godfather of surgery

Chapter 1357 Emergency Room

Chapter 1357 Emergency Room
In the conference room of the administrative building of Sanbo Hospital.

Song Ziming sat on one side of the long table, opposite Dean Xia Changjiang and several other hospital leaders.

“Song Ziming,” Dean Xia pushed a document in front of him, “the Emergency Department is now in your hands.”

Song Ziming glanced down at the words on the document cover: "Construction Plan for the Emergency Department of Sanbo Hospital".

“The original emergency department was too scattered,” Dean Xia continued. “The chest pain center was in cardiology, the trauma emergency center was in orthopedics and other surgical departments, and the stroke center was in neurology. Each department was responsible for its own area and had no connection with each other. When patients came, they would be triaged, then consulted, and then transferred to other departments. By the time they finished going around in circles, the golden time had passed.”

He paused.

"Professor Yang mentioned to me several times that the emergency department should be the first line of defense in saving lives. If the first line of defense is blocked, no matter how good the treatment is later, it will be useless."

Song Ziming nodded. Yang Ping had indeed said that, more than once.

"So we decided to integrate resources and build a large emergency department." Dean Xia looked at him. "The chest pain center, trauma center, stroke center, and so on will all be placed under the emergency department. Emergency doctors need to be able to handle all kinds of acute and critical illnesses, be able to perform surgery independently, and have their own operating room and their own ICU."

He closed the file.

"You're the most suitable person to be this director!"

Song Ziming did not answer immediately.

He recalled the last time Yang Ping talked to him, when Yang Ping asked him, "Do you know what the emergency department is lacking?"

He said he didn't know.

Yang Ping said, "We lack doctors who can save lives. Not the kind of doctors who can only order tests and wait for consultations. We need doctors who can tell what the problem is at a glance and treat it on the spot. We need doctors who can step in and save critically ill patients when they are brought in."

Yang Ping looked at him.

“You’ve been with me for several years. You can do cardiac surgery, neurosurgery, and you’ve also mastered the basics of general surgery. Orthopedics is your specialty, and you’re also proficient in interventional surgery. You’re very suitable to establish a large emergency department.”

Now he sits here, facing the appointment of the dean, but his mind is on something else entirely.

That was more than twenty years ago.

One summer when he was five, his mother picked him up from school on her bicycle. The sun was shining brightly that day, and his mother put a small straw hat on him. He sat on the back of the bicycle, hugging his mother's waist, listening to her humming a song.

He couldn't remember what happened next. He only remembered a loud bang, a dizzying sensation, and then he found himself lying on the roadside, covered in blood.

His mother was right beside him. He crawled over and hugged her head. Blood flowed from her ear, onto his hands, his legs, every part of his body. He didn't know what to do; all he could do was cry and call for his mother.

By the time the ambulance arrived, his mother had already stopped breathing.

Later he studied medicine.

Later he followed Yang Ping.

He studied cardiac surgery, neurosurgery... He pushed himself to the limit, doing his best in every surgery and recording every case. Over the years, he filled dozens of notebooks with notes, all because he was worried that he would be helpless if someone needed saving his life.

He never forgot that afternoon.

My mother's blood was warm and viscous, flowing through my fingers.

If his mother had been in trouble five minutes later, if someone on the street had been there to save her, if the emergency medical system back then had been like it is now…

No if.

He looked up at Dean Xia.

“I’ll go!” he said.

Dean Xia nodded, as if he already knew the answer.

“I’ve already assigned you a deputy,” he said. “Xiong Shihai, the former head of the emergency department, a veteran of the emergency department, who has worked at Sanbo for more than ten years and has seen all kinds of situations. You will handle internal affairs, and he will handle external affairs. You two will work together.”

Song Ziming was taken aback.

Xiong Shihai.

The "tough guy" of Sanbo Hospital, a legendary figure in the emergency department. Stubborn, 1.9 meters tall, weighing over 300 pounds, strong, with muscles as solid as a giant's.

If someone like this was originally the director, and now he's made the deputy, would he be satisfied?

Dean Xia seemed to see right through his thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve spoken to him. He said he definitely wouldn’t accept anyone else as director. But you’re Professor Yang’s top student, a graduate of the research institute, so he’s completely convinced!”
-
In the emergency department office, Xiong Shihai was eating a steamed bun.

He ate with great gusto, devouring half a steamed bun in one bite, his cheeks bulging out. When he saw Song Ziming enter, he paused for a moment, then quickly swallowed what was in his mouth and stood up.

"Director Song."

Song Ziming looked at him standing there like a wall, his eyes were bright, and when he looked at people, he looked straight ahead without dodging or flinching.

“Director Xiong,” Song Ziming extended his hand, “we’ll be working together from now on.”

Xiong Shihai grasped his hand. The grip was surprisingly strong, but steady, without any deliberate exertion.

“Director Song,” he said, “I’m a straightforward person, and I speak my mind.”

"Say!"

"I've worked in the emergency room for fifteen years. I've seen countless dead people and saved countless lives. I don't think I'm bad at it, and I wouldn't accept anyone as the head of the department."

He looked at Song Ziming.

But you are different.

Song Ziming remained silent.

Xiong Shihai released his grip.

"I've heard about those surgeries you performed. Cardiac bypass surgery, neurosurgery for tumors, emergency hemostasis in gastrointestinal endoscopy, interventional stent placement... any one of them is enough for others to study for years. Professor Yang's top student, who came from the research institute, has superhuman skills."

He took a step back and stood up straight.

"Director Song, I'll listen to you from now on. Just let me know if you need anything, and I'll take the lead."

Song Ziming looked at him.

This person speaks like he is—straightforward and without beating around the bush. But that straightforwardness isn't recklessness; it's clarity and understanding.

“Director Xiong,” Song Ziming said, “I’m not here to become an official.”

Xiong Shihai was stunned for a moment.

"I'm here to save people," Song Ziming said. "To save more people."

He paused.

"You too."

Xiong Shihai remained silent for a moment.

Then he laughed, a hearty laugh that could be heard throughout the entire floor.

“Director Song,” he said, “you’re just my type.”
-
The day the emergency department opened.

The new building at Sanbo Hospital has allocated several floors to the emergency department. The first floor houses the triage area and resuscitation room; the second floor is the surgical center—two Class 100 laminar flow operating rooms, one hybrid operating room, and eight postoperative recovery beds. The third floor is the emergency ICU with twenty beds, equipped with a full range of monitoring equipment, ventilators, and ECMO. The fourth floor contains doctors' offices and demonstration rooms, and the fifth floor is staff quarters.

Chest pain center, trauma emergency center, stroke center... all have been integrated.

The opening ceremony was very simple. Dean Xia said a few words, cut the ribbon, and then everyone dispersed.

Song Ziming stood at the entrance of the new emergency department, staring at the brand-new sign for a long time.

Xiong Shihai walked over and stood next to him.

“Director Song,” he said, “you won’t find another emergency department like ours in all of China.”

Song Ziming nodded.

"Do you know why?" Xiong Shihai asked.

Song Ziming did not answer.

Xiong Shihai asked and answered his own question.

“There are many well-funded hospitals, but none with your multi-skilled expertise. In just a few years, you will be able to train a group of multi-skilled emergency specialists.”

He looked at Song Ziming.

"Also, we were able to build it because of Professor Yang."

"Professor Yang told Dean Xia that the emergency department is the first line of defense in saving lives, and this line of defense cannot be blocked."

Xiong Shihai turned his head and looked at Song Ziming.

"The emergency room is where lives are truly saved."
-
On the first day of the course, a big guy arrived.

At 3 p.m., an emergency call came in: a multi-vehicle collision on the highway, three large trucks crashed together, at least five seriously injured people, arriving in twenty minutes.

Song Ziming rushed out of the office, giving orders as he ran.

"Director Xiong, take some men to the entrance to provide support and classify the injuries according to their severity."

"Make room for five ventilators and defibrillators in the emergency room."

"The operating center is preparing two operating rooms. One group will follow me, and the other group will stand by."

"Blood bank, prepare blood."

"CT and X-ray services are on standby."

Xiong Shihai had already rushed out. Weighing over 300 pounds, he ran like a tank, and people in the corridor quickly made way for him.

Twenty minutes later, the ambulance arrived.

The first person carried off the plane was a man in his thirties, his face covered in blood, his mind clouded, and his blood pressure at 70/40. Song Ziming only glanced at him.

"Closed abdominal injury, suspected liver and spleen rupture, sent directly to the operating room."

The second, the third, the fourth. Fractures, pneumothorax, traumatic brain injury.

When the fifth person was carried off the ambulance, everyone froze. It was a boy of about seven or eight years old, his face covered in blood, his eyes closed, and he lay motionless. The paramedics accompanying him turned pale.

"His parents were in the car ahead... and they're both gone."

Song Ziming paused for a moment.

He looked at the child, at the blood on his face, at his tightly closed eyes.

At that moment, he remembered another face.

His face was covered in blood, and his eyes were closed. He held that face, crying out for his mother.

That was more than twenty years ago.

He took a deep breath.

"Get him to the emergency room, quick!"
-
The child completed the examination quickly. The cranial CT scan showed no major problems, the abdominal ultrasound was normal, and the X-ray showed a fracture in the left forearm, but it was not a fatal injury. The child's coma could be due to excessive fright or a mild concussion.

Vital signs were stable.

Song Ziming instructed the nurses to take good care of the child while he went to perform emergency surgery.

After the surgery, when Song Ziming came back to see the child, she stood by the bed, looking at the pale face.

Five or six years old, the same age he was back then.

The nurse next to her whispered, "Director Song, what should we do with this child?"

Song Ziming remained silent for a few seconds.

“Contact his other relatives,” he said. “If you can’t reach them, contact the civil affairs department. Now, let him sleep.”

He turned to leave.

Just as I reached the door, the child woke up.

"Mother……"

Song Ziming stopped.

The child stared blankly at the ceiling with his eyes open.

"Mother……"

The nurse walked over and said softly, "Little one, you're awake? Auntie's here. How are you feeling?"

The child looked at her and suddenly burst into tears.

Where is my mom? Where is my mom?

The nurse didn't know how to answer.

Song Ziming walked back and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The child looked at him, sobbing.

"Zhang Ke".

“Zhang Ke,” Song Ziming said, “your mother is injured and is in the hospital. The doctors are treating her right now. You need to heal your injuries first, and then she can come to see you.”

The child was stunned.

"Really?"

"real."

The child's tears gradually stopped.

"Then...can I go see her?"

"Once you're better, you will be able to."

The child nodded, lay down again, and closed his eyes.

The nurse looked at Song Ziming, her eyes reddening.

Song Ziming stood up and walked out.

Xiong Shihai was waiting for him in the corridor.

"Director Song," he said, "that child just now..."

Song Ziming remained silent.

Xiong Shihai looked at him and knew that what he had just said was a lie to the child.

Song Ziming said, "His mother is gone, but we can't let him know now. Let him live first, and we'll talk about the rest later."

Xiong Shihai stood there, looking at him, and suddenly didn't know what to say.

Song Ziming has already left.
-
That night, Song Ziming sat alone in his office until very late.

The child is asleep now. The nurse said that before he fell asleep, he asked when his mother would come to see him.

No one can answer that.

Song Ziming recalled that many years ago, someone had told him, "Child, don't be afraid, your mother will get better."

He couldn't remember who that person was. He only remembered the voice, which was very deep and soft, as if afraid of startling him.

He never saw that person again.

But he always remembered that sentence.

Now he's the one who's talking.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the lights were bright, and the sign for Sanbo Hospital shone in the night. The emergency room lights were on, and ambulances were coming and going. Some were saving lives, some were crying, some were saved, and some couldn't be saved.

This is the emergency department.

This is where he will be staying from now on.

It's not cardiac surgery, it's not neurosurgery, it's the most chaotic, exhausting, and disorderly emergency department.

Because there are the most people here who need his help.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Xiong Shihai walked in, carrying two bottles of beer.

"Director Song," he placed a bottle on the table, "would you like a drink?"

Song Ziming looked at him.

"No drinking alcohol during work hours."

Xiong Shihai grinned.

"I know, but this isn't alcohol, it's water. Mineral water in a beer bottle."