A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

Just then, Zhou Yi rushed over. Seeing this scene, he smiled and asked, "Dr. Zhou, what happened?"

Zhou Hongmei introduced the old man's situation, and Zhou Yi understood. He smiled and said to the old man, "Grandpa, Dr. Zhou is a very responsible and good doctor. She has been very busy these past few days, treating new patients while also organizing traditional Chinese medicine materials."

"Isn't your leg much better? It's all thanks to Dr. Zhou; how could she not care about you?"

Hearing Zhou Yi's explanation, Grandpa Rehemaiti felt relieved and a smile appeared on his face. "So that's how it is. I thought you were angry. Dr. Zhou, I'm sorry, I was just imagining things."

Zhou Hongmei smiled and said, "It's alright, sir. I apologize for not telling you beforehand. How are you feeling now? Does your leg still hurt? Would you like me to give you a few acupuncture treatments now?"

Grandpa Rehemaiti nodded repeatedly: "Okay, okay! I want you to give me acupuncture right now. I haven't had it for a few days, and my legs feel a bit heavy again."

Seeing this, Zhou Yi smiled and said, "Then you guys go ahead with your treatment. I'll go to the ward to check on Amardan. Call me anytime if you need anything."

For Zhou Yi, the days following Amardan's surgery felt like an eternity.

He practically moved his bedding to the duty room next to the ward, only daring to nap for three or four hours a day, spending the rest of his time by the patient's bedside.

On the second day after the surgery, Ameldan's low-grade fever not only failed to subside but rose to 39.5 degrees Celsius. The signs of lung infection became increasingly obvious, and breathing became more difficult. The blood oxygen saturation on the monitor kept dropping, which was alarming. Zhou Yi quickly adjusted the antibiotic dosage, but the effect was not satisfactory.

"Dr. Zhou, the patient's temperature is still not coming down, and the sputum is increasing. Should we increase the dosage?" the attending nurse asked cautiously.

Zhou Yi shook his head: "No, if the dosage is increased further, the liver and kidneys won't be able to handle it."

He pulled out his phone to message the team in Dalian, his fingers trembling slightly, "Director Li, the patient seems to have developed resistance to the current antibiotics, and the infection is out of control. What should we do?"

While waiting for news, he went to the corridor to smoke. Just as he lit a cigarette, he heard whispers coming from the nurses' station.

"Don't you think Dr. Zhou is being too reckless? Making his first surgery so complicated, and now the patient has such serious complications, what if…?"

"Keep your voice down! The head doctor has said it several times behind my back, that this surgery shouldn't have been done at all, that it's just using patients as guinea pigs."

"That's right. No matter how good traditional surgery is, it wouldn't cause an infection to last this long. Now the hospital director comes to ask about the situation every day. Dr. Zhou must be under immense pressure."

These words pierced Zhou Yi's ears like needles. In fact, even without others saying them, he himself began to have doubts.

This was the first right-sided small-incision mitral valve repair surgery performed in the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps. He had confidently assured the patient that there would be no problem, but now the patient was lying in bed with his life hanging in the balance, and drug resistance had even developed. He couldn't help but ask himself: Was he really too eager for quick results? Should he have listened to Director Nurbahati and chosen the traditional surgery, which would have been a safer option?

Just as he was pondering this, Director Nurbahati, accompanied by several doctors, made their rounds and stopped in Aimerdan's ward.

"Zhou Yi, how is the patient's condition?"

"I still have a fever, and I've developed antibiotic resistance. I've already contacted the Dalian team to adjust the treatment plan," Zhou Yi replied truthfully.

Nuerbahati turned to the doctor beside him and said, "Drug resistance? Look at this, this is the consequence of blindly pursuing new technologies."

Traditional surgery, while more invasive, has better control over postoperative infections, so how could this drug resistance problem arise? The suffering the patient is experiencing now could have been avoided.

The young doctor next to him chimed in, "The director is right. Our hospital's equipment and patients' physical conditions are different from those in Dalian. New technologies really do need to be introduced gradually."

Zhou Yi wanted to say something, but looking at Ameldan still struggling in the ward, he swallowed his words. He knew that arguing now was useless; only the results mattered. But the pressure in his heart was growing, making it hard for him to breathe.

Dean Zhang Jianguo also paid special attention to this matter, and he would come to the ward every morning and evening, asking questions in great detail each time.

"Zhou Yi, are there any new treatment plans in Dalian? Are the patient's family members still calm?"

Dean Zhang's tone was calm, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Dean, the Dalian team is adjusting the medication plan, and the family is quite understanding and hasn't said anything."

Zhou Yi responded in a low voice.

During this period, Zhou Yi was almost worn out.

During the day, they stay by the patients' side, monitoring their vital signs, adjusting their medications, and providing suctioning and nursing care, never daring to stop for a moment; at night, they either hold video conferences with the Dalian team until the early hours of the morning, or stare blankly at the medical records, repeatedly pondering whether there was any oversight during the surgery.

Sometimes I'm so tired that I can fall asleep sitting in a chair, but my dreams are filled with the alarms from the patient monitors. As soon as I open my eyes, I'm so scared that I rush to the ward to check on them.

Dili and Amanjiang saw this and felt both grateful and guilty. Every day, Dili would bring Zhou Yi homemade naan and milk tea, saying sincerely, "Dr. Zhou, please don't overwork yourself, take a rest. My husband is recovering slowly, it's not your fault, it's just that his health isn't good. You've already done your best."

Zhou Yi accepted the warm milk tea, a touch of warmth rising in his heart, but more than anything, he felt anxious. "It's alright, I'm young, I can handle it. As long as your dad gets better, that's more important than anything else."

Just when Zhou Yi was about to give up, the Dalian team finally sent a new medication plan, switching to a more targeted antibiotic. Zhou Yi quickly adjusted according to the plan, clinging to his last glimmer of hope.

However, in the first two days of medication, the effect was still not obvious, and Ameldan's body temperature continued to fluctuate.

Zhou Yi felt even more panicked and even began to waver: Had he really chosen the wrong surgical method?

If he had listened to the doctor and opted for traditional surgery, wouldn't the patient have avoided suffering so much? Once this thought popped into his head, it grew like weeds, causing him immense torment.

The gossip surrounding Corey never stopped. Some said he was overestimating himself, others said he was reckless in his pursuit of fame, and still others even hinted to patients' families that the I Ching's techniques were unreliable.

Fortunately, Dili and Amanjiang always trusted him and never mentioned changing doctors to him.

The family's trust acted like a shot in the arm, calming Zhou Yi down a bit, but the patient's condition couldn't wait.