Upon looking, Nathalie Quinlan saw an old man lying on the hospital bed, his body emaciated, his eyes tightly shut, lips also black and bluish.
He was about the sa age as Shawn Norton, looking much older than Shawn; without a detailed look, she could already make out the telltale signs of a candle burning at both ends.
Lowie Wilmar approached her, ignoring the other doctors, and asked in a low voice, "How is my grandfather?"
"The situation isn’t good," Nathalie Quinlan shook her head, walked over, reined in the indulgence on her face, beca more earnest, and said, "I’ll check on him first."
"Alright," Lowie Wilmar took a deep breath, his heart actually very tense, gripping his hands, the corners of his mouth pressed as he told the few doctors, "Step back for now."
"Mr. Wilmar, who is she, where is Professor Wafford?" a doctor asked, lifting his chin in Nathalie Quinlan’s direction with a nod.
These were experts his father had brought back from the Beijing Military District Hospital. With patience, Lowie Wilmar said, "They’re outside. She’s a doctor I brought in. Please make room for her to check on my grandfather."
"She’s a doctor?"
Several individuals in white coats exchanged glances, all reading astonishnt on each other’s faces.
How old was this girl?
She looked like nothing more than an ordinary high school girl.
And Mr. Wilmar had just said she was a doctor? Ridiculous!
Nathalie Quinlan didn’t care about how the others were looking at her; to be precise, she had never cared about outsiders’ views of her. She approached the sickbed, pulled up a chair, took off her single shoulder bag, and placed it down, then sat down, took the old man’s left hand from under the blanket, and her slender fingers landed on his pulse.
Her actions flowed like drifting clouds and running water, and her pose for taking the pulse was very professional.
The doctors from the Military District Hospital beca even more puzzled and surprised—could the newcor actually practice Chinese dicine?
Nathalie Quinlan’s pulse diagnosis was quick, taking about a minute.
Her jet-black lashes fluttered, and she looked up at Lowie Wilmar, "The patient’s fainting was caused by excessive anger, which isn’t considered a stroke, but he has a blood clot inside his brain pressing against blood vessels and nerves, so the symptoms appear similar to a stroke. Did he experience any agitation this morning?"
Raymond Wilmar and his entourage had also entered and were standing at the door.
When they heard Nathalie Quinlan’s question, their faces instantly flashed with guilt.
That morning, the old gentleman had fainted shortly after hearing about the trouble Jecksen Wilmar had been causing in McKinney and calling her in to question her.
This matter was highly confidential, known to very few. Lowie Wilmar didn’t know, but she knew it clearly herself.
Indeed, Lowie Wilmar shook his head: "I wasn’t there this morning, so I’m not clear on the details."
"Hmm," Nathalie Quinlan didn’t look back at the crowd that had co in. After taking the pulse, she pulled the zipper of her single shoulder bag open and took out a set of acupuncture tools.
With a restrained sharpness in her eyes, she said in a low voice, "I can use acupuncture to draw the blood clot out of his brain. Once the blood clot disperses, he’ll regain consciousness."
She didn’t finish the last half of her sentence.
The condition of Mr. Wilmar wasn’t simply caused by the blood clot. When she was taking his pulse, she noticed his pulse was weak and slippery, indicating severe deficiency in qi and blood, and to so extent, illness in all of his internal organs. This was likely a residual effect of illnesses from his youth that had resurfaced with age, leading to his chronic bedridden state, compounded by a lack of exercise and organ aging.
Even if she resolved the issue of the blood clot this ti, Mr. Wilmar would encounter other problems with his body in the future.
To put it bluntly, he was getting old.
He had reached the age of understanding destiny.
However, with good care, living another three to five years wouldn’t be a problem.
But if he lived beyond three to five years and experienced other problems, he might be beyond help, even if Hua Tuo was alive!
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