Chapter 438: A Life on the Line: Surgeon’s Calm in the Storm

The surgery officially began with the patient lying flat on the operating table, already in a deep sleep.

Director Xueyan made the first incision, opening the chest from the center.

She was already a chief physician, and after a grueling year of tough training her skill with open-chest surgeries showed. When she cut, she easily avoided large blood vessels and major nerves as if it was second nature.

Even when unexpected problems cropped up during the procedure, she handled them with composed efficiency.

Standing beside her, Zhou Can supported her in case anything happened. There wasn’t an ounce of tension in the room.

After working together on so many high-level open-chest surgeries as a team, everyone’s nerves were well-conditioned.

“The patient’s left thymus is in the way!”

Director Xueyan muttered to herself.

“No, this thymus is just a pain. It keeps blocking my view of the surgical field.”

She grumbled again.

Dr. Long was holding the retractor. He was in his forties and had just earned his associate chief physician title not long ago. Instead of letting it go to his head, though, he grew even more humble and eager to learn, and actually volunteered to be Third Assistant for Director Xueyan.

“If it’s truly in the way, we can just remove it. Missing a thymus is no big deal, but if it blocks our view and causes a surgical failure, the patient could lose their life. When the risk is that high, I think it’s worth cutting it so we have a clearer field.”

Zhou Can offered his opinion from the side.

Most people would never have the nerve to suggest the lead surgeon remove an organ or tissue.

Part of it’s about skill, but hierarchy also plays a role—speaking out of turn or interfering is a quick way to get chewed out.

“I once assisted Dr. Hu on a similar procedure, and we also removed the left thymus. Afterwards, I didn’t notice any adverse effects on the patient.”

Director Le chimed in to support Zhou Can’s advice.

“Okay, I’ll cut it out then.”

This time, Director Xueyan didn’t hesitate. She decisively removed the left thymus.

Moments after she finished, the anesthesiologist cried out, “Something’s wrong, the patient’s vital signs are dropping!” She hurried to check for the source.

But even after searching for quite a while, they couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

“Could it have been the removal of the left thymus?”

The anesthesiologist sounded unsure.

Director Xueyan managed to stay calm at first. She double-checked the incision and nearby tissue for any accidental nerve damage.

The heartbeat is controlled by the heart’s electrical signals.

There were quite a few critical nerves around the area.

Accidentally cutting one of these would spell real trouble.

Suddenly, the monitor blared an alarm.

Now both Director Xueyan and the anesthesiologist were rattled. For the first time, panic crossed Director Xueyan’s face—a normal human reaction, impossible to hide in a crisis.

“It must be caused by brain hypoxia!”

Zhou Can, after careful observation, made his judgment.

Even before he finished speaking, he was already bending the child’s legs, switching the position to knee-chest.

“Morphine, 0.05 mg per kilogram, subcutaneous injection!”

At times like this, the child could die in just moments. Zhou Can needed to act fast and issue a rescue plan.

They’d called him in for more than just standing around watching.

Everyone in the room—the Attending Nurse, anesthesiologist, lead surgeon—should know the child’s weight. Even an attentive intern could keep track of such vital stats.

After the morphine injection, a faint smile broke through the anesthesiologist’s usually stony expression.

“There’s improvement, I see improvement!”

It took a lot to get the ever-serious anesthesiologist excited, almost acting like a little girl.

People often say that circulating nurses are fierce, scolding others at the drop of a hat.

But actually, they have plenty of moments when they smile.

Most of the time, their sternness is reserved for less experienced doctors—interns, trainees, junior residents. If these folks tossed trash carelessly or handled things improperly, they’d get an earful.

Under normal circumstances, the circulating nurses were rather gentle.

“Now that things are improving, give a sodium bicarbonate IV to correct acidosis.”

In that moment, Zhou Can was truly the backbone of the surgical team, just like the late Dr. Hu Kan had been in tense moments.

“What about the child’s blood pressure? Did it go up yet?”

He kept questioning the anesthesiologist.

“Blood pressure’s still low, coming up slowly,” she replied.

“Attending Nurse, grab a vial of norepinephrine and start an IV drip.”

Zhou Can calmly gave the third order for life-saving measures.

Finally, with everyone’s efforts combined, the child’s vital signs started to stabilize.

Director Xueyan’s face had gone a bit pale—she was clearly rattled.

Not just her, even the anesthesiologist was scared stiff. Only the Attending Nurse managed to keep her cool.

“That was too nerve-wracking. Good thing we managed to save the kid. Can the surgery keep going?”

“No need to worry too much. For now, things should be fine. If we don’t operate, this child won’t survive anyway. Sometimes you have to keep going and hope you get past the worst,” Zhou Can let out a sigh.

“Dr. Zhou, you were the calmest through all of this. You really are like the cornerstone of our surgical team. When you commanded the rescue so steadily, I felt a sense of reassurance I’ve only ever gotten from Dr. Hu Kan.”

Zhou Can couldn’t accept being placed on such a high pedestal.

“If I’m one-tenth as good as my mentor, I’ll count myself lucky. In a crisis, I just had to step up.”

Saying you’re not nervous would be a lie.

Zhou Can was just as human as everyone else—he’d seen far fewer close calls than Director Le and the others.

But when disaster strikes, someone has to take the lead and keep order.

“By the way, in a situation like that, it’s best not to use digitalis medicines for rescue. Or you really might lose the patient.”

Zhou Can reminded the whole team.

Inside the operating room, people usually avoid saying the word ‘death.’

It’s considered taboo.

Some clueless interns, on their first day in the OR, might ask their mentors what happens if the patient dies on the table.

Immediately, the mentor’s face would turn stormy, wishing they could slap the loose-mouthed intern.

If anything did happen during that surgery, chances are the intern would never step foot in the OR again.

Also, when speaking in front of patients, they’d use coded language.

For example, cancer is usually referred to as ‘ca.’ If the patient’s undergoing a second surgery, they’ll call it ‘second admission.’

“Zhou Can, can you take over as lead surgeon?”

Director Xueyan looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Didn’t you want to challenge the Tetralogy of Fallot procedure? Giving up so soon?” Zhou Can asked, stepping toward the lead surgeon’s spot.

“This surgery is way riskier than I imagined. I’m scared of something going wrong. I’d rather practice next time, rather than risk it on a case this delicate,” Director Xueyan replied calmly.

“Alright, leave it to me.”

Zhou Can was always eager to take on these high-level surgeries.

He’d only ever assisted Dr. Hu Kan on Tetralogy of Fallot surgeries, so doing one himself as lead surgeon was a first.

“Sis Yan, from here on, free up the mediastinal pleura on both sides. Be very careful—don’t damage anything.”

With Zhou Can now leading, the surgery sped up several times over.

“Next is cannulating the aorta, inserting the blood supply tubes, placing drainage tubes in the superior and inferior vena cava—establishing extracorporeal circulation…”

Nearly three hours later, Zhou Can looked down at his surgical work, satisfied.

Despite a lot of hurdles, the most critical part of the surgery was finally done, thanks to his skill.

“Who wants to close the chest?”

“Why don’t you do it? The patient’s resilience is already weak, and the open-chest time was too long. I’m worried about the outcome if we delay. This is the first heart surgery like this our department’s done in a year, so I’d rather play it safe.”

Director Xueyan’s feelings were easy to understand.

You never realize how hard it is to run a department until you’re in charge.

Now that she was chief, every decision affected the fate of the whole department. There was so much more to consider.

Two resident doctors were itching to take this rare chance to close the chest.

But after Director Xueyan mentioned playing it safe, they gave up on the idea.

“Dr. Zhou’s efficiency is top-notch, and his closures are always flawless. It’s already late, so the sooner we finish and wrap up, the better,” Director Le added with a smile.

“Makes sense. You youngsters might have the stamina, but honestly, at my age, it’s tough to keep up,” said Deputy Director Han, who was well into his fifties, just like Chief He.

Men really do seem born for hard work, whether it’s at home or out in the world, always taking on the heavy lifting and technical jobs.

Sometimes, even after a long shift, you come home exhausted and still have to meet your wife’s expectations.

Just two words for it: tough life.

Lots of women complain about how hard housework is, or childbirth, or monthly cycles, but if they saw how tough men had it out in the world, maybe they’d think twice.

Zhou Can finished closing the chest in no time.

[Chest closure successful. Suturing Experience +100. Congratulations! Your Suturing skill has advanced to level 6.]

He’d already earned a hefty stack of medical experience rewards during the chest repair.

He never expected that right at this crucial moment, his Suturing was the first to hit level 6—his first ever department chief-level skill.

A hundred thousand experience points—no small feat.

He could actually feel a huge leap in his understanding of suturing. This breakthrough felt nothing like any skill-up before.

Even when he’d reached level 5, matching an associate chief, it only felt like he was barely glimpsing more advanced medical mysteries. It was frustrating—like peering at a beauty through frosted glass.

You could barely make out the curves, but not her real looks.

“So this is level 6 medical skill?”

Zhou Can was lost in the wonders of his newly minted chief-level suturing.

If level 5 meant having perfect finesse in closure, then level 6 was almost mystical.

It felt as if he could peer straight into the secrets of life itself through a small incision.

Looking at the freshly sutured chest, he no longer saw whether the stitches were tidy or how close the wound edges were, but could actually sense the life on the table being repaired, quietly regaining vitality.

As for the speed of recovery, he couldn’t yet clearly pick that up.

Maybe he hadn’t reached that stage yet.

Or perhaps it was because only one of his medical skills had hit level 6 so far.

After all, life is unimaginably complex. The human body is hundreds of thousands of times more intricate than even the most advanced computer.

To this day, even in the world’s most developed countries, nobody has fully decoded the body’s mysteries.

Even just modeling a single neuron has defeated countless scientists and poured millions in research funding down the drain. Artificial intelligence isn’t even close yet.

And that’s just the brain’s neurons—modeling the whole body, even five hundred years from now, there might still be mysteries left.

Genes, blood, DNA, hereditary codes—so many unsolved riddles left for future scientists and doctors.

“Level 6 skill really is incredible. I wonder if other doctors can see the secrets of life in the same way when they look at a patient’s wound?”

Right now, Zhou Can could hardly wait for his other skills to reach level 6 too.

Maybe then his insight into the nature of life would become even deeper, even clearer.

“Dr. Zhou, Dr. Zhou… we’re finished here! Clock out and go home!”

The instrument nurse waved a hand in front of his eyes, snapping him from his reverie.

“Oh, sorry, I zoned out for a second! Are the patient’s vital signs still stable?”

Zhou Can asked the anesthesiologist as she tidied up.

“The operation went very well. The child’s vitals look great across the board. Of course, they’ll need to stay in the ICU for a while—maybe three to five days, maybe longer. We’ll see.”

The anesthesiologist was optimistic about the child’s recovery.

“If you—the guardian angel—say so, then I’m not worried. How about grabbing a late-night snack before we head out?”

Zhou Can invited the anesthesiologist.

“I have a kid waiting for me back home. I could take some snacks to go, though.”

She was at least thirty-seven or thirty-eight, one of Tuyu’s standout younger anesthesiologists.

“We all know you’ve got family waiting. That’s why I ordered individual take-out portions for everyone—including the interns. You can all take some home!” Director Xueyan chimed in with a smile.

When overtime ends, a generous department chief will sometimes order snacks or invite everyone out for a meal.

Given the cost, group dinners only happen once in a while.

It could never be a nightly thing.

That’s because it all comes out of the chief’s own pocket, not the department’s funds.

“Thank you, Director Xue!” The anesthesiologist smiled and thanked her, a rare sight.

“How many kids do you have?”

Zhou Can chatted with her as he helped clean up.

“A few kids? As if! Us doctors are on our feet all day, and getting one maternity leave is already lucky. Still, if I were really set on it, I suppose management couldn’t stop me, since we’re always short on anesthesiologists.”

She was all business and stern when working.

But once the operation was done, she sounded a lot more like a regular person.

“What about you? Are you married?”

Maybe because Zhou Can seemed especially young, the anesthesiologist added the question.