I don’t remember the first time I saw a microscope. It was probably in Natural Science class during my early baccalaureate lessons at the San Ignacio School in Barcelona. Our teacher, the unforgettable José María Llagostera, was an extraordinary man able to awaken his passion for biology in many of his pupils which, to a certain extent, would set our career paths in motion and mark our destiny. The laboratory where we had our practical lessons was located in the Zoology museum facilities and there, surrounded by towering display cabinets and never-ending shelves, where the stuffed remains of the widest range of birds and mammals imaginable sat alongside us, we tried, with varying fortune, to untangle the mysteries of the epidermal cells of onions. Thus it was, among covers and coats, pipettes, alcohol burners, tweezers and methylene blue -some stained their lab coats with more fortune than the epithelia- we were able to look through the indiscreet window of the microscope and discover the meaning of words such as nucleus, cytoplasm and mitosis, words we’d just encountered for the very first time.
Winter of 1971 brought the terrible news of Llagostera’s death. I can still remember the chilled silence and disbelief that echoed around the classroom when they told us he was dead. But he continued his teaching and his body, handed over to the Faculty of Medicine, continued teaching in the dissection classroom beyond death.
In 1981, I began my degree in Medicine, studying Anatomy class at the Bellaterra Faculty of Medicine (UAB), a department then run by Professor Josep María Doménech Mateu, a brilliant physician who poured his heart and soul into teaching and research. His classes were always masterful, and crystal clear. It was a pleasure hearing his embryology teachings. Towards the end of the course, along with Professor Doménech and his assistants Dr Josep Nebot and Dr José Ramón Sañudo, we went to visit my grandfather at his Castelldefels home, a small chalet near the beach. He invited us to take a stroll around his garden, proudly showing us his lemon trees he loved so much and which grew next to the wall and, picking a lemon from a branch, let us smell it. That morning I took the last photo of my grandfather, an image where he looks happy, surrounded by a new and brilliant generation of anatomists.
Some years later, during my residence at the Hospital Clínic Urology Department, where my father was professor, I had the chance to really focus on the biography and scientific works of my grandfather Salvador through his books and publications.
When in summer 1928, he gained a professorship in Human Anatomy at the University of Barcelona, he was also made head of the Hospital Clínico y Provincial Urology Clinic. Consequently, his strong background as a morphologist in anatomical science that, beyond the descriptive field, gradually incorporated the concept of function, allowed him to approach Urology from a new perspective.
For Salvador, being a good physician and able surgeon was not enough. He saw the need to correct the mistakes that, half-way through the 20th century, continued in topographical anatomy in the urogenital region. He knew this was the only way to fully understand both the pathological processes and physiological aspects of urination and ejaculation. He was aware that only a Urologist with solid anatomical principles would be able to ensure effective, unaggressive surgery, which he described as: “elevating therapeutic surgery to the level of true science”.
A tireless and tenacious worker, he spent many hours in the dissecting room, and he’d then finish with lengthy sessions observing histotopographic cuts through the microscope. As a result of this great effort, he would discover with great precision the architecture of vesico-prostato-urethral musculature, and the anatomy of the pelvis and the perineum, work which was followed by an exhaustive study of the pelvic neuro-vegetative plexus and its relationship with erectile and urinary contingency mechanisms. He was the first to put forward the concept of regional anatomy of the prostate gland, establishing a functional and pathological duality–benign hyperplasia and cancer–.
He published Urogenital Pathology between 1945 and 1955, an extensive study over three volumes on embryology, anatomy and biology of the prostate gland, its pathology and therapy. 1968 saw the release of its last book, Morphology and Function of Vesico-Prostato-Urethral Musculature, a collection of morphological and physiological research on the urogenital diaphragm and a book which played a key role in showcasing his research to the Anglo-Saxon world.
In an illustration of these works, he worked with two brilliant professional draughtsmen, F. Nuñez and Rafael Alemany, on topographic and pathological anatomy and on surgical technique. To draught the microscopic slides he received vital help from the second year interns belonging to the Anatomy Department. Unfortunately, the Faculty of Medicine underwent renovation in the 1980s and a failure to protect his historical legacy resulted in the dispersion and destruction of a large part of this graphical work.
Fortunately, my father kept some old folders in his office and when I saw the first draughts, some histopographic cuts drawn with Indian ink on paper, I understood it was my duty to recover, restore and catalogue all this prestigious material in honour of my grandfather and the artists who made it possible. It was also a unique opportunity to explain the scientific and teaching work of Salvador Gil Vernet through medical illustration.
It wasn’t an easy task. The sheets barely had references or captions. I had to study them carefully to be able to classify them and investigate where and when they could have been published. We wanted to know which techniques had been used and decipher the meaning hidden behind each drawing. The drawings, in turn, were chronicles of a period which saw the birth of modern Urology.
Luckily, we found the wooden boxes which kept, well ordered and with the unmistakable smell of Canadian balsam, the microscopic anatomy preparations –the histotopographic cuts –. This new material was of great help in cataloguing the drawings and verifying the unique accuracy and expertise of the draughtsmen.
The pieces of the jigsaw were slowly coming together, and the Salvador Gil Vernet Collection of Urological Drawings began to take shape. In 2009, for the IX International Congress of Andrology, held in Barcelona, we organised the first exhibition of the collection, which was warmly received by our fellow professionals. Little by little, the illustrations acquired a central role and began to speak for themselves. Some have marks from the tacks used to exhibit them in congresses. Others are unfinished and reveal the original pencil sketches, lines which would later disappear under the ink.
In 2011, when I was in my office trying to organise some microscopic anatomy sheets, a young woman entered suffering from renal colic. It was Ohiana Iturbide. He seemed to forget his pain for a moment, entranced by some drawings where only a few surprising and enigmatic lines can be seen. He wasn’t yet aware, but following this meeting, he would summon the courage to study Biology and set up a publishing house called Next Door Publishers.
The job of publishing a book in which graphic work was the central theme for understanding Salvador Gil Vernet’s Urology was not easy, but the generosity and enthusiasm of Oihana and his publishing team was infinite. We had to delve deep into the biographies of professional medical illustrators, learn their drawing techniques and speak with two octogenarian physicians who were interns of my grandfather, who described the working environment of the Uroanatomy laboratory. Fortunately, we found the giant microtome Sartorius which, having disappeared from the Faculty of Medicine, resurfaced in the Faculty of Biology. We used this to show how the cuts were made for microscopic observation. We also recovered letters, photographs, field notebooks, diagrams, sketches and notes on life.
This material now forms the heart of a passionate journey which, through the book The Art of Transforming Science, brings us closer to the life and work of Salvador Gil Vernet, an outstanding anatomist and urologist.