Chapter 71: A Matter of Life and Technique

“How come you’re only coming to see a doctor now? Your condition is extremely dangerous—you could lose your life at any moment,” Dr. Fu fumed.

Every time a patient dies from delaying treatment, the doctors are filled with profound sorrow.

“Dr. Lu, go get the laryngoscope.”

Dr. Fu ordered flatly, his face void of expression.

It was clear that Dr. Lu’s standing in the operating room was far inferior to Zhou Can’s.

In any setting, skill speaks for itself.

This was especially true in the operating room.

No amount of flattering will help if you collapse the moment you step onto the operating table.

Dr. Lu, looking like a miffed subordinate, shot Zhou Can a resentful glance before obediently preparing the laryngoscope and handing it over.

“We’re about to perform a laryngoscopic exam to determine exactly where the fishbone is lodged, how deep it’s embedded, and whether it’s causing any infection. You must cooperate, understand?”

“Yes, yes!”

The patient nodded repeatedly.

After positioning the patient on the table, they instructed him to open his mouth wide as they inserted the laryngoscope for examination.

Stimulating the throat can easily trigger swallowing or gagging.

That made patient cooperation absolutely essential.

Fortunately, as an adult male, his tolerance was decent.

Dr. Fu told him to relax, and he complied throughout the entire examination.

“Oh dear, this fishbone is really thick! And it’s lodged so deep that only a tiny tip is visible.”

After examining through the laryngoscope, Dr. Fu’s expression turned gravely serious.

“We can only attempt to clamp it. If we can’t pull it out, we’ll have no choice but to refer you to the Surgical Department for removal.”

The emergency department’s surgical capabilities were limited.

For an invasive procedure to remove the fishbone, a specialist from the Surgical Department would need to evaluate the plan—cutting through the neck carried extremely high risks.

If the surgeons assessed the risk as too high, the patient might never even make it to the operating table.

Then, there would be nothing more we could do.

The patient would most likely die.

It wasn’t that the doctors were unwilling to help—it was simply beyond their power.

Relying on their expertise, they could foresee that even with surgery, the patient might perish on the table.

So they opted for conservative treatment instead, offering a slim glimmer of hope.

“Ugh…”

The patient seemed to grasp the severity of his condition, repeatedly clasping his hands in a pleading gesture toward Dr. Fu and Zhou Can.

He begged the doctors to save him.

In his panic, with his throat so swollen he could barely speak, his desperation was palpable.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do everything we can for you.”

Dr. Fu soothed the patient in a gentle tone.

He worked to stabilize the patient’s emotions.

This was why experienced doctors, when diagnosing terminal illnesses, often chose to inform the family privately rather than the patient directly.

A patient’s emotional collapse can severely hinder treatment.

Let me share a brief story.

Once, two patients, A and B, came in for routine exams. A careless intern mistakenly swapped their records.

Patient A had feared a serious illness due to occasional bouts of coughing up blood.

But the exam showed only mild gastritis.

“That’s nothing to worry about.”

“Just take some medicine and you’ll be fine.”

Patient A went on living happily, and after that scare, he became even more health-conscious.

Patient B, who had been relatively healthy aside from some bloating,

was shocked when he saw his exam results.

He nearly fainted on the spot.

He had been diagnosed with terminal-stage stomach cancer.

Staggering home, Patient B locked himself in his room and wept for a long time.

The doctor informed him that he had no more than three months to live.

After his initial grief, he began arranging his affairs, awaiting the inevitable.

Day after day, he lived under unbearable pressure, with fear consuming him.

His condition worsened, and death seemed to inch ever closer.

Until one day, the hospital discovered that the records of patients A and B had been swapped.

They immediately called both patients back for reexamination.

The results shocked the doctors—Patient A, initially thought to have cancer, showed remarkable improvement and even signs of recovery.

Meanwhile, Patient B, who originally only had gastritis and lived in constant fear and sorrow, saw his condition worsen into stomach cancer.

Six months later, Patient B succumbed to cancer, while Patient A’s supposed stomach cancer had miraculously resolved.

This true story took place in France.

Subsequent follow-up investigations revealed that patients in a good mood were more likely to recover, while those burdened with gloom deteriorated faster.

To this day, doctors consider a patient’s emotional state a crucial factor.

After calming the patient, Dr. Fu began using the laryngoscope and forceps to extract the fishbone.

Once, twice…

After multiple attempts, all ended in failure.

He was drenched in sweat.

“This isn’t working—the fishbone is embedded too deeply. With only a tiny tip left outside and the depth of the throat making it hard to apply force, it just won’t come out,” Dr. Fu said helplessly.

Zhou Can had been acting as his assistant all along.

The laryngoscope displayed a clear image of the fishbone on the monitor.

It even captured Dr. Fu’s process of trying to extract it.

“Dr. Fu’s long-armed instrument technique seems a bit weak!”

That thought only flashed through Zhou Can’s mind.

He dared not let it show on his face.

Extracting a fishbone lodged deep in the throat should ideally involve using the grasping technique.

Zhou Can instinctively felt that his level-3 grasping technique might be enough to pull it out.

“Dr. Fu, may I give it a try?”

Removing this fishbone was fraught with danger.

Zhou Can could only do his best to plead his case.

Dr. Fu looked at him and hesitated before replying.

“Operating these long-armed forceps is quite challenging. Try using them to pick up that surgical hook needle.”

Trusting Zhou Can’s earlier excellent performance, Dr. Fu did not refuse immediately.

Instead, he decided to first test Zhou Can’s grasping ability.

At the same time, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk appeared at the corner of Dr. Lu’s mouth.

As a senior doctor, although his own skills were mediocre, he knew well which procedures were challenging and which were simple.

The grasping technique had long been regarded as a chief-level skill.

It was commonly employed in delicate minimally invasive procedures or major surgeries beyond level 3.

For advanced minimally invasive procedures, attending-level doctors are often just beginners—only qualified to serve as assistants, while a lead surgeon is at least a deputy chief.

The grasping technique isn’t just a basic minimally invasive skill—it’s also one of the hardest to master.

For Zhou Can, a mere resident, to dare challenge a chief-level grasping technique was pure arrogance.

Dr. Lu watched, waiting to see how he would manage to bring about his own downfall.

Nurse Liu Xia had already cleverly handed Zhou Can a pair of long forceps.

These forceps had arms over 25 cm long—more than double the length of ordinary straight forceps.

Maneuvering them to grasp a tiny suture needle was no small feat.

With calm precision, Zhou Can grasped the hook needle from the tray.

His movements flowed like a gentle stream as he secured the hook needle with ease.

This was the level of skill expected from an intern.