Somewhere in Britain, during the Second World War, a hospital X-ray department constructed a makeshift darkroom for processing its films. In those days, X-ray images were made on film, not digitally. These images required 'development'. That was achieved by passing an exposed film through a series of chemical baths. X-ray film was also sensitive to light which ruins the image by 'fogging'. Apart from a very dim red light to which the film was insensitive, darkrooms had to be light-proof. Unfortunately, the walls of the new darkroom had cracks in them. These were letting in light and fogging the films.
Somebody suggested filling the gaps with a mixture of Plaster of Paris and barium sulphate. A slurry of this mixture could be applied to the walls, allowed to dry and the gaps sealed. Furthermore, in those days, both Plaster of Paris and barium sulphate were readily available in hospitals. No extra expense was necessary.
Plaster of Paris was used for the plaster casts that supported broken bones. There was plenty of this available in the fracture clinic. Barium sulphate was used as a contrast agent for barium meals and enemas. The X-ray department already had plenty of that in store. The mixture was made but left unattended. Before it could be used, somebody mistook it for a standard barium meal mixture. Outwardly, nothing indicated the inclusion of Plaster of Paris. Typically, batches of barium meal mixture would be made up before use. This appeared to be part of such a batch.
Thus, it was given to a patient who duly drank it. By the time the mistake was realised, nothing could be done. Now inside the patient’s gut, the fear was that the Plaster of Paris would set and cause a blockage. This could prove fatal. At best, the removal of a section of the patient's intestine might be necessary. Even today this is radical surgery. In the 1940s, it was particularly hazardous.
Initially, the patient experienced no ill effects. All that could be done, was wait. Over several days, the patient’s abdomen was X-rayed to check on progress. Surprisingly, the Plaster of Paris did not set as feared - at least not into one single, gut-blocking mass. The mixture dissipated and passed through without harm. In this, the strength of the gut’s peristaltic action seems to have played an important role. It fragmented the swallowed bolus into small, transportable pieces that passed out naturally.
Everybody was relieved. Whether this included the patient is a moot point. The patient may have been left quite unaware of the mistake. In those days, patients were told much less about their conditions than they are today. That raises an interesting ethical question. If this happened today, should the patient be informed immediately of the mistake? That might cause undue distress and worry (and a lawsuit). Or, should we wait and, if no harm is done, simply let the matter rest?
I'll leave this up to the reader to decide.
