A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

In the operating room, the only sounds were the regular beeping of the instruments and the occasional numbers announced by the anesthesiologist.

Under the operating lights, Nurbahati was focused on performing the surgery, while Zhou Yi stared intently at the monitor screen.

The patient was Batel, a well-known local herder elder, 73 years old, with severe mitral valve regurgitation. His whole family and even the villagers in the entire herding area were waiting for the surgery results.

"The adhesions are more severe than expected."

Nuerbahati's deep voice rang out as he carefully separated the fibrous tissue around the valve using the laparoscopic instruments in his hands.

Zhou Yi nodded slightly: "Do you need me to adjust the angle?"

"Need not."

Nurbahati is a veteran in the department, with over twenty years of experience in open abdominal heart surgery, making him one of the most respected figures in the city.

Only recently, under the guidance of Zhou Yi, have I begun to learn minimally invasive techniques, and the transition is proving somewhat difficult.

"Be careful, the tissue here is fragile," Zhou Yi whispered a reminder.

Nurbahati grunted in response, but suddenly increased the pressure on his hands. It was a habit he had when performing abdominal surgery; he always liked to use a bit of force to ensure a complete separation.

However, in laparoscopic surgery, this force is amplified several times when transmitted to the end through thin instruments.

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The subtle yet clear sound was transmitted to everyone's ears through the device.

On the monitor, an irregular tear suddenly appeared on the wall of the left atrium, and bright red blood gushed out instantly, blurring the vision.

"There's bleeding!" the scrub nurse said anxiously.

麻醉师立刻报数：「血压下降，90/60...85/55...80/50！」

The atmosphere in the operating room instantly became tense.

Nuerbahati froze for half a second, then hurriedly manipulated the suction device to clear the field of effect, but the blood gushed out too quickly, blurring his vision.

"Director Nu, let me handle this," Zhou Yi's voice rang out steadily.

"I can handle it!"

Nurbahati's voice was clearly panicked, and his hand movements were somewhat chaotic.

While trying to locate the bleeding point, the tip of his instrument accidentally touched a nearby blood vessel.

"Don't move!"

Zhou Yi raised his voice this time, "You've touched a vein!"

It was so close to a second major hemorrhage.

The anesthesiologist's voice was already urgent: "The blood pressure is still dropping; an emergency blood transfusion is needed!"

There was no time to hesitate.

Zhou Yi quickly took over the surgical position, accurately located the tear point, and skillfully manipulated the instruments with his fingers. With the assistance of the minimally invasive instruments, the bleeding was significantly reduced.

After seven stitches, the tear was basically closed.

Twelve needles were inserted, and the bleeding stopped.

The whole process took no more than eight minutes, but it felt like eight hours to Nurbahati.

He stood aside, looking at Zhou Yi, who wasn't much older than his son, and was instantly stunned.

"Blood pressure is rising, 95/60...100/65..." The anesthesiologist's voice softened.

Zhou Yi didn't stop, carefully examining the surrounding tissue: "There's still some bleeding from the small blood vessels; it needs further treatment."

The surgery ultimately lasted three hours.

When Elder Batel was wheeled out of the operating room and sent directly to the ICU, Nurbahati's surgical gown was already soaked with sweat.

The trouble started early the next morning.

Nurbahati had just changed into his white coat when he heard a commotion in the corridor.

He walked out of his office and saw Elder Batel's son, Bu, and seven or eight men dressed as herdsmen blocking the entrance to the cardiac surgery department. The head nurse was trying to persuade them to leave.

"That's him!"

Buhe recognized Nurbahati immediately and pointed him out, "You're the one who did this to my father. He's in the ICU now, what do you have to say for him?"

Nurbahati opened his mouth, but found his throat dry: "There were some complications during the surgery, but we..."

"An accident? I've already inquired; it's because your skills are lacking!"

Buhe's voice echoed in the corridor, "What right does a doctor of your caliber have to operate on my father? Are you using someone's life as practice?"

A number of patients and their families had already gathered around.

"We want to change doctors! We want to report this to the National Health Commission!"

Bu and the herdsmen behind him echoed him, their voices growing louder and louder.

Zhou Yi rushed over upon hearing the news and managed to persuade the person to temporarily move to the conference room. But the matter had already spread.

At lunchtime in the canteen, Nurbahati had just sat down with his tray when he overheard the conversation at the next table.

"Have you heard? Something went wrong with the surgery I performed yesterday."

"The mitral valve repair resulted in a left atrial rupture, causing massive bleeding, and he almost didn't survive."

"He's long out of touch with minimally invasive techniques, yet he still occupies the lead surgeon position. He's dragged down the department's minimally invasive surgery success rate by a huge margin..."

Nuerbahati tightened his grip on his chopsticks, and finally got up and left the canteen.

That afternoon, the head nurse came to him with a troubled expression: "Director Nu, the three patients who had previously scheduled your surgery... all requested to reschedule with Dr. Zhou."

Nurhabati looked at the name that had been crossed out and then changed on the appointment form, nodded, and said nothing.

In the evening, he went to the ICU.

Through the glass, Elder Batel was covered in tubes, and the numbers on the monitor were jumping.

Buhe sat on the bench outside, looked up and saw him, his eyes filled with anger and contempt.

Nurbahati turned and left, his steps unsteady.

Back in his office, he saw an old photo on his desk—a photo taken ten years ago when he received the title of "Outstanding Surgeon of the City," standing in the middle with a confident smile.

At that time, he had the highest success rate in the entire hospital for open abdominal heart surgery.

But now?

He recalled a previous internal technical discussion meeting where Zhou Yi demonstrated a new minimally invasive suturing technique, and he had dismissively commented, "It's all show and no substance; in actual surgery, there aren't that many ideal conditions."

The hesitant expressions on the young doctors' faces at the time now seem particularly jarring.

My phone vibrated; it was a message from my wife: "Are you coming home for dinner tonight? Our son says he misses you."

Nuerbahati stared at the screen, his eyes suddenly welling up with tears.

He remembered how his son used to proudly tell his classmates when he was little, "My dad is a doctor who saves lives." Now his son is in college, and if he knew that his father had made a mistake on the operating table and almost killed a patient...

On the computer screen, Nurbahati created a new document, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a long time before finally typing a line:

"Report on Applying to No Longer Perform Minimally Invasive Surgeries"

Just as the last period was struck, there was a knock on the door.

Nurbaha sent the email to the dean.

Zhou Yi stood at the door, holding a medical record in his hand: "Director Nu, Elder Batel's postoperative indicators have changed somewhat, and I need you to take a look."

Nuerbahati quickly minimized the document window and took a deep breath: "Come in."