpuscles. It is true that here one cannot see the many colours of the fish that populate the depths of the ocean, but those who have once witnessed the ballet performed by these corpuscles can never forget the sight.
The sound they heard, like the intermittent beating of a drum, was the pounding of the heart. As they drew closer to the sound, the surgeons knew they were approaching the diseased area.
Objects like brown strands of seaweed floated by. These were human fatigue toxins, which are normally expelled from the body in the urine. The greater the number of these brown threads present, the stronger the indication that the subject was tired or that something was amiss in the body.
‘There are a great many fatigue toxins, aren’t there?’ Dr Hirano said to Dr Inokuchi. Bontarō held his ear to the communicator which kept them in contact with the outside. The team of doctors in the operating theatre remained in constant touch with the submarine.
‘Pulse – normal. Blood pressure – unchanged.’ Bontarō announced the report to Dr Inokuchi in a loud voice. The doctor nodded vigorously and muttered, ‘It’s time to determine whether the cancer has spread beyond this region.’
The drum-like pounding of the heart grew still louder. They were at last nearing the afflicted zone.
‘What’s our velocity?’ Gōichi reported their speed to Dr Hirano, who then pressed a button on top of the control panel. A screen set up inside the submarine displayed vividly enlarged X-ray photographs of the patient’s lesions.
‘Let’s get ready.’
The four men removed their white gowns. Underneath their gowns they wore wet-suits and aqualungs. From a large box they removed a variety of instruments that looked like fire extinguishers. Among these instruments were several razor-sharp electronic scalpels that would cut away at the diseased area while spraying it with a mist of disinfectant.
For several minutes now their craft had been drifting alongside Sayuri’s lungs, which looked like clusters of large pink balloons. Blood vessels criss-crossed the surface of these balloons like meshwork.
‘Look at that!’ Dr Inokuchi raised his hand and pointed. ‘Already there’s been a discoloration caused by the cancer cells.’
In one area the pink region had begun to fade, to be replaced by a disagreeably leaden coloration. As the X-rays had shown, cancer had spread from this point onto the mucilaginous zone extending to the heart.
‘Stopping engines!’ Gōichi shouted and pushed a button.
After consultation with Dr Inokuchi, Hirano gave instructions to the two younger assistants. ‘We’ll be cutting out a large portion starting at the B segment of the lower lung lobe. Is that clear?’
‘I’ll go first,’ Dr Inokuchi announced, and with him at the head, the four left their craft. Their aqualungs swaying in the currents, and their oxygen inhalators clutched between their teeth, they swam through the bloodstream towards the infected area. Bontarō stayed in constant contact with the team of doctors above.
‘How is the patient’s condition?’ He started to ask, ‘How is Sayuri?’ but caught himself.
‘Satisfactory. Patient is sleeping soundly. No changes in pulse, blood pressure, or electrocardiogram,’ came the reply from the operating theatre. It was time to begin the internal surgery.
‘I shall start making the incision.’ Thus began the doctors’ difficult, painstaking task.
*
Two hours later, the fearsome cancer cells had all been cut away. To insure that there would be no reoccurrence in the scar tissue, a healthy dose of the powerful antibiotic ACM – discovered by Dr Umezawa at Tokyo University – was applied liberally to the wound with a giant atomizer.
‘A clean cut!’ Dr Hirano signalled triumphantly to Dr Inokuchi with his hand. The operation had gone without a hitch, and according to the information from above, the patient displayed virtually no dangerous after-effects.
‘The way this looks, there seems very little chance of a relapse.’
‘This will provide invaluable data for our medical department.’
When they returned to the submarine, the four surgeons removed their wet-suits and aqualungs, and sat down for a leisurely glass of whisky. The post-operative drink was especially delectable. The most appetizing whisky was that consumed after an operation had gone smoothly.
‘Don’t drink too much and get us into an accident,’ Dr Hirano said jokingly to Gōichi, who responded, ‘I’m really very grateful to all of you. Thanks to you my sister will get her health back.’
‘She will indeed. Once she’s back on her feet, you’ve got to find her a good husband.’
‘When that time comes, I’ll have to rely on you gentlemen for help once again.’
Bontarō listened to the casual banter between his three colleagues with a touch of melancholy. After today’s success, Sayuri would be restored to normal health within two months. She would go back to the university. That beautiful, vibrant face would be walking down the streets of the city once more. But then she will have nothing more to do with me. The very thought grieved him.
‘Well, let’s head back.’ Gōichi, unaware of the disposition of his friend’s heart, slid into the driver’s seat.
Inside the blood vessels visibility was poor. The quantity of blood cells had increased with the flow of blood from the surgical wound. The entire region was as blue as a sea of ink (as you may know, blood is not red; within the body, untouched by oxygen, it shone a vivid blue). Somewhat apprehensively, Dr Hirano asked Gōichi. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Just fine, I think.’
They had travelled far enough that the density of the blood within the vessels should have been thinning a bit, but their field of vision still had not cleared. It was peculiar.
‘Are you sure you didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere?’
‘I … don’t think I did.’
But when the surrounding corpuscles began to decrease in number, they realized that their craft was nowhere near the pink-coloured pulmonary region, but was in fact advancing down some sort of passage with brownish, multi-pleated walls.
‘Hey! Where are we?’ Bontarō was first to notice the incongruity. The brown walls were contracting slightly, like some living thing, and emitting a great many objects that resembled thread ravellings. Before Bontarō realized what these were, Gōichi grasped the entire situation, and with a pale face, shouted, ‘Hello! We’re in the large intestine! Damnation! I never could hold my liquor, and with all the celebration over the success of Sayuri’s operation, I’ve drunk too much whisky. Damn it!’
Just as drunken driving in an automobile was a misdemeanour in the 1980s, so was it unlawful in 2005 for a surgeon piloting through the human bloodstream to be under the influence.
‘Can’t we go back the way we came?’ asked Dr Hirano, rising from his chair. But Gōichi shook his head.
‘It’s impossible. I’m sorry. As you know, there is no way to go against the current, given the air pressure that surges into the intestinal tract from the stomach.’
‘All too true.’
‘Doctor, I don’t know how to apologize.’
‘Don’t worry about that; think of a way to get us out of here.’
‘We can charge ahead through the intestine and get out by way of my sister’s anus.’
‘Good. We’ll do it!’
Bontarō had participated in many internal operations, but this was the first time he had been inside the intestines. And to have to exit through the rectal opening …
So this …
A brownish liquid surrounded the craft. The rubbery mountains that were the inner walls of the intestine stretched ahead as far as the eye could see. It was like feeling one’s way in the dark through a long tunnel.
So this is Sayuri’s intestine!
He was moved beyond words. What a strange sensation to find himself inside the intestines of a woman he thought incomparably beautiful! Within the body of this lovely woman were the same intestines and stomach that any ordinary person possessed. Although rationally he had always known this, until now he had not sensed the tangible reality of it all. But here it was right before his very eyes.
The long tunnel of intestines wound its way endlessly forward.
‘Wait!’ Something suddenly dawned on Dr Hirano, and he bounded from his chair. ‘Before the operation, your sister did evacuate her bowels, didn’t she?’
‘Pardon?’
Realizing how Gōichi must feel, Hirano rephrased his question. ‘What I mean to say is, the patient was cleaned out with an enema before surgery, wasn’t she?’
‘I … think so.’ Gōichi was at pains to answer this question. But Dr Hirano’s concern was not to be taken lightly. If in fact the intestines had not been irrigated, eventually their submarine would collide with the stool that blocked the end of Sayuri’s alimentary canal. They had no way of knowing whether their miniscule vessel could penetrate such a mass.
‘I’ll check with the head nurses in the operating theatre.’ Bontarō hurriedly picked up the communicator and brought it to his ear. Strangely, there was no response. The problem was not mechanical failure; just as radio waves grow indistinct high up in the mountains, the vital electric waves that flowed through the bloodstream could not reach the outside world from within the intestinal tract.
‘Hello? Hello! Doctor, I can’t get through!’
‘You can’t? Well, keep trying!’
Before long the fluid that enveloped the submarine began to be tinged with a markedly y
ellow colour. Apparently Dr Hirano’s fears were being confirmed. The patient’s bowels had not been evacuated before surgery.
‘Do you think we could smash through a stool of ordinary consistency in this craft?’
‘If it’s on the diarrhetic side, there should be no problem. But if it’s solid, there is no way we’ll get through it.’ Gōichi’s head drooped. ‘Doctor, please let me go outside the craft.’
‘What would you do out there?’
‘I’m embarrassed to have to say this, but my sister has always been plagued by constipation. I would imagine that up ahead we will find a remarkably solid stool.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘I shall therefore cut a hole in my sister’s stool with the surgical scalpel. A hole just big enough for our ship to pass through.’
Bontarō could not stand by and let his friend undertake this formidable task alone. ‘You can’t do it by yourself. I’ll go with you.’
‘You will? Thank you! But you must be sure to wear your gas mask.’
Gas masks were kept on hand in the submarine in case unusually foul odours should sweep through the body. And they had to be prepared for the presence of noxious methane gas within the intestines. Bontarō and Gōichi donned their aqualungs once again and put on their gas masks; then, strapping oxygen cylinders to their backs, they left the submarine.
They swam through the cloudy yellow liquid. On and on they swam. Were this not Sayuri, even Bontarō would have turned back. Soon they rounded the second bend.
Ahead of them, an enormous grey object began sluggishly to move. Without warning, the grey figure detached itself from the intestinal wall and darted at the two men, twisting its body as if to attack them and swallow them up.
‘Look out! A threadworm!’
‘What? A threadworm?’
