My History Valentine: John Hunter (1728-1793), surgeon, anatomist,badass

Dearest John,

It is difficult for me to write down these words, even though I know the fact you have been dead since 1793 will impede your ability to read them. At this time of the year when we celebrate love, I find myself sadly underwhelmed by the modern men around me. I know romance probably wasn’t your forte in life, but maybe in death you will be more sympathetic to my love.

Just look at him thinking about how many bodies he could
have cut up in the time it took to sit for his portrait.

I only wish I could have met you. I know you probably never thought yourself much of a romantic with your difficulty speaking to others, your crazy eyebrows, your short neck, or the fact that you probably have syphilis, but I still feel drawn to you. In fact if we ever had met, maybe in the dissecting room... well you probably would have just shouted at me to get out because I am a woman and also because you are famously very rude. But it is that fervor and your unwavering honesty that make you so special to me.

In a world where most men I know spend hours playing video games, you were up by five am in the dissecting room, working through the day teaching or with patients. You questioned where others accepted. Your innovations in dentistry, transplantation and the treatment of gunshot wounds are legendary. In fact, I think we can safely argue you, my love, one handedly revolutionised surgery and undoubtably have saved millions of lives, even if you didn’t quite get that whole antiseptic thing. The fact that even modern surgeons don’t know who you are makes me weep. Ignorant sots.

When I think back on your life, there are so many things I love about you. Say it’s right or wrong, but I found your whole grave robbing phase so sexy. Your habit of riding asian buffalos into town is nothing short of pimpin’. And I’ll never forget your testimony at the murder trial of John Donellan. When lesser men were quick to accuse him of poison just because they needed someone to blame, you never backed down from your faultless examination of the forensic evidence. Sure they may have condemned him for the murder of his brother in law, but your badass-ness cannot be denied.

My darling you remain one of histories great enigmas: brilliant surgeon, body snatcher, naturalist, military man, Scot, industrious anatomist, really crappy teacher, and fairly unethical experimenter on non-consenting patients. I forgive you your faults because your brilliant mind makes me hot. Although we can never meet, at least I can still be amongst your collection at the Hunterian Museum in London (not that one in Glasgow, you are way cooler than your brother).

Let’s maybe let this love between us stay an intellectual one, that whole you giving yourself syphilis thing is still a bit of a deal breaker.

With all my love for Valentine’s day,

Kristin

If you also want to fall in love with John Hunter, I’d recommend reading Wendy Moore’s 'The Knife Man: Blood, Body-Snatching and the Birth of Modern Surgery'

Or to learn more about poisoning and early forensic science, you could try Elizabeth Cooke’s ‘The Damnation of John Donellan: A mysterious case of death and scandal in Georgian England’

Astley Cooper is still a jerk

In Digging up the Dead: Uncovering the Life and Times of an Extraordinary Surgeon Druin Burch attempts to exonerate this infamous surgeon from centuries of bad press. I don’t really think it worked.

With a fairly standard biographical approach, Burch takes us through the life and times of Sir Astley Cooper, Norfolk boy, student of John Hunter, surgeon to the king, and general cad. If you know anything about Cooper, you probably remember him for this quote: There is no person, let his situation in life be what it may, whom if I was disposed to dissect, I could not obtain. The law only enhances the price, it does not prevent exhumation. It’s probably a good summary of Cooper’s life. Incredibly powerful surgeon, enormously conceited man. (Fun fact, Cooper was buried in a locked coffin in a crypt in St. Thomas' Hospital so he could never be snatched. Is that irony? Hypocrisy?)

If anything, Burch hurts himself by trying to humble Cooper. We learn plenty about his personal life, his wife, his adopted children, even his idyllic sounding Norfolk childhood. Burch paints a picture of a beautiful child with curly golden ringlets. I don’t feel empathetic, I feel sick.

Admittedly I learned more about Cooper than I knew before. I learned about his days as a raging Democrat, traveling abroad to experience the hey day of the French Revolution before being chased away as an English Aristocrat. I also found Burch’s re-examining of John Keat’s medical career fascinating. Is it possible that the great poet actually found surgery and his art compatible? Burch argues that Keats always believed he could return to medicine if he desires, and that he was a competent surgeon. It is a perspective not often forwarded by other academics but the arguments seem sound.

There can be little doubt that Sir Astley Cooper is an important figure in the development of surgery, that much Burch makes clear. It is also true that most people don’t credit Cooper for the amount of free work he did for poorer patients. At the end of the day, Cooper still comes across as superficial, self-absorbed and occasionally cruel (particularly in his constant vivisections). I also found the book lacked in cultural geography and context. I want to understand more about the medical field at the time and Cooper’s place the very small world of late 18th century London.

For me with my particular interests, I wanted more John Hunter and I wanted more body snatching. I’m sure Burch was trying to separate Astley from his eminent (and clearly much more awesome) tutor by allowing Hunter to flow in and out of the narrative. I would argue everything of use Astley learned from Henry Cline and John Hunter, so don’t hide it. Equally, we get very little detail of Cooper’s dealing with the body snatchers. This has become much of Cooper’s legacy as he spearheaded the Anatomist Club: a gathering of powerful London surgeons anxious to form a union against the greedy body snatchers. If you are going to call this book ‘Digging Up the Dead’, you’d better damn well give me what I want Druin Burch. It is not possible to make Cooper seem sweet and cuddly, but you could have made him seem the master of London’s underworld trade in human flesh. Go for that one, I’d read that book.

In his afterword, Burch describes his own work in surgery and his fondness for this ‘vain egotistical, nepotistic and rather wonderful old man.’ I think that sums Astley Cooper up quite nicely. Overall it’s a well written and interesting book, if slightly apologetic and narrow in it’s focus. I genuinely appreciate that it was written by an actual surgeon as I find some people in the medical profession have very little interest in or respect for medical history. If Astley Cooper is your hero, then I say good for you Druin Burch.