Chapter 508: Sparks of Innovation in the Surgery Department

“With an aortic dissection this long, isn’t a full aortic replacement the only real solution?”

Director Le couldn’t think of any other way out.

“My surgical plan doesn’t require an aortic replacement.”

Zhou Can spoke with unwavering confidence.

“So what’s your approach for this patient?”

Director Xueyan leaned in, genuinely curious.

Ever since her divorce, she’d thrown herself fully into her work. Complex surgeries and tricky cases had practically become an obsession.

“Let me sketch it out for everyone. Maybe if we put our heads together we can see if this plan holds water.”

As Zhou Can laid out his surgical strategy, he drew diagrams for the group.

Everyone here was an expert in cardiothoracic surgery, at the very least a senior attending physician—otherwise they wouldn’t have made it into this level of discussion.

Of course, Zhou Can was the exception.

He, a resident doctor, discussing complex cases and surgical plans with chief physicians, was a phenomenon all his own.

When he finished, not a single chief or associate chief physician had a word to say.

They were all left in awe by the sheer genius of his proposal.

“As long as every step goes smoothly and nothing gets overlooked, I think this plan is even safer than the traditional aortic replacement.”

Associate Director He specialized mainly in thoracic surgeries.

Still, with his age and experience, he had a solid background in cardiovascular replacements too.

“Zhou Can’s innovative surgical plan is truly feasible. If it works out, it could serve as a valuable precedent for similar cases in the future.”

After careful thought, Director Xueyan was also optimistic about Zhou Can’s plan.

“But innovation always comes with unknown variables. This patient is a bit of a special case. Personally, I think we should proceed with caution.”

Director Le didn’t object to the plan itself.

His main worry was the patient’s unique status—the risk the surgical team would take on was sky-high.

Every chief physician in this room was at least well into their forties.

They’d all seen their share of chilling outcomes.

Naturally, they were extra cautious when it came to hidden risks.

Safety always came first for doctors—both their own safety and the safety of their patients.

Doctors who cared only about the patient but neglected their own well-being rarely ended up with happy stories.

If you keep walking by the river, you’re bound to get your shoes wet eventually.

“I’ll head up this surgery! I don’t have many reservations these days. Whatever outcome, I can handle it.”

Director Xueyan stepped forward, ready to take charge given the risk and responsibility.

She understood the dangers better than anyone.

“Director Xueyan is the flagbearer of our Cardiothoracic Surgery Department—she must not fall. Let me lead the operation. In truth, I haven’t done much for this department in recent years, but if this innovative surgery succeeds, it’s sure to raise our reputation even higher. Like a candle burning itself out for the benefit of the room—please, Director, let me make this sacrifice for the team.”

The speaker was a doctor nearing sixty.

Balding, large black-rimmed glasses, a reddish nose—he looked every bit the academic type.

There were actually quite a few chief and associate chief physicians in cardiothoracic surgery.

But outstanding surgeons among them were much fewer.

That’s true in every hospital.

No matter how strong a hospital is, when it comes down to each department, only a handful can really work magic in the operating room.

Plenty of factors make things that way.

It’s like getting a driver’s license—lots of people have one. But a pilot’s license? That’s rare.

The investment for the latter is just too high.

In theory, every surgeon could get into the OR. But it takes talent—and an insane amount of hands-on practice. Even to just close a chest you usually need to be at least an attending.

No wonder there’s no way to mass-produce top surgeons.

Last time Zhou Can led a protest, complaining about the Security Department neglecting the safety of clinical staff. Anywhere else, that’d be a black mark on your record.

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Leadership’s go-to move, once the fuss dies down, is to find a way to deal with whoever started the trouble.

Either push them out until they quit on their own.

Or make up an excuse and transfer them elsewhere.

But despite his protest, Zhou Can never faced any consequence.

To this day, he’s still here, doing just fine.

His surgical skills were simply too formidable—senior experts in short supply. On top of that, he had great relationships with chiefs and associate chiefs across multiple departments.

His roots ran deep enough that not a single hospital leader dared cross him.

Don’t be fooled by how friendly Deputy Director Ye, Deputy Director Bai, and Director Zhu act with him. People at their level can switch faces faster than turning a page.

“If Director Bu is willing to lead this operation, it’s worth considering.”

Director Le was the first to voice his support.

Director Xueyan was the spirit of their Cardiothoracic Surgery Department—their general, an irreplaceable presence.

The General Surgery Department’s fate had been a bloody lesson.

It had been a booming powerhouse, but once dissolved, it was gone overnight.

To this day, there’s no sign of General Surgery at Tuyu Hospital.

No one’s even suggested bringing it back.

“Director Xueyan is our commander-in-chief, far too valuable to risk in a high-stakes operation—I agree Director Bu should take charge.” Associate Director He added his support.

“Please allow it, Director.”

Director Bu usually kept a low profile.

He did quiet, steady work for the department but didn’t have any standout talents. He was dependable, if not spectacular—a true mainstay.

Like an old ox chugging along.

“Alright. Thank you, Director Bu, and everyone else for looking out for me. This sort of innovative surgery, if it succeeds, will benefit not just our department but the entire hospital. We can’t miss this shot. Director Bu, please go talk with the patient. If everything goes well, admit them and rush to arrange the surgery. With an aortic dissection this long, every extra minute brings new risks.”

Director Xueyan accepted the team’s gesture of goodwill.

“Zhou Can, go ahead and eat. Feel free to listen in on the remaining tricky cases—we’ll surely need your help.”

She’d always shown special concern for Zhou Can.

“Will do!”

Settling in at the back, Zhou Can started scarfing down his meal.

Being a surgeon means meals are a luxury. Just being able to eat was already something.

Complex operations often meant lunch and dinner blurred into one—and sometimes dinner didn’t happen until late at night.

……

“Zhou Can, this patient’s tissue adhesions are horrendously severe. We need to resect a liver tumor, but after reviewing the case, none of us feel confident. He’s already been operated on elsewhere, but once they opened the abdominal cavity and saw the adhesions, they gave up and stitched him back up. Do you think you can handle it?”

Once Zhou Can finished eating, Director Xueyan turned to him for help.

Sometimes surgeons run into walls like this—left with no choice but to close up and move on.

It’s better to lose face than risk something going catastrophically wrong.

But you’ll usually only see this in small hospitals. Major hospitals run thorough pre-op checks, and their skills help them dodge these cases.

Right now, this liver tumor patient was the rare exception—a case from a digital hospital in another province.

And digital hospitals are typically run by the military.

Their strength was undeniable.

If even they could only stitch the patient back up and walk away, you could imagine the difficulty.

“Was this patient admitted today?”

“Exactly! After your live broadcast last night, word’s spread across the country. This liver tumor patient also flew in from out of province.”

Director Xueyan had strong, mixed feelings about the flood of patients.

As head of the department, she naturally wanted more patients, but dreaded cases so desperate they’d wreck even a surgeon’s nerves.

Being top dog in cardiothoracics wasn’t easy at all.

Odds were there’d be even more high-risk cases coming their way.

“How’re the patient and family coping?”

Even while eating, Zhou Can had checked the patient’s intraoperative photos and scans.

He figured the digital hospital shot photos and videos as proof, probably to protect themselves from blame—and maybe for future research or teaching too.

“The patient desperately wants to live. Their family’s attitude is also reasonable. They aren’t looking to blame their last hospital—just understanding the severity of the disease has made them a bit hopeless.”

“I can’t promise a hundred percent, but I think there’s at least a sixty percent chance of success.”

Zhou Can hadn’t honed his Rapid Scalpel or Steady Scalpel for nothing.

His Tissue Separation and Incision Techniques were both at level six now.

He finally had the confidence to face a mess of adhesions like this.

“With that high a success rate, let’s go for it. I’ll talk with the patient and family—if they’re willing to gamble, we’ll open up the abdomen and try again.”

Director Xueyan knew Zhou Can’s temperament inside out.

If he said he had a sixty percent shot, the odds were more than worth it.

After all, this patient had almost no shot at finding another hospital willing to operate.

“There are also two other baffling cases—their causes are really hard to pinpoint. You’ve got a knack for this—help us come up with a plan.”

It seemed like Cardiothoracic Surgery was drowning in tricky cases today.

“Alright, I’ll check in on the Emergency Department first, then come back to handle them.”

Lately, Zhou Can seriously felt stretched thin.

The more capable you are, the more ends up on your plate.

Everyone needed him, and there was no dodging it.

But he enjoyed tackling tough cases—this was exactly what he wanted.

When you’ve got a solid foundation and experience, you’re finally ready to break through barriers.

Whether diagnosing perplexing illnesses or taking on near-impossible surgeries, he could rack up skill points much faster.

……

Half an hour later, he was back in Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Over in Emergency, one Internal Medicine inpatient took a bad turn. The others were stable.

Associate Director Han Changqing had already been called to deal with it.

For now, Internal Medicine in Emergency was overseen by Associate Director Han.

But he was about to retire, and no standout successor was in sight. They didn’t have a single strong candidate, not even at the associate chief level.

Zhou Can certainly wasn’t worrying about this—it was Director Lou and Associate Director Han’s headache.

In the Cardiothoracic Surgery office, Zhou Can studied the files of two baffling patients.

One had been transferred from the Provincial People’s Hospital.

A retired official—underwent left lung cancer resection and lymph node removal at Provincial People’s. The operation went smoothly, but on the second day post-op, the patient developed shortness of breath, tightness in the chest, difficulty breathing, plus coughing up foamy white sputum. With the family terrified the patient would die there, and after hearing about Tuyu Hospital’s broadcast and its stellar surgical skills, they pulled strings to get him transferred.

Making the most of their connections, they rushed the patient over from Provincial People’s.

Normally, Tuyu would avoid taking such cases—when someone’s already in a bad way, whoever accepts them is asking for disaster.

What if the patient dies in your hospital?

If the family sues, both hospitals would get dragged in.

No one wants that kind of trouble falling out of the clear blue sky.

But retired officials were their own breed.

If you pulled off a save, it meant huge benefits for the department.

Plus, retired officials had powerful networks. It wasn’t hard to get through to hospital higher-ups or even government administrators. A single word, and the patient was admitted.

Director Xueyan couldn’t refuse even if she wanted to.

Still, when accepting the case, she’d always clarify with the referring contact that if anything happened, the hospital couldn’t be sued.

Usually, the family would give some sort of verbal assurance.

Most folks in their circle wouldn’t stoop to dirty tricks.

As long as Tuyu Hospital did things by the book, even if the patient died, at least the family had already promised—backpedaling rarely happened.

Otherwise, if things went sideways, the one who made the introduction would be in for serious embarrassment.

It’d mean losing way more than a single contact.

Fame always comes with trouble.

Looking over the case, Zhou Can couldn’t help but sigh.

Back when Tuyu Hospital’s Cardiothoracic Surgery was struggling, they practically begged patients to come and were refused.

Now it was the patients begging to get in.

He decided to check in on the patient in the ward himself.

Retired officials really do get special treatment: private wards, high-end suites, or even the ICU.

Their insurance system was totally separate, and settling the bill was always a breeze.