Yang Ping’s office.
Zhaxi sat down, the notebook already open, ready to record. This was a habit he cultivated after following Yang Ping; whenever he entered Professor Yang’s office, he had to be prepared to take notes. Because every word Yang Ping said might be a piece of knowledge or a career-changing reminder.
Yang Ping placed the teacup on the table, took out a folder from the drawer, and opened it. Zhaxi glanced at it and saw that inside was a form, densely packed with words, and so squares, so checked, so empty.
"This is your training plan." Yang Ping pushed the folder over, "I’ve customized one based on your foundation."
Zhaxi took it and looked down. The header read "Zhaxi Training Plan Table," and below were several major sections: not only theoretical knowledge but also practical operations, with many practical operation projects like basic surgical skills, basic microsurgery skills, and basic laparoscope skills. Each major section was further divided into several sub-items, each marked with study duration, assessnt thod, and reference books.
Zhaxi examined each item one by one, and the more he looked, the more his palms began to sweat. This wasn’t a simple training plan; it was a map leading to a certain height, but every path on the map was so steep it made his legs weak.
"Song Zimo, Xu Zhiliang, Xia Shu, and Li Min," Yang Ping’s tone was very calm, as if talking about sothing very ordinary, "all ca through this way."
These people were all brought out by Yang Ping hand in hand.
And this is how they ca.
Suddenly, Zhaxi felt a surge of warmth in his chest. Not because he was praised; Yang Ping did not praise him, but because of a sense of entering a hall. Before him, four people had already walked this path, and after him, there would be more. The end of this path was not a professional title or honor but a kind of ability, an ability to cure and save lives under any circumstances or conditions.
"Starting today," Yang Ping’s voice pulled him back to reality, "after surgeries every afternoon, go to the training room, like clockwork, train for two hours."
Zhaxi nodded excitedly.
At four in the afternoon, after surgery, Zhaxi appeared in the training room at Sanbo Research Institute.
The training room was divided into several areas; by the wall was a row of instrunt cabinets neatly filled with various surgical instrunts, vascular clamps, tissue forceps, needle holders, scissors, retractors, suction device heads... each polished to a shine, reflecting a cold tallic luster under the lights.
In the middle were several training consoles, each equipped with shadowless lights and instrunt trays. The training console held so models simulating the texture and layers of human tissues. The skin was pale yellow, the fat orange-yellow, the muscle dark red, with distinct layers and realistic tactile feeling. Zhaxi pressed his fingers upon it; the elasticity and resistance did indeed feel a bit like real tissues, albeit just "a bit like," but sufficient for practice.
Further inside was the microsurgery area. Three surgical microscopes stood quietly in the corner, heads bowed, lenses pointed downwards, ready to activate anyti. Next to the microscopes was a microsurgery instrunt box, containing smaller-scale micro-forceps, micro-scissors, micro needle holders, as well as sutures thinner than a hair and simulated blood vessels. Zhaxi leaned in closer to examine, the suture was so fine it was almost invisible, prompting him to doubt whether he could hold it, let alone use it to suture blood vessels.
Further ahead was a laparoscope simulation training zone. Several laparoscope devices connected to screens, with training modules beside them, including bean transfer modules, perforation modules, and suturing knot modules. Zhaxi had witnessed laparoscope surgeries in the operating room, where he rely stood in the corner observing, watching the chief surgeon focusing on the screen, operating outside the body while instrunts navigated precisely inside. He thought it was like playing a ga, a highly challenging ga with zero tolerance for error.
In the training room, several graduate students were already absorbed in their training, paying no attention to Zhaxi’s entrance.
"Let’s begin."
Yang Ping’s voice ca from behind. Zhaxi turned and found Yang Ping had unknowingly stood beside him, wearing a scrub jacket under the white gown. He wielded a pair of vascular clamps, spinning them twice in his fingers, much like a Western cowboy twirls a revolver with practiced ease.
Subsequently, the vascular clamps in his hand perford acrobatics like transitioning from one finger to another, flipping onto the back of his hand, then back onto the primary finger, then initiating patient finger rotation. With the fingers rotating, opening, closing, taking and holding adeptly, reaching mastery, srizing Zhaxi.
"Today, let’s start with basic skills; we aren’t deliberately using the surgical instrunts to perform tricks, but this can develop your ability to control the instrunts." Yang Ping approached, handing the vascular clamps to Zhaxi, "Instrunt recognition and usage, you must be able to identify every instrunt with your eyes closed, na them, state their use, standard usage thods."
Zhaxi accepted the vascular clamps, palms a bit sweaty.
Next, Yang Ping taught him how to recognize and use surgical instrunts one by one, even the very ordinary ones Zhaxi already knew, Yang Ping taught them again.
"This is a mosquito clamp, used for small blood vessel hemostasis; the jaws are smaller than ordinary vascular clamps, the spring softer, feel lighter."
"This is tissue forceps, toothed, used for holding skin or other dense tissues. Toothless ones are for holding blood vessels, nerves, and other delicate tissues. Rember, toothed ones must not hold blood vessels, nerves, or other tissues needing protection, as it can damage them. In surgery, we must have an awareness of protecting tissues."
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