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

Patrick slammed the newspaper on the table.

"The media doesn't understand medicine."

The secretary was in a difficult position.

"They brought copies of the medical records and said they were willing to accept an evaluation of the Chinese approach."

Harold frowned.

"That's ridiculous, we haven't even finished reviewing the documents yet."

A woman's crying could be heard from outside the door.

"Sir, I only ask that you take a look at my son's medical records."

A mother's voice, trembling, squeezed in.

"We're not rushing the surgery; we just want to know if he still has a chance."

Patrick stood up.

"Have security guards maintain order."

Williams raised his hand.

"Don't call security."

Patrick looked at him.

"You want to turn the conference room into a petition hall?"

Williams fastened his briefcase.

"I want you to hear what's happening outside the door."

Harold said.

"Medical decisions should not be swayed by tears."

Williams nodded.

"I agree, so I brought the complete angiography video, the complete blood oxygen curve, the complete test results, and the heart sounds I heard with my own ears."

Someone called from outside the door again.

"Sir Williams, just tell us one thing: can Chinese doctors save the child?"

The doctors in the conference room looked at each other, but no one spoke.

Williams walked to the door, opened it, and found the corridor filled with parents. Some were holding thick medical records, some were pushing wheelchairs, and some were holding children with bluish-purple faces.

A young mother rushed to the front, clutching a newspaper clipping in her hand.

"Sir, my husband says the newspapers are exaggerating, but I want to ask, can Alice really return to normal?"

Williams looked at her.

"able."

The woman's tears fell onto the newspaper clipping.

"Did she really not have open-chest surgery this time?"

Williams answered.

"no."

Another man asked.

"What about my son? The doctor said he won't live to adulthood."

Williams did not offer any casual words of comfort.

"Give the medical records to the secretary and categorize them by disease type."

Patrick shouted sternly from behind.

"Sir, you haven't obtained authorization from the committee."

Williams turned around.

"The committee can continue its discussion; I will now proceed with the medical record registration."

Harold stood up.

"You're going to send the British patient to China?"

Williams said.

"I would suggest that the government immediately compile a list of children with congenital heart disease who are suitable for interventional treatment."

Patrick looked grim.

"Do you know what this means?"

Williams looked at him.

"This means we still have a chance to acknowledge the gap, learn the technology, and save a group of children."

A low sob came from the corridor. The secretary was holding the medical records, and her eyes were red.

Green stood up and handed his notebook to his secretary.

"Classified into three types: simple atrial septal defect, simple ventricular septal defect, and complex congenital heart disease."

Anderson also stood up.

"I'm here to ask about your medication history."

Patrick looked at them.

"Are you all crazy?"

Anderson looked up.

"Professor Patrick, I have seen 35-minute surgeries in Beijing, and I have also seen a group of Chinese students convert an old warehouse into a dormitory and practice on the cement floor until midnight in order to learn how to save lives."

Harold sneered.

"Heroic stories can't be included in this guide."

Green took over the conversation.

"But guidelines shouldn't block out new evidence."

Williams walked back to the table and put the last videotape into the box.

"Please write down my conclusions in today's meeting minutes."

The secretary immediately grabbed a pen.

Williams said, word by word.

"Dr. Ye Zhen's two-stage interventional closure has established a new clinical standard for artificial window openings after Fontan fenestration surgery."

Patrick's face darkened.

That's too harsh a statement.

Williams looked at him.

"I'm willing to sign."

Harold said.

"You will face pressure from the medical association."

"I know."

"Whitehall might get involved."

Williams pulled the pen away.

"So I will write a letter to the Prime Minister tonight."

The sound in the conference room disappeared.

Patrick took a breath.

"Are you going to write directly to Downing Street?"

"Yes."

"In what capacity?"

Williams signed his name on the meeting minutes.

"As someone who was once the most vehemently opposed to Ye Zhen, as someone who witnessed Alice survive, and as a cardiothoracic surgeon at the Royal Infirmary of England."

Harold looked at the signature.

"What if the Prime Minister disagrees?"

Williams put the pen cap back on.

"Then I will continue writing, to the Secretary of Health, to the Medical Association, to the Queen, and to everyone who is willing to open the medical records."

Patrick didn't try to persuade him any further. The sound of rain falling on the window made the air in the meeting room feel heavy and suffocating. Outside the door, family members lined up to register, and the sounds of children coughing and turning pages mingled together.

As Williams put away the documents and walked out of the conference room, the young mother stopped him.

"Sir, can my daughter go to China?"

Williams looked down at the cover of the medical record. The child's name was Mary, five years old, and she had recurring cyanosis. He handed the medical record to Green.

"Register first, then have the ultrasound tomorrow."

The woman grabbed his bag strap.

"Will you ask for us?"

Williams stopped in his tracks.

"I will write letters."

"To whom is it written?"

"Written for those who can decide whether face or life comes first."

In the Royal Hospital office late at night, only the desk lamp was on. Williams placed Alice's pre-operative photos on the left and her post-operative blood oxygen curve on the right. Downing Street stationery was spread out in the middle, and the pen hovered over the paper for a long time. The clock on the wall ticked past eleven.

Green knocked on the door and came in, carrying a cup of black coffee.

"Sir, you should rest."

Williams did not look up.

"I'm not sleepy."

The pen tip glided across the paper, writing the first line: Your Excellency, Madam Prime Minister.

He wrote about how Alice was deemed unsuitable for surgery by several European hospitals, about the fenestration surgery in Berlin, about the 35-minute interventional occlusion in Beijing, about how the 8mm occluder replaced the 12mm occluder specified in the instruction manual, about how her blood oxygen level returned from the brink of danger to 95 after the surgery, and about the child telling reporters in the hospital corridor that she had a window to China in her heart.

Green stood beside the bookshelf, listening to the sound of pens.

"Sir, what are you going to suggest?"

Williams did not stop writing.

"Immediately compile a list of all children with complex congenital heart disease in the UK, establish a case assessment form, and establish a formal medical connection with the China Huaxia Heart Center."

"Green asked softly."

"This will embarrass many people."

Williams looked up, took off his glasses, and touched the bridge of his nose.

"Green, when the child was lying in the hospital bed, no one asked the child's parents if they felt embarrassed."

A soft knock came at the door, and the secretary peeked in.

"Sir, there are still thirty-seven medical records, and the families refuse to leave."

Williams handed the first two pages, which he had written, to Green.

"A copy of the post-operative curve is attached to the letter."

The secretary asked.

"What about the family members?"

Williams picked up his coat.

"Pour them hot tea and tell them that the Royal Hospital will remain open tonight."

Green looked at him.

"Do you want to see the medical records?"

Williams put the pen back in his pocket.

"Yes."

He walked to the door, then looked back at the letter on the table. Under the lamp, the last line of ink on the letter was still wet.

If this is a humiliation that British medicine must face, then please allow us to replace that humiliation with the breathing of children.

Williams opened the door, and the parents who had been waiting all night in the corridor looked up at the same time. He picked up the first medical record.

"What will you name the next child?"