godfather of surgery

Chapter 1358 The Truth
Song Ziming was resting in his office, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed.

Footsteps came from afar, heavy and hurried; it was unmistakably Xiong Shihai. In the entire emergency room, he was the only one who walked like a pile driver, each step seemingly intent on wearing through the floor.

"Director Song," Xiong Shihai said in a low voice, but his urgency was palpable, "the child has woken up."

Song Ziming opened his eyes.

Which child?

“Zhang Ke, the one from the car accident yesterday, both his parents are gone.” Xiong Shihai paused. “He keeps looking for his mother, the nurses can’t comfort him, he’s crying and making a fuss, you see…”

Song Ziming remained silent for a moment.

He recalled the scene from yesterday. When the child was carried off the ambulance, his face was covered in blood, and he was already unconscious. He performed emergency wound cleaning and found that it was just a superficial injury and a broken left arm; the real wound was in his heart.

"I gonna go see."
-
Song Ziming was the only person in the elevator. He looked at his reflection in the elevator door, feeling somewhat dazed.

It's been over twenty years.

He remembered that afternoon, 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, he could only cry, only call for his mother.

Then someone came and picked him up. That person said, "Child, your mother is asleep."

He didn't know who that person was, but he always remembered those words.

"Asleep."

It took him many years to realize that it wasn't that he was asleep, but that he would never wake up again.

The elevator doors opened.

He walked to the door of the ward and looked inside through the glass.

Zhang Ke lay in the hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, his eyes red and swollen, but he didn't cry. A nurse beside him was wiping his face, and he remained obedient and still. A bowl of porridge sat on the bedside table, already cold, untouched.

Song Ziming pushed open the door and went in.

The young nurse was taken aback when she saw him: "Director Song?"

Zhang Ke turned her head and looked at him.

“Uncle,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if he had been crying for a long time, “are you the doctor from yesterday?”

Song Ziming nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The bed was a bit low; his knees were almost touching his chin, but he didn't adjust his position.

"Does your hand still hurt?"

Zhang Ke shook his head, then nodded.

"A little."

Song Ziming looked at his cast. It was wrapped very well, with no swelling or purple discoloration.

"are you hungry?"

Zhang Ke thought about it.

"Hungry."

Song Ziming looked at the nurse.

Do you have any hot porridge?

"Yes, the millet porridge just arrived from the cafeteria, it's still warm."

"Serve me a bowl."

The nurse went out and quickly returned with a bowl of porridge. It was steaming hot, and the aroma of rice wafted out.

Song Ziming took it, stirred it with a spoon, scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and held it to Zhang Ke's lips.

"Can I eat this myself?"

Zhang Ke nodded and took the bowl. His hands trembled slightly, but he held the bowl steadily and began to drink the wine in small sips.

Song Ziming looked at him without saying a word.

This child is only five or six years old. At five or six, he should be in kindergarten, fighting with other children over toys, and snuggling in his mother's arms. Now he's lying in a hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, unaware that his mother will never come back.

After taking a few sips, Zhang Ke suddenly stopped.

"Uncle," he said, looking down at the porridge in his bowl, "where is my mother?"

Song Ziming smiled and said, "Your mother is seriously injured, and the doctor is treating her."

Zhang Ke raised her head and looked at him.

Those eyes, like those of any five- or six-year-old child, were clear, clean, and full of expectation. But there was a thin layer of water in them, the trace of long periods of crying.

"When can she come to see me?"

Song Ziming looked at him.

He remembered another pair of eyes. Thirty years ago, he had looked at that person in the same way and asked, "Where is my mother?"

The man didn't answer him. He simply picked him up and said, "Child, your mother is asleep."

He didn't know why that person lied. Maybe it was to save his life, or maybe they couldn't bear to tell a five-year-old the truth. Whatever the reason, those words haunted his dreams for many years. He dreamt that his mother woke up and came to take him home.

Then I woke up from the dream.

“Once you’re better,” Song Ziming said, “you can go see her.”

Zhang Ke stared at him for a long time.

"Really?"

"real."

Zhang Ke lowered her head and continued drinking her porridge.

He took a few sips, then stopped.

"Uncle," he said, "what's your name?"

"Song Zimo".

“Uncle Song,” Zhang Ke looked at him, “you’re a doctor, you can save a lot of people, right?”

Song Ziming nodded.

"Correct."

Zhang Ke thought about it.

"Then please save my mother."

Song Ziming looked at him.

“Okay,” he said.

A smile bloomed on Zhang Ke's face. It was the first time he had smiled since the accident, a forced, painful smile, tears still streaming down his face, snot running down his nose, but it was undeniably a smile. The kind of smile a child would have, completely open and honest, believing everything you said.

"Thank you, Uncle Song," he said.

Song Ziming stood up and patted his head.

"Eat well and sleep well. When you feel better, I'll take you for a walk in the garden. The hospital garden is very big, with fountains and pigeons, and many children like to go there."

Zhang Ke nodded.

Song Ziming turned and walked out.

In the corridor, the young nurse stood at the door, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Director Song," she whispered, "you're lying to him, but he'll find out later..."

Song Ziming looked at her.

"We'll talk about the future later," he said. "Right now, let him rest well. As long as he can eat and sleep, let him recover. We'll talk about the rest when he's able to handle it."

The young nurse stood at the door, watching his retreating figure, and tears finally streamed down her face.
-
At 3 p.m., another special patient arrived at the emergency department.

A 67-year-old woman was brought in complaining of "chest tightness." The triage nurse took her blood pressure and performed an electrocardiogram, but found no obvious abnormalities. As usual, she should have been referred to the internal medicine outpatient clinic to wait in line.

But Xiong Shihai took another look.

The old woman sat in a wheelchair, her complexion seemed fine, and her breathing was steady. But her hand was constantly pressed against her left shoulder; it wasn't just casually resting on it, but rather with her fingers, as if she were pressing down on something.

Xiong Shihai walked over and squatted down.

"Auntie, does your shoulder hurt?"

The old lady nodded. "It's a bit sore, it's an old problem, frozen shoulder."

"How long did the pain last?"

"It started today, along with the chest tightness."

Xiong Shihai's heart skipped a beat.

Frozen shoulder doesn't usually come with chest tightness. It's referred pain from the heart that does.

He stood up and said to the nurse, "Take him to the emergency room."

The nurse paused for a moment, then said, "Director Xiong, the electrocardiogram is normal..."

"Send him to the emergency room."

Five minutes later, bedside ultrasound in the emergency department showed that the ascending aorta was widened and there was an intimal flap floating inside.

Aortic dissection.

An hour later, the aorta would have ruptured, and even a miracle wouldn't have saved it.

The elderly woman was rushed to the operating center. Song Ziming was looking at outpatient medical records when he received the call; he put the records down and ran.

Thirty-five minutes later, the aortic replacement was completed. From entering the room to switching to cardiopulmonary bypass, it only took thirty-five minutes.

The old lady woke up shortly after the surgery.

Her son found Song Ziming and knelt down with a thud.

“Director Song,” he said, sobbing, “if it weren’t for you, my mother would be gone. The ER doctor said her ECG was normal and told us to go to the outpatient clinic and wait in line. If we really go to wait in line, we won’t get an appointment even by tomorrow…”

Song Ziming helped him up.

“It wasn’t us,” he said. “It was Dr. Xiong. He took another look.”
-
A few hours later, another phone call came.

"Is this Sanbo Emergency Department? There's a patient with sudden chest pain, expected to arrive in ten minutes. The family says the patient had heart surgery before, but the specific details are unclear."

Song Ziming put down the phone and glanced at the clock on the wall.

At 5:43 PM, the evening rush hour had just begun. The roads were completely jammed, and even ambulances could only move slowly.

He told Xiong Shihai, "This is an elderly cardiac surgery patient with an unclear medical history. Send someone to wait at the entrance and take him directly to the operating center, bypassing the emergency room. Bring the bedside ultrasound over and wait at the entrance of the operating center."

Xiong Shihai nodded and rushed out on his own.

Ten minutes later, the patient arrived. He was in his sixties, pale-faced, covered in sweat, confused, and with purple lips. Xiong Shihai took him off the vehicle and, pushing the stretcher, ran while asking questions of his family.

"What surgery? When was it performed?"

The family members were so frightened that they could barely speak: "Twelve...twelve years ago, the...petal replacement..." Xiong Shihai's heart skipped a beat.

After valve replacement surgery, the patient has been taking anticoagulants long-term and is now experiencing sudden chest pain—highly suspected to be aortic dissection, paravalvular leak, or coronary artery embolism. Any of these could be fatal within minutes.

The ultrasound confirmed Xiong Sihai's suspicions.

"Director Song!" he shouted as he rushed into the operating room.

Song Ziming was already dressed in surgical scrubs and waiting in the operating room.

The patient was wheeled in, and the anesthesia, intubation, disinfection, and thoracotomy were all performed in one go.

The moment the chest cavity was opened, everyone gasped.

There was a three-centimeter-long tear in the ascending aorta, from which blood was seeping. The aortic wall was as thin as paper and could burst at any moment. Blood had seeped into the pericardium, and the heart was so compressed that it could no longer beat.

Song Ziming's hands were very steady.

"Prepare for extracorporeal circulation," he said.

Intubation, transfer to a ventilator, cooling, aortic replacement, coronary artery reconstruction. Three and a half hours, every needle prick was as precise as a textbook.

When closing the chest, the anesthesiologist announced: "Blood pressure 115/70, heart rate 82, blood oxygen saturation 99%."

Song Ziming put down the needle holder.

"Send him to the ICU."

He walked out of the operating room, into the recovery room, and leaned against the wall. His surgical gown was soaked with sweat.

Xiong Shihai stood beside him and handed him a bottle of water.

“Director Song,” he said, “my heart stopped when they opened my chest just now.”

Song Ziming took a sip of water.

"It can't be that exaggerated," he said.

Xiong Shihai was stunned for a moment.

Then he said, "What you did is something a god would do. If it were someone else, they probably wouldn't even have found the breach before they were gone."

Song Ziming remained silent.

He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.
-
Before leaving get off work, he went to see the child again.

The ward was quiet, with only the nurses' station light on. The young nurse saw him, pointed to Zhang Ke's room, and whispered, "He's still awake, waiting."

Song Ziming pushed open the door and went in.

Zhang Ke was still awake, leaning against the headboard, clutching a plush bear in his hand. It was a gift from the nurse, who said that every child in the hospital had one. He gripped it so tightly that the bear's face was distorted.

His eyes lit up when he saw Song Ziming come in.

"Uncle Song!"

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

Why aren't you asleep yet?

Zhang Ke lowered his head.

"I can't sleep."

What are you thinking about?

Zhang Ke remained silent for a while.

I miss my mom.

Song Ziming remained silent.

Zhang Ke raised her head and looked at him.

"Uncle Song, will my mom really come to see me?"

Song Ziming looked at him.

Those eyes were still bright, but they were different from a few days ago. They held not only expectation, but also a hint of hesitation and fear. He was observing, probing, searching for answers in his own way.

He began to have doubts.

A five-year-old child is already starting to have doubts.

“Your mother really wants to see you,” Song Ziming said, “but she is badly injured and needs time to recover. The doctors are treating her, and you have to trust them.”

Zhang Ke looked at him.

"really?"

"real."

Zhang Ke lowered her head and remained silent.

He gripped the teddy bear's hand even tighter.

After a long time, he suddenly asked:
"Uncle Song, when you were injured as a child, did your mother come to see you?"

Song Ziming was stunned.

He looked at Zhang Ke, into those eyes, and suddenly didn't know what to say.

The nurse next to him watched him nervously.

Silent for a long time.

Silence washed over the room like water, engulfing the entire ward. The distant siren of an ambulance drifted in from outside the window, then faded into the distance.

Then Song Ziming said, "My mother passed away when I was five years old."

Zhang Ke raised her head and looked at him.

"What's up with her?"

"Car accident."

Zhang Ke remained silent for a few seconds.

"So...did you cry back then?"

Song Ziming thought for a moment.

"I cried," he said. "I cried for a long time."

"and after?"

"I gradually got better later."

Zhang Ke looked at him, her eyes slowly reddening.

“I want to cry too,” he said in a soft voice, “but I’m afraid to cry. I’m afraid that if I cry, my mother won’t come back.”

Song Ziming reached out and patted his head.

"Cry if you want to," he said. "After you've cried, eat and sleep as usual. No matter what happens, you have to live well."

Zhang Ke looked at him, tears falling drop by drop.

First came tears, then sobs, then quiet whimpers, then loud sobs. He threw himself into Song Ziming's arms, trembling all over, crying so hard he couldn't breathe.

Song Ziming held him without saying a word.

The nurse stood to the side, covering her mouth, not daring to make a sound.

Much later, Zhang Ke cried herself to sleep in his arms. Tears still clung to her face, but her brows relaxed and her breathing became steady.

Song Ziming gently put him back on the bed and covered him with the blanket.

He stood up and stared at that little face for a long time.

Then he turned and walked out.

The nurse followed them out into the corridor.

“Director Song,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed, “you… told him the truth today.”

Song Ziming nodded, "I guess so."

"why?"

Song Ziming remained silent for a few seconds.

“Because he’s starting to doubt me,” he said. “He knows I’m lying to him. A five-year-old can already think.”

He looked at the window at the end of the corridor. Outside the window was the city at night, with countless lights twinkling in the sky.

"Lying to him is a way to keep him alive first. But if we keep lying to him, he'll suffer even more when he grows up and learns the truth. He'll wonder, 'Why has everyone been lying to me? Why didn't anyone tell me the truth?'"

He paused.

"It's better to experience pain sooner rather than later."
-
The next morning, Xiong Shihai said during his shift handover.

"The patient with aortic dissection from yesterday has stable vital signs after the surgery and was extubated this morning. His son just contacted me."

He looked at Song Ziming.

He said, "Your emergency department is even better than the hospital where my dad had his surgery. At that hospital, we waited half an hour just for the consultation. My dad was in so much pain that he was rolling around on the bed waiting for them to come for the consultation, to discuss the treatment plan, and to arrange the surgery. By the end, he was almost dying."

He paused.

He said: "I only realized today that life-saving can happen so quickly."

"We will be even faster in the future; every second counts, which is the essence of emergency medicine," said Song Ziming.

After finishing his shift, Song Ziming stood by the office window, looking out.

The sun shone brightly outside the window, and people came and went at the entrance of Sanbo Hospital. There were elderly people with canes, young mothers holding children, caregivers pushing wheelchairs, and patients who had just gotten off ambulances. Some looked worried, some looked relieved, some cried, some laughed, and some waited silently in line.

The lights in the emergency room are always on, day and night.

He remembered what Zhang Ke had said last night.

Will your mother come to see you?

He looked out the window and said softly:
"Mom, I don't have time to see you. But I'm the mom who saved so many people."

The door was pushed open.

Xiong Shihai poked his head in.

"Director Song, the ambulance is here. Multiple injuries. Will you get on?"

Song Ziming stood up.

"superior."

He went outside.

In the emergency room corridor, a stretcher was being wheeled in, with a nurse jogging alongside and family members crying and shouting behind. Xiong Shihai was already triaging patients, his voice booming like thunder.

Song Ziming walked over.