She waited to see what kind of wave Nathalie Quinlan could stir up.
If Mr. Wilmar could turn the crisis around, she could take all the credit for herself. If not, at least she would be spared the ultimate responsibility, and the final outco would have nothing to do with her...
Adelle Wafford had gradually cald down over the two hours, having thought through the pros and cons, and prepared a strategy and an exit plan; she was just waiting for the results.
*
In the operating room, the dical staff were busy, sweating profusely.
Earlier, when Adelle Wafford and that foreign expert were the lead surgeons, the foreign expert couldn’t speak Chinese and spoke entirely in a foreign language.
Many tis, they couldn’t imdiately understand what the other was saying.
Also, when the other made so evident dical errors during the surgery, they couldn’t communicate with him in a tily manner.
Adelle Wafford didn’t point out those common mistakes they made, and they could only be anxious about it.
After Nathalie Quinlan ca in, everyone no longer had the communication barrier, and the surgery proceeded much more smoothly.
Just that Mr. Wilmar’s condition was too dire.
Even though Nathalie tried her best to save him.
The final results were still disappointing.
Two hours later, the light in the operating room dimd.
The nurse, though exhausted herself, handed her a towel: "Ms. Quinlan, here’s a towel to wipe the sweat off your forehead."
Nathalie, quite tired, took it with a slightly hoarse voice: "Thank you."
"No problem."
The nurse had just followed Adelle Wafford, seeing her and that foreign expert operate on Mr. Wilmar, having watched both surgeries, it was clear the gap between Nathalie and Adelle.
She looked at the excessively youthful face under the girl’s surgical cap with lingering shock in her heart.
She retracted her gaze and said courteously and respectfully, "This is what I should do, Ms. Quinlan, no need to mind."
The nurse’s work in the operating room is to hand things to the doctors.
These items include towels and water.
As they were speaking, the head doctor of neurosurgery at the provincial hospital excitedly exclaid: "Wil-mar, Mr. Wilmar is awake!"
Nathalie had just picked up a bottle of mineral water and hadn’t had ti to take a sip, when she imdiately put it down and quickly walked towards the operating table.
The elderly man on the operating table she had seen once before at the Wilmar Family, in his early seventies, yet he looked much older than Shawn Norton of a similar age.
Below his eyelids was a patch of bluish-gray, looking like a sign of very poor health.
At this mont, Mr. Wilmar’s face was as white as a sheet of paper, fragile as if he could leave any second.
He struggled to open his eyes, seemingly wanting to see clearly who was in front of him.
But those once majestic eyes were covered with a thin gray film. Nathalie walked over, and upon seeing that gray film over his eyes, her heart sank a bit, sowhat reluctant to look.
This is generally a sign seen only in those nearing death.
Mr. Wilmar really couldn’t make it this ti!
Nathalie walked over, her hand hanging by her side, and her voice didn’t have much fluctuation, but you could tell there was hoarseness in her tone. She lowered her head, and softly spoke to the elderly man who was struggling to look at her: "Grandpa Wilmar, don’t worry, I’ll have Lowie and the others co in right away."
She was just about to turn around.
Suddenly, her left hand was tugged.
The strength wasn’t much, but it was the greatest strength an elder in their last monts could muster.
"Nathalie, Nathalie?"
Nathalie’s steps suddenly halted, she turned around, her expression sowhat surprised, seemingly not expecting Mr. Wilmar to recognize her.
"Are you Nathalie?"
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