After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

The footsteps stopped at the door.

The man who arrived was Old Wang from the internal medicine department, followed by several family members pushing a wheelchair. Sitting in the wheelchair was an elderly man in his sixties, his head tilted to one side, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, looking like a stroke patient.

"Old Wang! What are you up to?"

Upon seeing the newcomer, Zhao Haifeng's anger flared up instantly. He had nowhere to vent his frustration after being berated by Liang Guodong: "This is the archives! Dr. Ye just finished surgery; he's so exhausted he can barely lift his arms. What are you doing bringing an internal medicine patient here to cause trouble?"

He strode to the door, blocking Ye Zhen's path like a mother hen protecting her chicks: "Go get Danshen for a cerebral thrombosis, go get an IV drip! What good will seeing a surgeon do? Get out of here, get out of here!"

Old Wang looked distressed, clutching the patient's medical record book, the paper soaked with sweat. "Dean, it's not that I wanted to bother Dr. Ye. This patient... has been on IV fluids for two days, but instead of getting better, he's getting worse. When he was first admitted, he could still groan a little, but now he can't even open his mouth, and the water he's feeding him just spits out."

Zhao Haifeng's eyes widened: "That means the condition has worsened! If it's worsened, transfer to another hospital. What's the use of seeing Dr. Ye? She's holding a scalpel, not some elixir of immortality!"

The family member sitting beside the wheelchair was a dark-skinned man. Upon hearing this, he cried out in a tearful voice, "Doctor! Please, miracle doctor, take a look!"

The archives were in complete chaos.

Liang Guodong frowned, about to reprimand this kind of haphazard approach to treatment—everyone has their own expertise, and asking a renowned surgeon to treat a stroke patient is truly a waste of time.

"Bring it in."

A clear, cool voice pierced through the noise, instantly silencing the scene.

Ye Zhen remained seated in the dilapidated wooden chair, toying with the walnut she had taken from the old woman. She didn't get up, but her eyes, as cold as stars, were fixed on the old man's face in the wheelchair, even from a distance of three or four meters.

Zhao Haifeng panicked: "Xiao Ye, your health..."

"Push it over here." Ye Zhen repeated, her tone revealing neither joy nor anger, but carrying an unquestionable air.

Old Wang felt like he had been granted a pardon and quickly told his family to push the wheelchair to Ye Zhen.

Ye Zhen didn't look at the medical record or pick up the stethoscope. She leaned forward slightly and stared at the old man's face for a full ten seconds.

The old man's expression was strange.

His eyebrows were raised, as if in surprise; but his mouth was stretched wide, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow by smoke. At first glance, it looked like a smile. But the smile was stiff, eerie, and carried a chilling bitterness.

"He was smiling the whole time?" Ye Zhen suddenly asked.

The ruddy-faced man paused, wiping away tears. "Yes...yes! My father is sick, but he has a good attitude and is always cheerful. Doctor, does that mean his brain isn't completely damaged?"

"Laughing?"

Ye Zhen sneered, put down the walnuts, and suddenly reached out and grabbed the old man's chin.

Open your mouth.

The old man made a "whoosh" sound in his throat, his eyes were wide open, and the muscles on his face were trembling, but his mouth was as if it had been welded shut. Even if Ye Zhen used her strength, she could only pry it open slightly.

The jaw is clenched.

Ye Zhen released her grip, her fingertips sliding down the old man's jawline to his neck.

hard.

Hard as a rock.

The old man's neck muscles were in a state of extreme tension and rigidity, and his head tilted back uncontrollably, unable to lower itself.

"This is not a stroke."

Ye Zhen stood up, took out a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her hands. Her eyes instantly turned sharp as knives. "It's not that he has a good attitude. This is called a 'bitter smile,' caused by facial muscle spasms."

"Not a stroke?" Old Wang was dumbfounded. "His speech is slurred..."

Ye Zhen interrupted him, turning her gaze to the family members, "Have you been injured in the past month?"

The man shook his head blankly: "No! My dad is in good health. Apart from this sudden collapse, he hasn't even caught a cold. He's been working in the fields for a month without bumping into anything."

Think it through before you speak.

"Is there no injury at all, or do you think it's a minor injury and don't take it seriously?"

The man was stumped by the question. He scratched his head and thought for a long time, but still shook his head.

"Take off your shoes," Ye Zhen said, pointing to the old man's feet.

The man didn't dare to delay and quickly squatted down, hurriedly helping the old man take off his muddy liberation shoes.

A strong stench of foot odor instantly filled the air, a mixture of sweat, acid, and years of accumulated dirt. Liang Guodong instinctively held his breath, while Zhao Haifeng covered his nose with his hand.

Ye Zhen didn't even frown.

She crouched down and her long, slender fingers grasped the dirty foot directly.

All the doctors present gasped in shock.

These hands, which were just performing the most delicate brain surgery, are now grabbing a farmer's smelly foot without any hesitation.

Ye Zhen rolled up the old man's trouser leg, revealing that his calf skin was intact. She then turned his foot over, revealing thick calluses on the soles, like cowhide, making it impossible to see any wounds.

"This...this is nothing..." the man muttered softly.

Ye Zhen brought the old man's feet close to her eyes and used her thumb to forcefully pry open the tightly closed gaps between his toes.

Between the third and fourth toes, there is a tiny, extremely well-hidden black dot. It's only the size of a grain of rice, covered with a layer of black scab, and is virtually invisible unless you carefully peel it off.

Ye Zhen stretched out her fingernail and gently scraped the scab.

Ye Zhen pointed at the small black dot, looked up at the man, and asked sharply, "What is this?"

The man was terrified. He leaned closer for a look, then slapped his thigh: "Ouch! This...this was about two weeks ago, when my dad went to repair the pigsty and stepped on a rusty nail! He bled a little, but he just used some dirt to stop the bleeding and didn't care about it...It's just a small hole, it's already healed!"

"Is it healed?"

Ye Zhen stood up and looked at the man. "The wound has healed, but the poison is still trapped inside."

She turned around, looked at the bewildered Old Wang and the shocked Zhao Haifeng, and uttered a single word, slowly and deliberately:

"tetanus."

The moment those three words were uttered, the air in the archives seemed to freeze instantly.

In the rural areas of that era, the words "tetanus" were practically synonymous with "an invitation from the King of Hell." Locals called it "seven-day wind" or "locked-mouth wind," and once it flared up, it was truly deadly.

"Tetanus...?" Old Wang was so shocked he dropped the medical record. "The incubation period has been half a month? And why does it look like a stroke..."

"Tetanus bacteria are anaerobic bacteria, and the deeper the wound and the smaller the opening, the easier it is for them to multiply." Ye Zhen spoke rapidly, as if delivering a verdict. "The toxin travels up the motor nerve trunk, first attacking the masseter muscle, causing trismus; then the facial muscles, resulting in a wry smile; and then neck stiffness. What you think is 'hemiplegia' is actually a precursor to muscle rigidity and spasm."

She pointed to the old man's neck: "He already has opisthotonus. The toxin has already invaded the anterior horn of the spinal cord."

Liang Guodong stood up abruptly, slamming his cane on the ground. His face was extremely grim: "Nonsense! Utter nonsense! What's wrong with the internal medicine department? Don't they ask about the history of trauma during the consultation?"

Old Wang turned pale with fright and trembled, unable to speak.

"Stop yelling, save your energy."

Ye Zhen had no time to listen to their self-criticisms. She walked to her desk, grabbed a prescription, and her pen flew across the paper.

"Now is not the time to assign blame. This level of spasm could lead to laryngospasm and suffocation at any moment."

She slammed the list on the table and issued instructions at lightning speed, her commanding presence returning once more:

"First, immediately move the patient to a private room, hang dark curtains, maintain absolute quiet, and eliminate all sound and light stimulation. Even the slightest sound could trigger a fatal spasm."

"Second, administer a high-dose intravenous penicillin to eliminate the source of the toxin. The wound needs to be reopened and thoroughly cleaned with hydrogen peroxide."

"Third, and most importantly," Ye Zhen looked at Zhao Haifeng, "Does the hospital have tetanus antitoxin (TAT)? Or tetanus immunoglobulin?"

Zhao Haifeng paused for a moment, then smiled wryly: "Dr. Ye, this is a county hospital... We might have a few vials of regular TAT, but immunoglobulin... that stuff is very precious, it's only available in the city."

"A few doses of TAT aren't enough." Ye Zhen frowned, her eyes grave. "Moreover, with this kind of severe illness, without neutralization treatment, he won't last more than three days on sedatives alone."

Although the man kneeling on the ground didn't understand the technical terms, he got the gist of it—his father was dying.

"Doctor! Help! We didn't know it was tetanus!" the man cried, tears and snot streaming down his face. "I'm begging you!"

Ye Zhen avoided his kneeling and looked at Liang Guodong.

"Professor Liang."

Liang Guodong was in a state of extreme shock.

What shocked him was not the disease itself, but Ye Zhen's keen eye.

A surgeon who is not only proficient in craniotomy, but also able to accurately identify such extremely subtle and specific infections within seconds through facial features and gait. This is not just "a little knowledge," this is clearly a generalist!

Hearing Ye Zhen call his name, Liang Guodong instinctively straightened his back: "Yes!"

Ye Zhen pointed to the old man who seemed on the verge of suffocating: "Medical conditions in Qingyun County are limited. If you want this old man to live, you'll have to go to the city."

Liang Guodong instantly understood what she meant.

Without a word, he turned and walked out, yelling as he went, "Driver! Prepare the car! Contact the pharmacy at the First Municipal Hospital immediately and get all the immunoglobulin in stock! Also, have the respiratory department prepare a ventilator, ready to pick someone up at any time!"

As Liang Guodong reached the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back to take a deep look at Ye Zhen.

In those eyes, there was more than just admiration; it was a sense of kinship with someone who was like them, and even a hint of... awe.

"Dr. Ye," Liang Guodong said in a deep voice, "if this person is saved, you will get the credit."

After saying that, he strode out.

In the archives, Zhao Haifeng wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his gaze towards Ye Zhen extremely complex.

He knew that Liang Guodong was right.

After today's series of astonishing events, the name Ye Zhen is likely to cause a sensation in the entire provincial capital's medical community.

At this moment, Ye Zhen acted as if she had done something insignificant. She wearily rubbed her temples and turned to look at the still bewildered Old Wang from the internal medicine department and his family in the corner.

"What are you all standing there for? Pack your things, get ready to transfer to another hospital, and get in Professor Liang's car!"

Old Wang suddenly realized what was happening, pushed his wheelchair and ran, faster than a rabbit.

Ye Zhen leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath.