With Yang Ping’s remark, Song Zimo was much more assured, because in Song Zimo’s mind, Professor Yang never boasted and never did anything he wasn’t confident about. When he said he wasn’t sure, he was actually quite sure, so when he said there was no problem, there was basically no doubt.
As long-ti colleagues, essentially ntor and apprentice, Song Zimo understood Yang Ping very well; he trusted Yang Ping unconditionally.
Professor Yang always created miracles, does he now want to create a new miracle? An experienced surgeon detached from clinical work for so long, yet still able to maintain his forr top-tier surgical skills?
If that’s really the case, then Professor Yang truly is a demigod, born to perform surgery.
But now it seems his talent isn’t limited to surgery; his talent in the research field is also astonishing. Since engaging in research, his successes have been frequent, with each one yielding surprising academic results.
"Let go take a look at those patients; I haven’t seen the patients yet."
Yang Ping wasn’t busy at the mont, so while Song Zimo hadn’t gone to the operating room yet, he decided to do a ward check.
"Alright, I’ll make arrangents." Song Zimo imdiately went to prepare.
"No need to arrange anything, let’s just take a casual look; just call the physician in charge along, everyone else can continue with their work, we shouldn’t disturb them. This isn’t a teaching ward check." Yang Ping stopped Song Zimo; he didn’t want to make a fuss as it would disrupt the morning’s work arrangents.
Every day, the departnt had many surgeries; if a fuss was made, those graduate students and trainee doctors would try every ans to tag along.
Song Zimo understood Yang Ping’s intention, picked up the phone, and directly called the physician in charge to have him wait in the patient’s ward, informing him that Professor Yang would co to see the patients, to avoid alerting others as it wasn’t a teaching ward check; Professor Yang was only visiting the patients privately.
As the research projects increased, Yang Ping’s real-world ti was destined to be allocated to those strategic projects, it was inevitable that less significant tasks couldn’t be allotted much ti.
Yang Ping and Song Zimo arrived at the ward, the physician in charge was a graduate student nad Xue, a new graduate student who had not worked long since joining the dical Science Academy.
This was a single room; now, many single rooms had been opened in the ward. The patients were only nine years old; they seed to have just finished breakfast. They were tidying up the dining table and discussing their next activities, with one clamoring to go for a walk in the garden downstairs and breathe fresh air. The other disagreed and wanted to read for a while, believing fresh air could be breathed while in the ward by just opening the window.
Neither would budge, debating each other in hopes of persuading the other, but neither succeeded in persuading the other, nearly resulting in an argunt.
Two brains, two bodies, they were conjoined, so each action required either mutual agreent or one party abandoning their opinion to accommodate the other.
The patient’s mother helped tidy the dining table, while the father was reading an English book nearby. Upon seeing Yang Ping enter, they halted the sisters’ quarrel.
The patient’s father imdiately stood up, respectfully like a student. He was a neurosurgeon in the United States, working at a top hospital in New York, having heard of Yang Ping’s na and deeds while in the United States, thus seeing Yang Ping was akin to seeing a god, he was quite excited yet naturally revered.
"Professor Yang! Hello!" the father said in clumsy Chinese, presumably having practiced this phrase for a long ti.
Yang Ping nodded, indicating a response to his greeting.
"Do you speak Chinese?" Yang Ping asked him, to decide the language for the next conversation.
The patient’s father shook his head, "A little, just a little bit."
What he ant by a little was probably the level capable of saying "please," "hello," "sorry," "goodbye." In fact, even with good Chinese skills, dical field communication would be difficult, given the many dical terminologies involved, such as dulla, which even those who have learned Chinese well might not know.
Since communicating in Chinese wasn’t feasible, they would converse in English. Yang Ping hadn’t studied abroad; his English was learned during his education. As for his speaking and listening skills, they were basically self-taught, thus his spoken English was entirely Chinese-style.
However, even if it was Chinese-style English, it was better than relying on a translator, avoiding misunderstandings in expressions. The counterpart being a doctor, would surely possess considerable dical vocabulary accumulation, thus English communication should be smoother. English was essentially the universal language; it was good for them to adapt to Yang Ping’s Chinese-style English.
"Professor Yang, thank you, Professor John Ansen from Mayo strongly recomnded you to ; he said you were his teacher, the best doctor in the world, possessing god-like surgical skills. He said your hands were the hands of God, he said..." This Arican doctor began his flattery mode.
Unexpectedly, Aricans also liked to flatter; it seems human nature is universal. They also knew how to please others, sotis just differing in the way of presentation.
Yang Ping didn’t have the ti to listen to his flattery, directly proceeded to inquire about the dical history. This was Yang Ping’s habit; he had to inquire about the dical history on his own, as the information from dical records or from lower-level doctors might sotis be second-hand, possibly containing omissions or distortions.
The dical history of this case was relatively simple, born as such, but still needing clarity on whether there were genetic defects, other malformations, prior surgeries, other diseases, dication use, especially long-term use of certain drugs, etc.
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