PDLP Chapter 102 No one answered
Chapter 102 No one answered
She called again, but still no one answered. She called once more, this time it rang eight times, but still no one answered.
She put down the phone and took a deep breath.
She couldn't wait. If she waited any longer, the patient would die.
She examined the wound. The steel bar had pierced through her lower right abdomen and exited from her left waist, penetrating her entire abdominal cavity. There was significant bleeding; a pool of dark red blood had accumulated on the floor, starkly contrasting against the white tiles. Fortunately, the steel bar remained in place, exerting pressure and preventing the blood from gushing out, only seeping out. She dared not pull it out; doing so would cause further bleeding.
She applied pressure around the wound with sterile gauze to reduce bleeding. Then she adjusted the IV drip rate, increasing it further, pushing the IV roller all the way down. The patient's blood pressure stabilized: 60, 65, 70. The numbers on the monitor stopped dropping.
The surgeons finally arrived. There were two doctors, one surnamed Liu and the other Zhang. Dr. Liu was in his forties, with gray hair and wearing gold-rimmed glasses. Dr. Zhang was in his early thirties, with a round face and a younger appearance. Dr. Liu examined the wound, frowned, and his brows furrowed into a deep frown.
"Why didn't you call sooner?"
"I called, but no one answered. I called three times." Zheng Yanxi's voice was calm, but her hands were trembling, and the sleeves of her white coat shook along with her hands.
Dr. Liu glanced at her but said nothing more. He began examining the patient, checking her pupils, listening to her heart and lungs, and pressing on her abdomen. After the examination, he told Dr. Zhang, "Notify the operating room to operate immediately. There is intra-abdominal bleeding, and a ruptured intestine is suspected. Prepare for a blood transfusion; have four units ready." Then he turned to look at Zheng Yanxi.
"You handled it?"
"Yes."
Have you received trauma first aid training?
"I completed a three-month advanced training program at the city hospital."
Dr. Liu nodded, said nothing more, and turned to leave. The hem of his white coat fluttered behind him, mirroring Nurse Wang's gesture.
The patient was wheeled into the operating room. Zheng Yanxi stood at the operating room door, leaning against the wall, her legs trembling. She looked down and saw that her white coat was covered in blood—the sleeves, the front, even her shoes. The blood had dried, turning a dark brown, starkly contrasting against the white fabric. She went into the changing room, took off her white coat, and soaked it in the sink. The tap was running, the water was cold, and the splash on her hands made her shiver. The blood trickled down the fibers of the white coat, flowing into the drain, turning a pale pink, like diluted strawberry juice.
She stared at the white lab coat for a long time. The coat was submerged in water, and blood slowly seeped out, turning the pool water a pale red. Then she crouched down, buried her face in her knees, and cried. Not out of fear, but because she had just endured it all alone. No one helped her, no one told her what to do. She judged for herself, made her own decisions, and took responsibility for herself. The feeling wasn't fear; it was something indescribable—like jumping from a great height and discovering you have wings in mid-air.
The patient survived. The surgery lasted four hours, removing the ruptured intestine, repairing the damaged blood vessels, and removing the reinforcing steel. When Dr. Liu came out of the operating room, he passed the changing room and saw Zheng Yanxi still sitting inside, her white coat not yet washed, and the water in the sink still a pale red. He went in and stood in front of her.
"You did a good job."
Zheng Yanxi stood up, wanting to say thank you, but something seemed to be blocking her throat, and she couldn't say anything. She just nodded.
Dr. Liu glanced at her, then turned and left.
From then on, Nurse Wang's attitude towards her changed. Not that she became more enthusiastic, but rather more respectful. She no longer spoke to her in a commanding tone, no longer found fault with her, and would occasionally ask, "What do you think of this patient?" Once, a patient with heart failure came in. After taking her blood pressure, Nurse Wang turned to her and said, "Xiao Zheng, take a look at this electrocardiogram. What's wrong?" Zheng Yanxi took it and looked at it for a while, then said, "Atrial fibrillation, rapid ventricular rate, needs digoxin." Nurse Wang nodded and didn't say anything more. But the corner of her mouth twitched, as if she were smiling.
Nurse Li had changed too. She stopped saying she'd "work for two years and then transfer," and started learning seriously. Sometimes she'd come to Zheng Yanxi with her notebook, asking, "Sister Zheng, what's this medicine for?" "Sister Zheng, how do I read this lab report?" Zheng Yanxi answered each question honestly and without reservation. She knew that nursing, like being a fitter, wasn't a one-person job. One person's skill could only save one person. If everyone learned, they could save many more lives.
Zheng Yanxi wasn't proud of this incident. She knew that one success meant nothing. The emergency room presented new challenges every day; saving one person today might mean losing another tomorrow. All she could do was give it her all every time. Before each night shift, she would check all the emergency equipment: the oxygen cylinder pressure, the defibrillator battery level, the ambulance medications—she checked and counted them one by one. She didn't want to encounter another situation where "no one answered the phone after three calls."
One evening, Jiang Cheng returned from Changchun and went straight to the city hospital. It was almost 11 p.m. when he arrived, and there were still patients in the emergency room. Zheng Yanxi was busy. He stood at the door, not going in, but watching her through the glass. She was stitching up a patient's wound, head down, back bent, her hands steady. The patient was a little boy, five or six years old, with a cut on his forehead, crying his heart out, his voice so shrill it could pierce the glass. As Zheng Yanxi stitched, she said to him, "It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt, Auntie will be gentle," her voice very gentle, completely different from her usual tone.
The little boy stopped crying, still sobbing, his eyes red as he looked at her. Zheng Yanxi finished stitching him up, applied a bandage, and patted his head. "All done, does it hurt anymore? Don't get it wet when you get home, come back in a few days to have the stitches removed." The little boy nodded and said, "Thank you, Auntie."
Zheng Yanxi smiled. Jiang Cheng rarely saw that smile—a genuine, soft, and beautiful smile, like the first flower blooming in spring.
He turned and walked away. Reaching the hospital entrance, he stopped, took out a cigarette, and lit it. The night breeze was cool and felt pleasant on his face. The streetlights in the distance twinkled like a string of beads, stretching from near to far, seemingly endless. He took a drag and slowly exhaled. The smoke dispersed under the streetlights, turning into a pale blue haze.
Unbeknownst to him, Zheng Yanxi happened to look up and see his back outside the glass door. She paused, wanting to chase after him, but the patient was still waiting. She lowered her head and continued writing the medical record.
After finishing writing, she quickly walked to the door and pushed it open.
It was empty outside, except for the streetlights and the wind. The wind blew her hair, making it rise and fall repeatedly.
She stood there for a while, then turned around and walked back to the emergency room.