Why doctors need an appendicectomy to go to Antarctica .

a mirror because he didn ’ t have an appendicectomy before going south ,” Dr Cherry said . “ I can ’ t think of anything worse .” Dr Cherry spent 11 months as the sole doctor at Mawson station and another three months summering at Casey station .

Each wintering medical practitioner was responsible for the medical care of the rest of the expeditioners , and training at the Royal Hobart Hospital could start well in advance of setting foot on the ice .

Rachel Fieldhouse IF you want to practise medicine in one

of the most remote places on Earth , it can come at a cost — and Dr John Cherry has the scar to prove it .

Since the 1950s , doctors working in Antarctica during winter have been required to have their appendix removed before heading south , according to the Australian Antarctic Program .

As a result , Dr Cherry underwent a laparoscopic appendicectomy the year before becoming the sole doctor over winter at Davis station in 2021 .

“ The procedure was done prophylactically , so there was no pathology at the time , and recovery was pretty quick .”

The rural generalist said the requirement was born out of safety .

“ We are cut off for nine months of the year with no possibility of evacuation ,” he said .

It dated from the 1950s when an Australian doctor got appendicitis on the remote sub-Antarctic Heard Island , requiring “ a very challenging ” evacuation back home , the Australian Antarctic Program stated .

But Dr Cherry said there had also been two instances where entire teams of expeditioners had required appendicectomies .

“ The first was in 1954 when a 10-person wintering party set up Mawson station , our most remote , most isolated station ,” Dr Cherry said .

‘ I wouldn ’ t want any of them doing the surgery on me .’

“ Up to six months prior to departure , doctors will have surgical and anaesthetic upskilling , dental training , radiology training and physiotherapy ,” Dr Cherry said .

Doctors also learnt how to use the station ’ s inventory system and equipment , including how to maintain , calibrate and use pathology machines .

“ There is a lot of work from a medical point of view ,” he said .

“ But there is also a lot of time to do research : we were doing some really innovative research in space medicine with NASA . [ There is ] the opportunity to socialise with your fellow expeditioners … in the library or playing a game of pool , playing darts , going out in the field to explore or help with a project .

“ There are lots of things that will keep you very busy .”

Dr John Cherry at Casey station .

“ The other was in 1968 when a four-person team wintered on the Amery Ice Shelf , and each person required an appendicectomy before heading south because they were so isolated .”

Dr Cherry stressed there was a team of lay assistants , who had been trained at the Royal Hobart Hospital ,

that would have been useful if he had been required to perform the procedure during his stint .

“ My lay surgical assistants were a carpenter , our chef , a boilermaker and an electronics engineer ,” he said .

“ But as much as I trust and respect them , I wouldn ’ t want any

of them performing an appendicectomy on me , and I wouldn ’ t really fancy doing it on myself .”

This was something that an earlier doctor in Antarctica was forced to do ( see below ).

“ We saw , in 1961 , a Russian surgeon , Leonid Rogozov , using a scalpel , some local anaesthetic and

ON the morning of 29 April 1961 , Dr Leonid Rogozov , the only doctor at the Soviet Novolazarevskaya Station in Antarctica , started feeling nauseated and febrile , with a pain developing on the lower right side of his abdomen .

He recorded the bad news in his diary : “ It seems that I have appendicitis . I am keeping quiet about it , even smiling . Why frighten my friends ? Who could be of help ?”

As the symptoms progressed and he concluded antibiotics would be of no use , he realised what he must do .

“ It hurts like the devil ! A snowstorm whipping through my soul , wailing like a hundred jackals . Still , no obvious symptoms that perforation is imminent , but an oppressive feeling of foreboding hangs over me … This is it … I have

to think through the only possible way out : to operate on myself .”

So at 2am , he began . Colleagues handed him the instruments and initially held up a mirror for him before he found the inverted view was no help . He ended up working by touch without gloves .

“ Opening the peritoneum , I injured the blind gut and had to sew it up ,” he later wrote .

“ Suddenly , it flashed through my mind : there are more injuries here , and I didn ’ t notice them … I grow weaker and weaker ; my head starts to spin . Every 4-5 minutes , I rest for 20-25 seconds .”

But before long , he found his “ cursed appendage ”.

“ With horror , I notice the dark stain at its base … A day longer and it would have burst .

“ At the worst moment of removing the appendix , I flagged : my heart seized up and noticeably slowed ; my hands felt like rubber . “ Well , I thought , it ’ s going to end badly . [ But ] all that was left was removing the appendix … And then I realised that , basically , I was already saved .”

Following the organ ’ s removal , he applied antibiotics in the peritoneal cavity and then closed the wound . The operation lasted one hour and 45 minutes . His temperature returned to normal after five days . He resumed regular duties in about two weeks .

The surgery captured the imagination of the Soviet public at the time , and he was awarded the Order of the Red Banner of Labour .

Dr Rogozov died in 2000 , aged 66 , from lung cancer .

Dr Leonid Rogozov .