godfather of surgery

Chapter 1354 Setting up one's own business
In the corridor of the cardiac surgery department at Sanbo Hospital, Zhou Zheng jogged past the nurses' station, clutching a stack of freshly printed test reports. The hem of his white coat billowed in the wind, revealing the sweat-soaked collar of his shirt underneath.

"Professor Xia!" He pushed open the door to the doctor's office. "The post-operative check-up results are in, please take a look—"

Before he could finish speaking, he froze.

Xia Shu wasn't the only one in the office.

Li Zehui sat on the sofa, holding a medical record in his hand. Xia Shu sat next to him, and Professor Yang sat opposite them.

Hearing the noise, Yang Ping turned around and glanced at Zhou Zheng.

Zhou Zheng nearly dropped the report in his hand.

"Professor Yang..." His voice was weak, "Director Li..."

Yang Ping nodded without saying anything.

Li Ze raised his hand, gesturing for him to bring the report over.

Zhou Zheng mechanically walked over, handed over the report, then stepped aside and stood ramrod straight.

His heart was pounding. This was Yang Ping, a two-time Nobel laureate, a legendary figure in the international medical community, and the teacher of his mentor, Li Zehui. By seniority, this was his great-great-grandfather. He had only seen him from afar on the podium before, but now they were standing face to face, less than three meters apart.

Xia Shu took the report and quickly glanced through it. His gaze lingered on a few sets of data for a few seconds before he looked up.

"Tonin levels are normal, BNP has dropped below 200, and echocardiography shows that the left ventricular ejection fraction has increased from 38% before the operation to 45%," he said. "The recovery is faster than expected."

Li Zehui nodded and put down the medical record in his hand.

He said to Yang Ping, "That patient is the one I told you about, the one that Cleveland Clinic didn't dare to do."

Yang Ping walked over, took the report, and glanced at it. His gaze lingered on the line "two previous open-chest surgeries" for a moment, then he looked at Xia Shu.

"You were the surgeon?"

Xia Shu nodded.

Yang Ping didn't ask any more questions. He returned the report to Xia Shu.

Li Zehui said to Xia Shu, "You will be the chief surgeon for that heart transplant tomorrow."

The office was silent for a second.

Zhou Zheng's mouth dropped open.

Heart transplant? Surgeon Xia?

He glanced subconsciously at Xia Shu, then at Li Zehui, and finally his gaze settled on Yang Ping. Yang Ping's face remained expressionless; he simply picked up his teacup and took a sip of tea.

Zhou Zheng's mind was buzzing. He was only in his thirties. In other hospitals, young doctors his age were still doing retraction and suturing. How could he possibly perform a heart transplant? Anzhen Hospital couldn't, Fuwai Hospital couldn't, but Sanbo Hospital could?
Li Zehui continued, "The donor has been matched. The recipient has end-stage dilated cardiomyopathy and NYHA class IV heart failure. We waited eleven months. The match is suitable, and the time window is six hours."

He paused. "Is there a problem?"

Xia Shu remained silent for a few seconds.

"No."

He knew that he would have to break away from Yang Ping's wing and start performing all surgeries independently.

Yang Ping put down his teacup and stood up.

"Just do it as usual, you'll get used to it eventually," he said. "I have something to do, so I'll be going now."

He walked to the door, then suddenly stopped and looked back at Xia Shu.

"Keep taking notes in the notebook and keep reviewing."

The door closed.

Only then did Zhou Zheng dare to breathe.

"Teacher Xia..." His voice was still trembling, "Is this Professor Yang?"

Xia Shu found Zhou Zheng's expression strange: "Is this your first time meeting him?"

Zhou Zheng shook his head: "This is the first time I've been this close. I've seen him before on the podium, or occasionally on the street. But I never thought I could stand in front of him, so close."

Xia Shu looked at him and suddenly remembered her past self.

I met Yang Ping once, also in the academic lecture hall. After Yang Ping finished his lecture and came down from the stage, I chased after him and stopped him in the corridor, wanting to ask him a question. But Yang Ping said, "Think it over before you ask," and turned around and left.

He probably felt the same way at the time. Excited, nervous, and a little disappointed at being ignored.

“We’ll see each other more often in the future,” Xia Shu said. “He comes back to the cardiac surgery department frequently.”

Zhou Zheng nodded, his gaze still glancing towards the door.

Xia Shu stood up.

"Prepare for tomorrow's surgery."
-
Xia Shu arrived at the hospital at six o'clock the next morning.

The surgery was scheduled for 9 a.m. The donor heart was being transported from a neighboring province, a journey that would take three and a half hours. He had a morning to prepare.

He went to see the patient first.

The patient, surnamed Chen, was 57 years old and in the end-stage of dilated cardiomyopathy. He had been bedridden for eleven months. He was so thin that he was just a skeleton, his face was ashen, and his lips were purple, but his eyes were bright.

Seeing Xia Shu come in, he forced a smile.

“Dr. Xia,” his voice was very soft, as soft as leaves rustling in the wind, “I’m counting on you today…”

Xia Shu sat down beside his bed.

Did you sleep well last night?

"It's alright," the patient said.

"Are you dreaming?"

The patient thought for a moment and said, "I dreamt about my daughter. She's taking the college entrance exam this year, but I haven't seen her go to university yet."

Xia Shu remained silent for a few seconds.

"You'll see," he said.

The patient looked at him, his eyes filled with hope.

Xia Shu chatted with the patient for a while before coming out.

Zhou Zheng was already waiting in the corridor.

"Teacher Xia, the donor will arrive in two hours. The cardiopulmonary bypass technician is already in place, the anesthesiologist is checking the medications, and a bed has been freed up in the ICU."

Xia Shu nodded and continued walking forward.

Zhou Zheng followed behind, whispering as they walked, "Teacher Xia, I just saw the information they sent from the donor's side. The donor is 22 years old, male, a college student, from a car accident..."

He paused.

"His parents cried uncontrollably when they signed the consent form. But they said that as long as their child's heart keeps beating, it's as if he's still alive."

Xia Shu did not speak.

He continued walking forward and entered the operating room.

The water was cold, and the splash on his hands completely woke him up. He looked at himself in the mirror; his face was different from when he first arrived. Back then, his eyes were filled with admiration and longing; now, they held more confidence and composure.

After washing his hands, he put on his surgical gown and gloves. He walked to the operating table and stood in the surgeon's position.

Li Zehui will stand in the first assistant position.

The operating lights came on.

The patient was under anesthesia and lay there, his chest rising and falling slightly. The numbers on the monitor jumped: heart rate, blood pressure, blood oxygen saturation—each number representing a living being.

Xia Shu took a deep breath.

"Let's begin."

The scalpel fell.

The sternum was cut open in the middle, and the pericardium was opened. The failing heart was exposed under the operating lights; it was larger than normal, dark in color, and beating weakly.

"The donor has arrived," the circulating nurse's voice came through the headset. "Twenty minutes to the operating room."

"Prepare for extracorporeal circulation," Xia Shu said.

Intubation, cardiopulmonary bypass, and cooling. The patient's heart slowly stopped beating, and blood was drained into the extracorporeal circulation machine, oxygenated, and then returned to the body.

The operating room was so quiet that only the sound of the machines could be heard.

Twenty minutes later, the donor heart was delivered.

A small insulated box with a red label on the outside. The nurse opened the lid, revealing a transparent sterile bag containing the heart.

22 years old, male, college student.

Xia Shu took the heart.

It was still soaking in a preservation solution, small, pink, and as quiet as if it were sleeping.

He glanced at it.

Then he started trimming.

Left atrial anastomosis, right atrial anastomosis, aortic anastomosis, pulmonary artery anastomosis. Every stitch must be precise; every stitch must be flawless. If the anastomosis leaks, the patient will die on the operating table. If the anastomosis is too narrow, the heart will stop beating.

One hour. Two hours. Three hours.

The last stitch was completed.

“Reheat it,” Xia Shu said.

Blood slowly flows back into the new heart. The temperature gradually rises.

On the monitor, the straight line began to fluctuate. Once, twice, three times.

My heart started pounding.

Sinus rhythm, heart rate 92, blood pressure 110/70.

The anesthesiologist's voice came from the side: "Vital signs are stable."

Xia Shu didn't speak immediately. He looked at the heart, watching it beat strongly in its new body, for a long time.

It jumped very well.

“Close your chest,” he said.

When the surgery was over and the patient was transferred to the ICU, it was already 7 p.m. outside the window.

Li Zehui walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

"Go and rest, I'll keep an eye on the ICU."

Xia Shu shook his head.

"I'll take a look."

He walked into the ICU and sat down by the patient's bedside.

The patient was still under anesthesia and hadn't woken up. His face was covered by a ventilator, and a drainage tube was connected to a bottle in his chest. The numbers on the monitor were steadily changing.

Xia Shu sat there, looking at the numbers, at the trajectory of the heartbeat, for a long time.

The door was gently pushed open.

Zhou Zheng poked half his head in and whispered, "Teacher Xia, you haven't left yet?"

Xia Shu nodded.

Zhou Zheng walked in and stood next to him, also looking at the monitor.

“Teacher Xia,” he suddenly said, “I’ve been thinking about a question all day.”

"explain."

"You're so young, how did you manage to perform so many surgeries?"

He paused.

"Young doctors your age at Anzhen and Fuwai Hospitals are still using retractors to suture skin. Forget about heart transplants, they can't even be the lead surgeon for a routine bypass. They all say that you have to wait until you're at least forty before you have a chance to perform some decent surgeries independently."

He looked at Xia Shu.

"You're only in your thirties, how did you do that?"

Xia Shu paused for a few seconds before saying, "It's not because I'm better than anyone else, it's because Professor Yang was willing to let me do it, and Director Li was willing to stand by and watch me do it. If there are any mistakes, they'll cover for me. If it's successful, it's on me."

He looked at the steady curve on the monitor.

"In other places, young people have to build up seniority. Here, young people learn skills."

He turned his head and looked at Zhou Zheng.

"As long as you work hard, you can do it too."

Zhou Zheng nodded.

"I will definitely try my best."
-
A few days later, the patient was transferred to a regular ward.

His daughter really came. The young girl, about eighteen or nineteen years old, with her hair in a ponytail, stood by the hospital bed, sobbing uncontrollably. The patient, lying in bed, held his daughter's hand, his eyes also reddening.

In the afternoon, the patient's son brought a silk banner.

The banner had eight characters:

"What my heart is attached to, what I entrust my life to."

The banner was hung in the most conspicuous place in the cardiac surgery department, next to the previous one that read "On the ground of life and death, let our hearts bear witness."

Yang Ping came again.

He stood in front of the nurses' station, looking at the two banners for a long time. Then he went into the office and looked at Xia Shu and Li Zehui.

"We've already performed two world-class surgeries right after opening the department," he said. "One that Cleveland Clinic wouldn't dare to do, and one a heart transplant. It's a very good start."

He looked at Li Zehui.

"Professor Li, it seems the assistant I assigned to you is quite competent?"

Li Ze smiled.

“More than qualified,” he said, “it’s no exaggeration to say that Dr. Xia is world-class.”

Yang Ping nodded.

“I generally won’t come over unless there’s something special,” he said. “You guys go ahead and do your work. If you need any help, just let me know.”

He stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back at Xia Shu.

"Remember to keep reviewing and taking notes."

Xia Shu nodded.

The door closed, and Xia Shu stood there, looking at the door.

He knew what that meant.

From today onwards, the cardiac surgery department is truly in his and Li Zehui's hands.

Yang Ping will no longer come to check on patients, no longer come to provide guidance, and no longer come to oversee every detail.

He let go.

Xia Shu stood there for a while, then turned and walked out of the office.

In the corridor, the nurses were still busy. Zhou Zheng was talking to several interns at the nurses' station when he saw Yang Ping come out and immediately stood up straight.

Yang Ping walked past him and nodded.

Zhou Zheng stood there, stunned, not moving for a long time.

After seeing Yang Ping off, Xia Shu returned to the ICU and stopped by the bedside of the heart transplant patient.

The numbers on the monitor jumped steadily.

He stood there for a while.

Then he turned around and walked out of the ICU.

In the corridor of the cardiac surgery department, Zhou Zheng was still talking to the interns. Seeing him return, Zhou Zheng called out:
"Professor Xia, when would you be free to review the surgical plan for tomorrow?"

Xia Shu stopped in her tracks.

“Now,” he said.

Zhou Zheng was stunned for a moment.

He ran back to his office and came back with a stack of documents in his arms.

Xia Shu took the documents and opened them.

This is yet another complex case.

Another surgery is about to begin.

More notes to take.

He looked down at the data, the images, and the problems waiting to be solved.

Then he looked up at Zhou Zheng.

“Come here,” he said, “let’s look together.”

Zhou Zheng's eyes lit up.

He leaned closer and stood next to Xia Shu, looking at the medical record together.

Xia Shu's fingers moved across the medical record, her voice steady:

"The key issue for this patient isn't the degree of coronary artery stenosis, but rather the scar tissue left by his two previous heart attacks. Look here, in this area of ​​the anterior wall, the myocardium is already necrotic and has no contractile function. When we perform bypass surgery, our focus isn't on reviving this area, but on protecting the remaining myocardium from further ischemia..."

Zhou Zheng listened attentively, nodding occasionally and asking a question now and then.

Outside the window, the setting sun was ablaze with color.

The lights in the glass corridor lit up one after another, like a warm necklace connecting the research institute and the hospital, connecting the past and the future, connecting what has been recorded and what is happening now.

After explaining the last key point, Xia Shu closed the medical record.

"Got it?"

Zhou Zheng nodded.

"Go back and watch it again."

Zhou Zheng nodded again, took the medical record, and left.

Xia Shu stood there, watching his figure disappear at the end of the corridor.

Then he turned and walked back to his office.

On the bookshelf, fifteen notebooks were neatly stacked, with a new one added next to them.

(End of this chapter)