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

The window in the corridor was half open, letting in the May wind.

Ye Zhen held the enamel mug, the rim of which was hot to the touch, but she didn't switch hands.

Gu Zheng stood beside her, his shoulder blocking several pairs of eyes that rushed in from the stairwell.

"Is it hot?"

"good."

"It's alright, your hands are all red."

Gu Zheng reached out and pulled the jar from her palm, tested the temperature through the cuff of her military uniform, and then turned the handle to a direction that was convenient for her to hold.

"Uncle Zhang, they've probably started arguing in that room."

Ye Zhen looked at the half-closed door of the film reading room.

A hushed argument could be heard coming from under the door. Professor Zhao's voice wasn't loud, but every word he uttered was harsh.

"I don't object to supplementary opinions from consultations, but who dares to write such a judgment into the patient's medical record? Pancreatic head mass, jaundice, weight loss, bile duct dilation—aren't these all signs of malignancy?"

Another director chimed in, "Dr. Ye's suggestion of hormone diagnosis and treatment isn't entirely untenable in theory, but given your high-ranking position, what if there's progress in three days?"

"Progress?" Professor Zhao sneered. "Pancreatic cancer doesn't wait for anyone. If it's operable now, but delayed until it's inoperable, who will bear the responsibility?"

Gu Zheng lowered his eyebrows as he listened.

"They really dare to say that."

Ye Zhen took a sip of hot water, and the heat scalded her throat, which actually suppressed the drowsiness that had accumulated since last night.

"Seeing a mass in the head of the pancreas and jaundice is the safest way to diagnose pancreatic cancer. If surgery is the wrong decision, it's called doing your best. If not surgery is the wrong decision, it's called delaying treatment."

"So you said the most hurtful things to them first."

Someone has to say it.

Gu Zheng took out a White Rabbit milk candy from his pocket, tore off the wrapper, and stuffed it into her hand.

"Keep it in your mouth."

Ye Zhen looked down.

"I just ate."

"You only drank water."

"Gu Zheng".

"Um?"

"I'm not a child."

"I know." Gu Zheng pushed the candy further onto her fingertips. "No kid is as hard to coax as you."

Ye Zhen looked at him for two seconds, then put the candy in her mouth.

As the aroma of milk wafted through the air, a different time was swirling in her mind.

It wasn't until 1995 that foreign scholars systematically proposed this type of disease.

Autoimmune pancreatitis, IgG4-related disease, diffuse pancreatic enlargement, pancreatic duct stenosis or dilation, obstructive jaundice, occasional parotid gland involvement, and sensitivity to hormones.

These terms, if used now, would not be taken as diagnostic criteria by anyone.

What's more troublesome is that IgG4 cannot be detected in the country at all.

She cannot use the naming of the future to pressure these experts in front of her.

All we have are medical history, imaging, laboratory tests, and drug reactions.

Seeing that she didn't speak, Gu Zheng placed the enamel mug on the windowsill and turned his head to look at her.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how to make them understand."

"Haven't you already explained it clearly enough?"

"That's not enough." Ye Zhen raised her hand to rub her temples, then quickly put it down again. "What they're hearing now is me saying that the experts are all wrong. No matter how reasonable my reasoning is, they'll still think about the risks first."

Gu Zheng turned his head and glanced at the film viewing room.

"Then let them fear another risk."

Ye Zhen turned her face away.

Gu Zheng lowered his voice.

"If the surgery is performed, the old commander will be embarrassed. Who will take responsibility?"

Ye Zhen looked at him for a moment before saying, "Your words are more effective than mine."

"Shall I go inside and talk?"

"no."

Why?

"Doctors can talk about risks, but if you go in, it shows you're taking a family-oriented attitude."

Gu Zheng lowered his eyes and stared at her, his lips moved, but he swallowed his words back.

"Okay, I won't cause any trouble."

Ye Zhen took out a pen from her white coat pocket, picked up a blank examination application form from the windowsill, and wrote a few lines on the back.

Gu Zheng leaned closer to take a look.

"Dexamethasone, intravenous drip, closely monitor blood glucose, electrolytes, infection markers, changes in bilirubin, changes in abdominal pain, and repeat ultrasound examination."

"Does that prove anything?"

"uncertain."

"Then you just said three days."

"I said three days because if this disease is truly sensitive to hormones, the clinical response will be rapid. Jaundice will decrease, abdominal pain will lessen, and pancreatic edema will subside. Even if the imaging changes are not significant, the bilirubin curve will speak for itself."

Gu Zheng frowned.

"Is there a risk?"

"Yes." Ye Zhen capped the pen. "Hormones can mask infections, raise blood sugar, or cause ulcers to bleed. We need to monitor elderly people very closely when they take medication."

"Then you still dare to bring it up?"

"Because the other path is more dangerous." She folded the paper. "Whipple surgery has a large incision, many anastomoses, bleeding, pancreatic fistula, infection—any one of these hurdles can be fatal. If it really is cancer, it's worth the risk. If not, it would be such a waste to send someone who can be relieved by medication to the operating table."

The door to the film reading room was pulled open from the inside.

The young attending physician poked his head out, looking troubled.

"Dr. Ye, Dean Zhang would like to invite you in."

Gu Zheng handed her the enamel mug.

"Finish it."

Ye Zhen took it, drank half a cup, and then returned the jar to him.

The viewing room was even more stuffy than before.

The windows were closed, the lightbox was still on, and the CT scans were hanging on it; that grayish-white image became a thorn that everyone couldn't avoid.

Professor Zhao sat at the end of the long table, with medical records spread out beside him, the metal clips making a creaking sound as he pressed them down.

Zhang Guohua stood in the middle, without a smile on his face.

"Ye Zhen, we've already discussed this."

Ye Zhen nodded.

"Please speak."

Professor Zhao spoke first.

"I'd like to ask, have there been any confirmed cases of this inflammatory pseudotumor you mentioned in China before?"

"few."

"How little?"

"So rare that most doctors wouldn't list it as a first-line diagnosis."

"Doesn't that mean there's no basis for it?"

Ye Zhen didn't rush to refute. She walked to the lightbox, took down one of the photos, and replaced it with another.

"Professor Zhao, the basis for your argument comes not only from reports, but also from the patients themselves."

"Stop beating around the bush." ​​Professor Zhao raised his hand and pointed to the scan. "There's a lesion in this area. The patient has jaundice and is losing weight. You're telling us to forgo surgery and switch to hormone therapy? What if it's cancer?"

"I didn't ask you to give up the surgery," Ye Zhen said, looking at him. "I only request a 72-hour postponement."

"Even seventy-two hours could be delayed."

"Pancreatic cancer will not change from resectable to inoperable within 72 hours."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Professor Zhao's expression darkened further.

"Can you guarantee that?"

"No one in medicine can guarantee all outcomes." Ye Zhen placed the written medication observation plan on the table. "That's why I require monitoring, rather than blindly administering medication."

Zhang Guohua picked up the paper and read it line by line.

"Blood glucose every six hours, body temperature, white blood cell count, liver function, bilirubin, abdominal pain score, urine output, and follow-up imaging."

The head of the gastroenterology department leaned over to take a look, and his brow relaxed a little.

"This dosage is indeed controllable."

Professor Zhao looked at him.

"Are you joining in this nonsense too?"

The head of the gastroenterology department didn't look too good.

"Professor Zhao, that's not what I meant. But Dr. Ye mentioned swollen parotid glands. I just looked through the outpatient records before admission, and the leader did mention dry mouth. The doctor didn't write it in as the chief complaint, but only noted half a sentence on the side."

Ye Zhen looked up.

"This is very important."

Professor Zhao's face was stern.

"Can dry mouth and swollen parotid glands really rule out pancreatic cancer?"

"No," Ye Zhen said, "but it suggests that this is not an isolated pancreatic problem."

Zhang Guohua glanced at her.

"You mean, the same immune response can affect multiple glands?"

"right."

The head of the gastroenterology department sat up straighter.

"If we follow this line of thought, the leader's blood sugar fluctuations can also be explained. The pancreas was diffusely affected, and the endocrine function was temporarily impaired, so he was initially diagnosed with new-onset diabetes before being admitted to the hospital."

"Yes."

Professor Zhao closed the medical record folder.

"In the end, it's still just guessing."

Ye Zhen looked at him.

"The diagnosis of pancreatic cancer is also a deduction before pathology is available."