The Surgeon’s Studio

“Doctor, is Doctor Fang here?” asked the taller man politely.

From his accent, he was likely from a nearby suburb.

The man was tall and his back slightly hunched, with dust and dirt-smeared all across his face.

“There is no Doctor Fang here,” replied Zheng Ren.

“…” Both men looked confused.

They were somewhat timid, especially when facing doctors in white coats, to the extent that they started stuttering in fright.

Perhaps, to them, white-clad doctors were not angels, and not in the sense of Western mythology, either.

They had a simple belief that all doctors possessed the ability to decide a person’s time in the human realm or exile to the netherworld, which was the basis of their natural fear of medical practitioners.

Their impression could also be described as “awe”.

After noticing that words were failing to leave their quivering lips, Zheng Ren immediately put on a warm smile and said, “Relax. Come in and we’ll have a chat. Who sent you here?”

The two men followed Zheng Ren into the office.

The bright and clean room made them feel more uncomfortable as they feared accidentally messing the place up.

After Zheng Ren repeated his question, the tall man replied, “Doctor Zhou of the orthopedic department asked us to consult Doctor Fang here.”

It was a messy answer that was not of much help, but Doctor Zhou of the orthopedic department…

Zheng Ren took out his phone and made a call.

“Brother Zhou, this is Zheng Ren.

“Yes, there are two patients here claiming that they’re looking for Doctor Fang.

“Oh, alright. What’s the diagnosis?”

After the simple conversation, Zheng Ren hung up, still not knowing how to react to this situation.

Doctor Zhou had actually asked them to look for Zheng Ren, but they had probably misheard the name in their stress.

‘Can the words “Zheng” and “Fang” be so easily confused?’ Zheng Ren grumbled internally.

Whenever patients arrived at the hospital, they usually experienced stressors such as anxiety from their own conditions or simply awe at the hospital.

Thus, it was common for them to mishear information or remember something incorrectly. It was not a big deal, though.

“Please sit down. Doctor Zhou asked you to look for me. My surname is Zheng, and my name is Zheng Ren.” Zheng Ren tried to use his gentle smile to soothe their emotions, but… It remained ineffective.

He decided to cut straight to the point. “Doctor Zhou mentioned stage one avascular necrosis of the femoral head? Who is the patient?”

“Me,” the shorter man replied, “When winter began, I started feeling pain in my hip, aggravated by movement and relieved by rest.”

“Do you have any imaging films?” Although Zheng Ren had been told the patient’s condition through the System panel on the upper right corner of his vision, he still had to take medical history and read imaging films as well. After all, this was a hospital, and he had no desire to make himself look like a witch doctor.

“Yes, I do.” The tall man produced a rolled-up plastic bag and carefully retrieved the films.

‘Another guy who keeps the films in this way,’ Zheng Ren thought helplessly.

Imaging films were best stored flat in a cool, unlit area.

It was more convenient to keep the films rolled-up, but it would be extremely difficult to read them on a radiographic film viewer.

Zheng Ren decided to keep this to himself as they were already consumed with anxiety. If he pointed out their mistakes, he would have a harder time taking medical history later.

“Hadyou experienced any pain before this?” asked Zheng Ren.

“No, the pain started only during cat winter.”

Cat winter, an old idiom in the Northeast, referred to a winter so cold that one could only hole up in a house like a cat.

Zheng Ren, who knew little about orthopedic nuclear magnetic resonance imaging, managed to locate the abnormalities after looking at the films.

There were indeed signs of avascular necrosis of the femoral head, but it was not yet severe.

Chief Zhou of the orthopedic department had said that surgery was not required for stage one of avascular necrosis of the femoral head as not only was replacement of the hip joint unnecessary, it would also cost the patient a fortune. He had just returned from studying abroad and claimed that hospitals in Imperial Capital usually treated this condition with interventional radiology.

He also knew that Zheng Ren had successfully performed two interventional surgeries for pelvic fracture hemorrhaging.

As the orthopedic department lacked the necessary equipment to effectively deal with the patient’s condition, he had referred the case to Zheng Ren.

“Have you been injured?”

“No.”

“Have you always leaned to your left?”

“No.”

“Have you taken any medicine?”

“No.”

“That’s not true. Brother, didn’t you take white pills while you were busy with farm work?” the tall man immediately interjected.

White pills? Zheng Ren had found the answer.

“Yes, but what does that have to do with my leg pain?” asked the short man.

“Is it dexamethasone?” asked Zheng Ren immediately.

“…”

Both men were stunned. De… something… sone… What the hell was that?

“Do you still have the white pills at home?” Zheng Ren pressed the matter further.

His stern expression scared the men, causing their hands to tremble uncontrollably. Was it possible that the white pills were illicit drugs?

Zheng Ren immediately realized that his undue haste was stressing them greatly.

After regaining his composure and pretending as if the question was unimportant, he sat down and launched the patient management system on his computer, saying, “Don’t worry, it’s just a small issue. Is there anyone at home? Call them and ask what the white pills are.”

“Okay.” Sure enough, the tall man immediately eased and started making a phone call.

A few minutes later, he looked at Zheng Ren with admiration.

“Doctor Zheng, you’re amazing! The white pills are indeed dexamethasone.”

The compliment made Zheng Ren feel helpless instead of joy.

“Why are you taking dexamethasone?” asked Zheng Ren.

“Farm work is exhausting, and the villagers claimed that de… the white pills can combat fatigue,” the short man answered anxiously, “The drug is really good. I feel energetic the next day and won’t feel tired even after work.”

Zheng Ren nodded and started thinking about treatment.

His silence was nerve-wracking. The short man asked nervously, “Doctor Zheng, it’s not a terminal illness such as bone cancer, right? I’m not going to receive treatment if it’s cancer.”

“No, and you won’t die from this condition.” Zheng Ren’s answer was simple and direct. A little rude, even.

However, such a tone occasionally inspired confidence in patients.

The short man’s expression immediately softened upon hearing the answer.

“The quack doctor in our village said I have bone cancer. He’ll die when we return later,” he joked with the tall man, obviously in a better mood.

“It’s not bone cancer, but equally troublesome,” Zheng Ren said, “You have avascular necrosis of the femoral head.”

“What is an avascular… something… head?”

“It means there is a lack of blood supply to the head of your thigh bone because many blood vessels are clogged, just like on a farm. How will your crops grow if you don’t water them?” Zheng Ren explained, trying to use layman’s terms.

The short man instantly understood.

“For treatment, you will first have to stop taking those white pills,” Zheng Ren said confidently, “Then, you’ll need surgery.”

“How much will it cost?”