"Young Master Lawrence, I don’t recomnd using this anesthetic. The side effects of this anesthetic are too severe, and it can easily damage the brain’s neural system. Actually, regular dical anesthetics have the sa effect, though you’ll be unconscious for a while. Given your constitution, you’ll likely be awake by tomorrow morning. There’s no need to take the risk with Z-11."
"I can’t afford to waste that much ti." Baron Lawrence listened indifferently and said expressionlessly, "Ordinary anesthetics, besides causing drowsiness, have a short anesthesia duration. Basically, after the surgery, the effect gradually wears off. If I use regular anesthetics, I would need to rest in bed for two more days."
The attending doctor asked in confusion, "Is Young Master Lawrence in a hurry? For gunshot wounds, as a doctor, I still recomnd you rest for two days. It would be beneficial for your recovery and health."
Scott Harris couldn’t help but advise him, "Yeah, Lord, why not listen to the doctor and just use the regular anesthetic?"
"Noisy!" Baron Lawrence furrowed his brows in irritation, his shoulder’s stabbing pain causing his muscles to tense up, cold sweat covering his forehead. He forcefully stretched out his arm and commanded, "I said use Z-11, so use Z-11. No more nonsense! Just do as I say."
"Yes, Young Master Lawrence." The chief surgeon shrank under his intimidating presence, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and dared not delay further, instructing the dical Staff, "Prepare for surgery."
"Alright."
Several dical staff made simple arrangents in the hotel living room before starting to treat Baron Lawrence’s wound.
anwhile, the doctor in charge of anesthesia took out the pre-prepared Z-11 military anesthesia and injected it into Baron Lawrence’s arm vein.
The transparent liquid in the syringe was instantly pushed into the man’s arm, and the usually silent man let out a muffled grunt of pain.
Military anesthesia, like ceftriaxone, is highly irritating to the human body.
When injected into the vein, it’s much more painful than a regular injection.
"Lord, are you alright?" Scott Harris was extrely nervous on the side.
"I’m fine, get a glass of water."
"Okay, I’ll get it right away."
Scott Harris quickly poured a glass of water and brought it over.
Baron Lawrence took the glass with his uninjured hand, tilted his head, and drank a sip. The warm water slid down his throat, finally suppressing the bloody taste.
His brows relaxed slightly as he returned the glass to Scott Harris.
The dical staff had already cut open the clothes around his wound.
Since Baron Lawrence chose to co to the hotel instead of going to the hospital imdiately after being injured, a lot of ti was delayed. So blood had already dried on his shoulder wound, sticking the clothes to the wound.
This was particularly troubleso to handle, requiring antiseptic water to be poured directly onto the wound, using its strong oxidizing effect to erode the dried blood, to remove the piece of clothing glued by blood to his body.
This would be especially painful.
Baron Lawrence didn’t use any anesthetic.
The doctor hesitated after receiving the antiseptic water and asked, "Young Master, should we wait for the military anesthetic to take effect before cleaning the wound?"
"No need, just do it, I can endure it!"
Enough domineering, enough restraint.
The chief surgeon really didn’t know what he was anxious about, but dared not defy his wishes, gritted his teeth, and poured an entire bottle of antiseptic water along his wound—
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