American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

The Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai is ranked among the top five in the United States for cardiothoracic surgery.

Julian felt his father's gaze.

"Thank you, Professor Ross. I will definitely consider it carefully."

A standard answer is appropriate, unhurried, and leaves room for flexibility.

For the next hour and a half, Julian offered toasts, shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries.

Dr. Ross is currently promoting a minimally invasive valve replacement project.

Let's discuss the future of federal healthcare funding, a topic of concern to foundation board members.

Let's discuss the data from a multicenter study that will soon be published in the Annals of Thoracic Surgery.

Every word was perfectly crafted.

He even told a joke about resident physicians on duty at the right moment, which drew a round of polite laughter.

After the dinner, Julian called a car for his father.

Old Cabot did not get in the car immediately.

He stood under a streetlamp on Fifth Avenue, took a folded card from the inside pocket of his coat, and handed it to Julian.

"I've already discussed the wording with the PR team for tomorrow's press conference."

Julian took it.

The card is printed with the heading of Metropolitan Public Hospital, followed by five pre-set questions and their corresponding standard answers, with key wording highlighted in bold.

The third question is, "What was the biggest challenge during the surgery?"

The answer states: "The pulmonary artery branch tear is located deep in the mediastinum, making it difficult to expose directly via conventional surgical approaches. Exploration and suturing must be completed within an extremely limited space."

Every word is true, but he didn't write any of them.

Old Cabot patted him on the shoulder: "You did well tonight. Just read it as is tomorrow, don't improvise."

Julian nodded.

"Okay, Dad."

The Cabot family's co-working apartment on Park Avenue, a penthouse duplex.

Julian entered without turning on the lights.

He walked straight through the living room, into the master bedroom's bathroom, closed the door, and knelt down in front of the toilet.

Dry heaving.

I dry heave in waves.

Something was churning in my stomach, but I couldn't vomit anything.

He only took two bites of the venison at the banquet, and barely touched the wine to his lips.

But his body's reactions were beyond his control.

I vomited for about three minutes until my eyes felt sore and my abdominal muscles cramped.

He stood up, bracing himself against the edge of the toilet, turned on the faucet, and let the ice water run over his wrists.

The face in the mirror was exactly the same as the face that had raised a glass at the club an hour earlier.

There wasn't a single flaw.

This made him feel even more disgusted.

Julian stepped out of the bathroom, sat down in the study, and opened his laptop.

This computer contains a library of surgical images that he has kept since his first year of residency.

Archived by year, categorized by technique, with a clear index.

He pulled up a video from the latest folder.

He made a copy of the operating room surveillance footage from that day, before the hospital ordered it to be deleted.

Because from the very first second that hand reached in, he knew that this video contained something he might never be able to learn in his lifetime.

In the scene, Lynn stands in the sorcerer's position, his right hand reaching into the mediastinum.

Julian dragged the progress bar back.

I watched it again.

The angle at which the fingers disappear deep into the chest cavity.

Watch it again.

The wrist makes an almost imperceptible adjustment when the fingertip touches the tear.

Watch it again.

Fourth time.

The fifth time.

……

Julian pressed pause.

The image freezes on the moment when Lynn's right hand emerges from the diaphragm.

He went back and switched the camera to another position.

The side-view camera in the operating room captures a panoramic view.

Lynn is in the spellcaster position, and Victoria is on the opposite side as a support.

Julian Cabot himself, the one whose academic papers were cited the most in his class, stood motionless beside the operating table, holding the retractors in his hands.

In the video, his eyes are wide open and his lips are slightly parted.

His face was filled with shock.

He turned off the computer and took a black hardcover notebook out of the drawer.

He had this notebook with him for eight years.

From his first appendectomy, he recorded every surgery he participated in.

The techniques, key points, reflections, and improvement plans are all neatly written and logically clear.

Every page is his own work.

Every single word was written by his own hand and verified by his own eyes.

He has never signed any paper with a name that is not his own.

Every set of data in his paper was obtained by him personally from the laboratory.

His advisor wanted to credit him, but he refused. A senior student wanted to hitch a ride, but he refused that too.

This is his pride.

Julian turned to the latest blank page and unscrewed the pen cap.

It stopped for a long time.

Then write down a line:

"Vanderbilt is four years older than me, and I accept that she beat me. But Lynn and I are both 27..."

When the period ended, the pen tip poked a small hole in the paper.

He stared at those words for a long time.

Then turn to the next page and tuck the question-and-answer card that your father gave you into the notebook.

On the new page, he copied the answers to the five questions again.

He copied every word very carefully, as if he were copying someone else's surgical record.

Because those answers really were someone else's.

After copying the last word, Julian closed the notebook.

He sat there, staring out the window at the night view of Central Park.

There are no lights in the park.

From this angle, the darkness looks like a huge partition.

He couldn't see what was hidden inside.

He stood up, walked to the dressing room, and picked out a dark blue suit to hang outside the door.

White shirt. No tie.

This was her father's advice. "You're a doctor, not a politician; a tie would seem too deliberate."

Tomorrow at 10 a.m., he will put on this outfit, sit in front of the camera, and read out the answers.

He will do it.

The Cabot family never makes a mistake on the table.

Metropolitan Hospital, Surgical ICU.

On the same night, Lynn was checking another person's vital signs.

Richard Dawson, Speaker of the New York City Council.

Lynn stood at the foot of the bed, holding the afternoon's chest X-ray and the latest round of test results.

Victoria stood beside him, arms crossed, listening to his report with a blank expression.

Although the hospital attributed the success of the surgery to Julian, they couldn't ignore Lynn's role in postoperative management.

the reason is simple.

This surgery does not follow the conventional approach.

If the suture of the pulmonary artery branch is too deep, only someone who performed the procedure can immediately determine whether the problem lies with the suture or with other complications should any abnormalities occur post-operatively.

If it were someone else, they wouldn't even be able to find the bleeding point.

Victoria added that she argued, "Either let the person who performed the surgery take care of the post-operative care, or you will have to deal with any problems yourselves."

In addition, with the smokescreen put out by Miller, the hospital staff couldn't see Lynn's true strength and dared not take any rash actions.

In the end, a compromise was reached.

"The total volume of the left chest drainage tube over the past twelve hours was 80 milliliters, and its color changed from dark red to light blood plasma-like."

Lynn attached the X-ray to the front of the lightbox.

"The chest X-ray shows good re-expansion of the left lung, no mediastinal shift, and no new signs of effusion."

Victoria nodded.

"Blood clotting?"

"PT and INR returned to normal this morning. Hemoglobin is stable at 11.2 and has not continued to drop in the past 24 hours."

"Blood and vital energy?"

"At 9 a.m., the arterial blood gas analysis showed an oxygen partial pressure of 98, a carbon dioxide partial pressure of 37, and lactic acid of 0.8."

Lynn paused for a moment, "The oxygenation index has been greater than 300 for two consecutive days. We can try weaning off the ventilator tomorrow."

Victoria glanced at the parameters of the ventilator by the bedside.

The speaker remained calm, and the endotracheal tube had not yet been removed.

However, judging from various indicators, the recovery speed is faster than expected.

"very good."

Victoria said, "I will confirm the weaning plan with the anesthesiology department during rounds tomorrow morning."

She turned and walked out.

He paused at the door: "Your coffee is at the nurses' station."

Lynn put the lab results back into her medical record folder and was about to leave when someone appeared at the door.

Grant.

Since Dawson was admitted to the ICU, he has come to check on the patient's ward every day.

The two men in black suits behind him remained outside the door.

"Dr. Lin."

Grant walked in, his gaze sweeping over the numbers on the monitor before settling on Lynn.

"How's today?"

"It's very stable. All indicators are improving."

"When can I be discharged from the hospital?"

Grant asks this question every day.

But today, Lynn noticed a subtle difference.

When Grant asked that question, a flicker of something flashed in his eyes.

That's not expectation.

A chief of staff shouldn't look at his boss's recovery progress with that kind of gaze.

Unless he doesn't want his boss to recover too quickly.

------

Mai Zi saw a comment that felt the recent chapters were written somewhat in an attempt to advance the plot.

This reader voted for the book; it wasn't just a simple criticism.

So, Mai Zi read these chapters several times and felt that they were indeed a bit bland compared to the previous ones.

Mai Zi revised chapters 28 to 33, which took a lot of time.

Chapters 30 and 33 have undergone significant additions and revisions, but the overall direction remains unchanged.

Interested readers can reread it, or they can directly read the subsequent chapters without any issues.

I hope you all like it. I will pay more attention to this issue in the future and strive to provide you with higher quality articles.

Thank you to every reader for your support, thank you for every monthly pass, and thank you for your time.

Thank you all for pushing my new book onto the bestseller list when it was only 7 words long. I have no way to repay you, and I hope to bring you better stories through my own efforts.

Brothers, let's aim for even greater heights together!