Whether he was setting the stage for the Duchess or the Queen, Garrett Nordmark didn’t really care.
After all, he wasn’t about to be bound for the Rhine Kingdom. As for having to go to the royal capital, that would require negotiations with the council and approval from his ntor.
Beyond that, no one could make him leave Nevis, leave the Oak Grove Clinic or the Mage Tower!
Yes, focusing on clinical and research work, diligently publishing papers, that was what truly mattered.
Once he had amassed a thick stack of papers and published a book titled "Obstetrics and Gynecology," he would naturally beco a leading figure in the field, soone no one could ignore!
With this in mind, Garrett buried himself in the hospital, grasping both surgery and paper writing. Of course, with the world’s understanding of caesarean section surgery, he had no choice but to imrse himself in the operating room, closely monitoring every operation:
"Snap!"
A semi-ethereal, shimring, yet decidedly solid hemostat suddenly appeared, striking the lead necromancer surgeon on the wrist. Accompanied by Garrett’s roar:
"A transverse cut isn’t about cutting a straight line! It’s a shallow arc! A shallow arc!—Forget it, step down, go and cut 100 rubber balloons, then consider taking up surgery again!"
The styloid process of the right radius instantly reddened. The lead necromancer surgeon dared not utter a sound, bowed his head, rolled to the edge of the operating room, and stood against the wall.
The next necromancer surgeon quickly took his place. A slice was made, swift and precise, followed by a cut into the subcutaneous fat at the dian line on both sides, each with a small incision.
Then, this second lead surgeon took a blunt-ended curved scissor from the instrunt nurse—or to be exact, from the skeletal hands of the instrunt skeleton—and began cutting open the fascia...
"Snap!"
The transparent hemostat struck again in the void. Garrett continued to berate:
"The tip of the scissors should tilt upwards! Upwards! How many tis do I have to say it? With so much muscle tissue below, if you point the scissors downwards, are you trying to poke holes in the flesh?! Make one more mistake, and you’ll go dissect a hundred rabbits before coming back!"
The second necromancer surgeon’s palm trembled, and the styloid process on his right radius reddened just the sa.
It must be said, this part really hurt when struck... It wouldn’t break the skin or bleed, but it was truly painful!
He made several cuts in the fascia, continuing to trim the subcutaneous fat. Just as he moved, the transparent hemostat flew up again:
"Who told you to cut into the fat layer? Pull it apart! The fat layer should be torn, not cut, to avoid damaging nerves and vessels!—Forget it, step down, next!"
Demand, indeed, is the best catalyst for innovation.
Garrett had been performing surgeries for so long and hadn’t developed any new magic. Yet, just a few days of teaching students, and he had perfected the 0-level trick "Hemostat Styloid Striking Technique"...
Across the operating table, a group of young necromancer surgeons stood silent as cicadas in winter. They had beco quite adept at dissecting dogs and rabbits, and had dissected countless corpses—on average, more than three each.
Yet, stepping up to the operating table with Garrett, they could always be picked apart for nurous faults...
After changing five people and striking wrists about a dozen tis, it was finally Joanna’s turn to take the lead under Garrett’s guidance. Stumbling through, they completed the surgery.
Fortunately, the mother was under epidural and hypnotic spells, completely unaware of anything. Otherwise, seeing Garrett’s furious shouting, changing personnel, shouting again, and changing yet again, she might have been scared enough to jump off the operating table...
Well, so this is the advantage of magic. In the past, an epidural was just an epidural, and the patient remained fully conscious. Unless switched to general anesthesia, neither the lead surgeon nor the ntor dared to scold like that.
One had to consider not just the students but also the patients’ feelings!
After finishing the operation, several young necromancer surgeons rolled out of the operating room like frostbitten eggplants, wilted and defeated. Joanna watched as the nurses escorted the mother off the stage and asked worriedly:
"Was I too harsh? After all, they are just starting..."
"That’s exactly why. So bad habits need to be corrected quickly," Garrett sighed deeply, not feigning anger since they were alone:
"It’s easier to correct them when they’re just saplings rather than waiting
until they’ve grown into towering trees. Each point I correct is sothing that, if done wrong, could harm the patient..."
dicine is like that, a field with an extrely low margin for error, almost zero. A car can be replaced if it breaks down, a house can be rebuilt if it collapses, but what about people?
People cannot be brought back to life. Even a single mistaken cut, or a delay in treatnt, can cause unnecessary suffering!
"This... alright then."
Joanna thought about it and could only agree. Moreover, she had no say in the training of the lead surgeons—
Not to ntion those necromancer surgeons, even though she had advanced two months, she could only operate under Garrett’s guidance. As for taking the lead on her own, who knows how long that might take.
"Garrett, how long will it take before I can return to Hartland City?"
"Why, hosick?" Garrett was washing his arms under the tap when he heard the female priest’s question, pausing briefly to turn and look:
"It’s still early! First, you need to be able to perform surgery independently and proficiently. Then, stack up the number of operations. With so luck, you might encounter all the common complications."
Garrett slightly tilted his head back, estimating the ti it took from being an intern to a resident in his past life, and how much the divine arts of this world could mitigate risks and how much tolerance people had for surgical deaths:
"At least a year? A year at the fastest, then you could barely practice independently. But if you want to understand every procedure and be able to teach disciples, it will probably take even longer..."
"That long, huh..."
Joanna was slightly disheartened. She wanted to return ho sooner, to spread caesarean section techniques, to bring benefits to the people of her holand sooner...
But during this ti, she had witnessed many unheard-of techniques and knew she knew too little, so she could only buckle down to learn.
Yet, occasionally between learning, she would murmur:
"Are there really that many complications?"
"Does it take half a year, no, about a year to encounter all the common ones? And might not even encounter the uncommon ones?"
"Are the complications that dangerous, unable to be saved by healing spells, or not knowing how to handle them?"
In just the past month or two, she had perford nearly a hundred surgeries with Garrett, all smoothly done, without any problems!
Yet, complications co when they co. One day, as usual, Joanna stood before the operating table, cutting open the abdon, slicing through the fascia, separating the muscles, cutting the peritoneum. A necromancer surgeon stood on either side, their hands fluttering to assist...
She had beco much more adept, not needing to hypnotize the mother nor needing Garrett’s constant oversight. Garrett sat on a stool in the corner, his gaze vacant as if lost in thought. In front of him, two screens, one on the left and one on the right, flickered nonstop:
Joanna knew one was an electrocardiogram and the other was an oxygen monitor. As long as the information on these two screens was normal, it ant everything was fine, and the surgery could proceed as usual.
From this perspective, even if Garrett said not a word and did nothing, his re attention to these two screens was irreplaceable during surgery.
Joanna diverted her gaze and continued her work. After exposing the uterus and just about to gently cut the myotrium, the mother suddenly began to thrash about on the table.
Joanna glanced sideways and saw the mother raising her hand to her chest, struggling to breathe, her throat uttering grunts. She even turned her head as if she wanted to vomit...
"Don’t move! Don’t move!"
Joanna panicked. With the mother moving like that, her scalpel nearly veered off course!
Damn it!
The uterine wall was so thin it was nearly transparent. If the blade deviated, it could directly slice into the fetus!
"Don’t move!" she shouted loudly at the mother. As she shouted, vines densely sprouted from the wooden edge of the operating table, tightly binding the mother from head to toe. While binding her, she ordered the two necromancer surgeons:
"Control her!"
"Yes!"
Four necromancer hands flew out at once. Amidst the chaos, Joanna rapidly thought:
What happened?
What’s going on?
Why is the mother suddenly uncomfortable? Why does she want to vomit? Is it a negative effect of the divine arts, or is she nervous from being cut, or...
While pondering, she looked towards the two screens. On the electrocardiogram screen, the lines fluctuated up and down. On the oxygen monitor, the bright red seed a bit dimr—or perhaps not. In any case, they provided no clues.
Before she could figure it out, Garrett had already leapt up from the corner of the operating
room:
"Don’t panic! Start the oxygen generator! Give her oxygen! Quick!"
He rushed over while speaking, slapping his hand on the mother’s waist. A dull yellow light flashed, and "Exhaustion Touch · Muscle Relaxant" was cast, imdiately making the mother limp on the bed:
The muscles relaxed, naturally leaving no strength to struggle, right?
Another necromancer surgeon hurriedly turned on the oxygen generator, pressing the oxygen mask onto the mother’s face. Garrett’s hands fluttered, casting "Inspiration Magic," opening a venous pathway, administering Ringer’s solution—instantly handling several asures while still barking orders:
"Bring the pillows from the corner! Place them under her right buttock! Make her tilt left! Tilt 15 degrees left! Quick!"
The other necromancer surgeon also fumbled about. Thankfully, necromancer hands moved quickly, and with a turn, two pillows were imdiately brought over.
Joanna loosened the vines, propping the mother up diagonally, while the necromancer surgeon swiftly stuffed a pillow under her, then another...
Then, Joanna watched as the mother’s complexion gradually eased from pale and terrified, and the urge to vomit also subsided. Garrett’s gaze remained fixed on the screens, his hands rapidly asuring the mother’s blood pressure, and he took a long breath:
"Alright, it’s fine now. The blood pressure is back... Joanna, rember, lying in a supine position, mothers often experience low blood pressure, symptoms like chest tightness, shortness of breath, dizziness, nausea, vomiting. Laying her tilted left 15 degrees, giving her oxygen, administering fluids, it will get better..."
Damn!
Thank goodness he had seen these symptoms during his obstetrics rotation!
Thank goodness he recognized the symptoms and the heartbeat decline and made the correct judgent!
That real-ti blood pressure magic really needs to be invented soon! Always relying on rcury blood pressure monitors, or invasive monitors is too cumberso!
Please take a mont to rate this novel at Novelupdate.
User Comments
0 comments from readers