Chapter 530: A Special Ward and a Difficult Case

After finally making it to retirement as a distinguished official, barely a few years of comfort had passed before his health took a serious turn. If his right leg ended up amputated, no one could even say for sure if it would cure him.

He’d be left a disabled man, able to get around only by wheelchair.

This retired official had never smoked, never had reckless affairs, no special medical history at all—clearly, he always took great care of himself. As a cadre, he was bound to attend countless dinners and social events.

To resist smoking and all unhealthy behavior for so long made him a real exception.

But fate had other plans. Despite his caution, a strange illness latched onto him, leaving him in misery.

Now his right leg hurt all day, the pain only burrowing deeper at night—so bad he could barely sleep.

Worse yet, his fourth toe on the right foot had started turning black, and the pain spiked to an unbearable level.

He’d endured two rounds of anti-infection treatment at the best local People’s Hospital; pain eased a little each time, but the illness stayed severe. Later he went to the Provincial People’s Hospital, where the top experts worked together, gave him more treatment, but his condition still barely budged.

The consensus from the experts was: his right foot had developed gangrene, and the safest course was to amputate to save his life.

That way, toxins wouldn’t travel through his blood and spark sepsis, organ failure or worse.

Those experts were wary—no one wanted a repeat of those medical missteps you sometimes see on TV.

Like when a patient’s foot turns black and they go see a doctor. The doctor says the toe must go. After a while, the patient comes back—now another toe’s a bit black.

The doctor suggests: better take the rest off too.

Time passes, the patient returns again—his foot getting darker still.

With a grave expression, the doctor tells the patient the condition has spread up past the foot and ankle. The only way is to cut off the whole leg.

He urges the patient to prepare for the worst.

In other words, if even this amputation can’t stop the disease, the patient should just get his affairs in order.

At this point, the nurse helping the patient take off his socks notices something odd—her own hands had turned black.

She shouts, “Why are my hands turning black too?”

Both patient and doctor instantly lock their eyes on the black socks. Turns out, the socks’ dye had rubbed off and stained his feet. The patient flies into a rage and nearly swings his crutch at the doctor who made him lose five toes for nothing.

It might sound like a joke, and in real life, those rookie mistakes are rare.

But diagnostic errors can still lead to the wrong organ—or hand, or foot—being cut. Medical accidents do happen.

For example, suppose the operation should be on the left leg. The doctors flip the patient over during surgery, but end up operating on the healthy right leg instead.

When the patient wakes up from anesthesia and realizes the mistake, they sue both the hospital and the doctors involved.

The doctor tries to defend himself, saying that after turning the patient, nobody reminded him which leg was the problem. It’s a pitiful excuse—and he’s severely punished.

This all proves why marking the surgical site in advance is so critical.

If the assisting doctors or floor nurses had double-checked every detail before surgery, if the chief surgeon had just learned a bit more about the case, embarrassments like this would never happen.

Zhou Can would never be that careless, lopping off a patient’s right leg on a whim.

He focused intently, analyzing the patient’s condition.

The man’s temperature was 36.5°C—exactly normal.

Pulse 81 per minute, breathing 21 per minute, blood pressure 118 over 85.

All his vitals were practically perfect.

It just went to show how much he’d valued his health, and how effective those efforts were.

Sixty-five and not a trace of hypertension or chronic lung disease. Most people start racking up issues after fifty.

That’s just the body’s natural decline with age.

As the years go by, metabolism slows, blood circulation weakens, especially in the tiny veins of the hands and feet.

Slower toxin removal, ever-aging cells—of course health problems start piling up.

This official had more than stellar vitals: clear mind, normal skin and mucous membranes, no yellowing, no swollen lymph nodes anywhere. All the initial checks confirmed he was in good shape.

“I’d like to visit the ward to examine him in person, give him a full check again, get a feel for his spirit and take a look at that affected limb.”

Zhou Can shared his thoughts with Director Xueyan.

“No problem, I’ll go with you,” she replied. “I really hope we get to the bottom of this soon. Director Zhu is pressing hard for answers.”

It was clear Director Xueyan was under plenty of pressure from up top.

In any department, when a high-status patient arrives, the department head always takes the heat first.

The hospital director will assign the responsibility directly to the department chief.

Then the chief gathers all the in-house experts to throw resources at the case.

“But it’s just the right foot—why bring him to Cardiothoracic Surgery?”

Zhou Can couldn’t help asking.

By all rights, this official should be in Internal Medicine.

Maybe Endocrinology, Hematology…

“Your surgery livestream made too much of a splash! Now, any powerful patient coming here, no matter their problem, insists on our department. If it’s a respiratory issue, I’ll redirect them, but you know the hospital’s rules—sometimes there are VIPs you just can’t turn away. We have to take the case.”

Director Xueyan looked both bothered and proud when talking about the department’s fame.

Having made Tuyu’s Cardiothoracic Surgery Department thrive under her leadership was her greatest honor—a level of achievement she’d never dreamed possible.

But the fame brought burdens: endless tough cases and complicated social entanglements.

As the department chief, she was busy as could be but still had to set aside time every day to deal with VIPs. People pulled all sorts of strings to get her help—something that used to be rare.

Now it was simply routine.

Even some VIPs she once couldn’t have met in a thousand years now greeted her with wide smiles.

When that happened, as a mere department head, she truly couldn’t afford to cross anyone.

“As doctors, our nightmares are patients who have no clue about medicine! They don’t know treatments are specialized—if it’s not the doctor’s field, their skills might not even match an ordinary resident’s!”

Zhou Can could only smile wryly, shaking his head.

Ordinary patients, you could send them on their way, no fuss.

But with powerful, stubborn patients you had to go soft—tiptoe around their feelings and never offend.

It dawned on him then: doctors really weren’t as high in the pecking order as people think.

“This way—the patient is in a VIP suite.”

“He’s really living the good life!”

“What else would you expect? Only retired high-level officials or the very rich get these suites. This official’s easy compared to my last one—a retired deputy bureau chief, real temper on him. Even insisted all his injections and dressing changes be done by young, pretty nurses.”

With Zhou Can, Director Xueyan could finally vent a little.

“It takes all kinds, doesn’t it.”

Some leaders got so used to throwing their weight around that even in the hospital, their habits and arrogance remained.

They still demanded special treatment at every turn.

“If you get another one like that, just let me handle him.”

Zhou Can had zero tolerance for troublesome male patients who refused to behave even in the hospital.

Nurses and female doctors deserved real respect—this was a hospital, not a brothel.

“Oh? Planning to send him on his way for good?”

She tilted her head, grinning.

She meant ‘send him away’ as in, treat him to death.

A lot of the medical staff think about it when they meet nasty patients—but no one would ever actually do it.

No one was foolish enough to throw away their career for some scumbag.

But little ‘careless’ mistakes in nursing or diagnosis? That kind of subtle pushback is far more common.

Like pain medication—a quick intravenous push would do the trick. But for the truly repulsive ones, some nurses might put painkillers in an IV drip that runs for hours.

Let them soak there for two or three hours—let that agony sink in.

“These days, with the rule of law, just being on a power trip or harassing female staff isn’t going to get anyone killed. But giving them a hard time? Totally fair game. Bitter medicine, after all—and sometimes they need healing in the mind more than in the body.”

“Ha, well, now I don’t have to worry. Next time I get a patient like that, I’ll hand him over to you.”

For once, Director Xueyan broke into a real, happy smile.

Since her divorce, she’d hardly smiled at all. Once warm and cheerful, she’d nearly sunk into depression from a failed marriage.

Thankfully, work had been so busy she couldn’t dwell on it.

With time, her wounds had slowly started to heal.

“Sis Yan, your smile is beautiful. You need to smile more. Divorce is so common these days. Your children are grown—you can find happiness again with the right outlook.”

Zhou Can took the chance to gently encourage her.

No one else would dare say that to her.

Only Zhou Can truly cared, standing in her shoes and looking out for her.

“Maybe down the road. For now, I’m not interested. Luckily my two children are doing well, and they’ve come to accept the divorce. For women, marrying the wrong man is the real disaster—that’s what I’ve learned best.”

Mentioning her failed marriage, her mood clearly fell.

Zhou Can didn’t push further.

Man or woman, when fate knocks, their heart will leap all on its own.

That’s when love stirs—without anyone forcing it.

“Here we are. Let’s go in.”

They pushed open the door to the VIP room.

For a hospital like Tuyu, where beds were always in short supply, these single or double luxury rooms were truly rare.

People used to call them ‘Cadre Wards,’ but that got changed to ‘VIP Suite’ or ‘Special Ward’ to avoid sending the wrong message.

But in reality, they weren’t much different from the old cadre wards.

Inside were two family members keeping watch—and a hired caregiver as well.

Even as a patient, the retired official kept his dignity.

A pair of middle-aged spouses—he looked steady and upright; she carried herself with poise and grace, exuding wealth and education. From their clothes to their bearing, there was no mistaking their class.

“Mr. Hu, how are you feeling? Is your right leg still hurting?”

Director Xueyan greeted the patient with a warm smile.

She nodded to the middle-aged couple as well to acknowledge them.

“Thank you, Director Xue, for your concern. Aside from that nagging right leg pain, I’m actually doing alright. The IV treatment did help with the pain, but I confess I’m uneasy. My daughter-in-law told me pain is the body’s way of sending a danger signal, warning me something serious is happening at the site. I worry that painkillers just mask the danger while the illness keeps advancing.”

The retired official spoke with calm, methodical logic.

He was open and sincere in his communication.

That’s the depth of character honed by years at the top.

Talk to successful or influential people and you’ll often find their manner and words captivating. That’s self-cultivation in action.

It comes from their learning, life experience, and reflections.

Getting a day laborer to speak profound philosophy is tough.

Day to day, he’s fighting just to eat.

All he thinks of is shouldering more cement bags for a few extra yuan.

“This is Dr. Zhou Can—one of our department’s top talents. The hospital takes your case seriously. After finishing up in the OR, he came straight here to give you a detailed physical exam himself.”

When introducing Zhou Can, Director Xueyan used the phrase ‘top talent.’

Normally, she’d say ‘senior expert.’

But Zhou Can was still young, and his academic credentials weren’t there yet. In research, his publication record was just average. Calling him an ‘expert’ would be a stretch.

For now, ‘top talent’ felt more appropriate.

But Zhou Can was working hard behind the scenes.

He’d recently invented an aorta-sparing surgery technique, and was already writing it up. According to Director Xueyan, once published, it should at least get into an SCI medical journal.

It might even be accepted by the country’s top medical journal.

SCI papers are prestigious internationally—and getting published is tough. But for various reasons, domestically, national core journals actually carry more weight.

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At least that’s how it works in China.

Some medical papers can get into SCI but never make the cut in the top national journals.

“Dr. Zhou, hello! We’ve long heard your name—it truly precedes you!” The official didn’t look down on Zhou Can just because he was young.