“On the morning of April 29, 1961, I was not feeling well. The symptoms were weakness, general malaise and, later, nausea. Within a few hours, pain developed in the upper abdomen, which quickly moved to the right lower quadrant. Body temperature reached 37.4°C. It was clearly a case of appendicitis.”
Doctors have a reputation for knowing how to keep a cool head in all circumstances, but in the case of Leonid Rogozov, the expression is weak. Having qualified for only two years, the doctor describes his symptoms with the rigor of an old professional, while knowing full well that he is in serious danger. The 27-year-old surgeon even refuses to admit it to his acolytes, writing in his personal diary: “It seems I have appendicitis. I don’t talk about it, and I even smile. Why scare my friends? Who could help me?”
Who, indeed? Because Leonid Rogozov is the only doctor for hundreds of kilometers around.
Anatomy of a Nightmare
The previous November 5, in Leningrad, Leonid Rogozov boarded the icebreaker Ob as part of the sixth Soviet mission to Antarctica. A contingent of twelve researchers, from a meteorologist to a mechanic, takes place on board. In February 1961, after several weeks of travel, the mission settled in the relative comfort of the Novolazarevskaya research base, in the east of the continent. On the icy plain, swept by snowstorms, the air temperature never exceeds 0°C – summer and winter.
The days are monotonous: samples, analyses, routine repairs, bad coffee and card games. The polar winter plays on the senses of the twelve men, coloring everything in shades of white and gray. Fortunately, the comrades get along well and the stories of the country warm hearts weighed down by this hostile environment.
On April 29, 1961, Leonid Rogozov woke up on the wrong foot. He feels weak, nauseous. Soon the pain stabilizes in the lower right quarter of his abdomen, where it throbs with increasing intensity. Having identified the source of the problem, the doctor grits his teeth. He chose to remain silent about his condition, for fear of plunging the base into anguish. Aware that the blizzards will not allow him to be airlifted to a hospital, Leonid Rogozov begins by filling himself with antibiotics to reduce the inflammation. In vain: his temperature continues to skyrocket.
With his body bent in half, tilted at 30 degrees to reach the open flesh in his abdomen, Leonid Rogozov moves slowly.
An endless night later, the doctor must face the facts: “I must think about the only possible outcome: to operate on myself, he grimaces. It’s almost impossible…but I can’t just sit back and give up.” At 6:30 p.m., in front of his face hollowed out by pain and damp from bad sweat, his comrades finally understood. They undertake to sterilize a room in the station to transform it into an improvised operating room. There is no other way out.
Despite his pain, Leonid Rogozov is determined to carry out the operation, which he prepares carefully. He explains to his colleagues how to revive him in the event that he loses consciousness. Three of them stay by his side: one to give him the instruments (his name is Alexandr Artemiev), the other to hold a mirror in front of the area to be operated on (Zinovi Teplinski), the last finally to replace one or the other in case of discomfort (Vladislav Guerbovitch).
“My poor assistants! At the last minute, I looked at them: they were standing there in their white coats, whiter than white themselves.sympathizes the surgeon. Once the surgical team’s hands have been disinfected, Leonid Rogozov injects procaine – an anesthetic – into the abdomen. It’s 2 a.m. The operation has just started.
100 minutes of anxiety
With his body bent in half, tilted at 30 degrees to reach the open flesh in his abdomen, Leonid Rogozov advances slowly. His forehead, dripping with sweat under the artificial light, must be regularly mopped by Zinovi Teplinski, himself on the verge of feeling unwell. The surgeon works mainly by touch, his vision being blocked by a flood of blood. Several times he threatens to faint and takes a short break.
Finally, around 4 a.m., the appendix is removed – miracle – and the doctor can seal the wound. “At the end, Rogozov was very pale and obviously tired, but he finished everything”whistles Vladislav Guerbovitch, admiringly. It was minus one: according to its owner’s estimation, the diseased organ was one day away from bursting…
During two weeks of convalescence (five days were enough for him to return to normal body temperature), Leonid Rogozov will have time to relive, in his thoughts, the nightmarish night of April 30 to 1er may. “I was scared too, he will admit. But when I took the syringe with the novocaine and gave myself the first injection, I automatically went into operating mode, and from that moment on, I didn’t notice anything else.”
Some countries, such as Australia, have gotten around the problem: doctors who spend the winter in Antarctica routinely undergo an appendectomy before their departure.
He also salutes his comrades in misfortune: “The assistants behaved well during the operation and showed endurance and presence of mind”he wrote in his official report, transmitted to Moscow in June 1962.
In the eyes of the surgeon and his acolytes, the rest of the polar odyssey must have seemed very bland in comparison to that famous night. On May 29, 1962, after more than sixteen months in white hell, the sixth Soviet mission returned to the docks of Leningrad. Leonid Rogozov returns to his post as surgeon in the local clinic after being honored with the Order of the Red Banner of Labor – one of the most prestigious civilian decorations in the USSR. Unsurprisingly, the doctor never returned to Antarctica: he died in this same city, which became Saint Petersburg, four decades later, on September 21, 2000.
By all accounts, Leonid Rogozov remained very discreet about the episode that made him famous, modestly speaking out at every opportunity he had to show off: “A job like any other, a life like any other”he repeated tirelessly. It will, in spite of itself, contribute to ensuring that scientists assigned to hard-to-reach stations undergo a more rigorous check of their medical backgrounds.
Some countries, such as Australia, have easily circumvented the problem: doctors who spend the winter in Antarctica routinely undergo an appendectomy before their departure. Thanks Leonid.
