Chapter 184: Ready for Surgery

Chapter 184: Ready for Surgery

Charles sat across from Diana.

His eyes remained fixed on her.

Diana could feel his gaze but didn't look up.

Glenn spoke up. "Mr. Windsor, Dr. Johnson, let's begin discussing the surgical plan."

He turned on the projector.

Celeste's various medical reports appeared on the screen.

Glenn pointed at the display. "Mrs. Young has three severe lesions in her heart that require bypass surgery."

Diana studied the screen, her brow furrowing.

"Glenn, Mrs. Young's cardiac function is only thirty percent of normal. The surgical risk is extremely high."

Glenn nodded. "Exactly, which is why this surgery requires extreme caution."

Charles spoke up. "Dr. Johnson, what's the success rate?"

Diana looked up, her eyes meeting Charles's.

"If everything goes smoothly, around sixty percent."

Charles's expression darkened slightly.

Diana continued, "And Mr. Windsor, you need to prepare yourself mentally. Various complications could arise during the procedure."

Charles nodded. "I understand."

Glenn asked, "Dr. Johnson, when do you think would be the best time for surgery?"

Diana thought for a moment. "Three days from now. I need time to prepare."

Glenn nodded. "Alright, we'll schedule it for three days from now."

Charles looked at Diana. "Dr. Johnson, this surgery... I'm entrusting it to you."

Diana remained silent.

Glenn stood up. "Let's conclude today's meeting here. Dr. Johnson, is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Diana shook her head. "No, nothing."

Glenn nodded. "Then I'll go arrange the operating room."

He left the conference room.

Only Charles and Diana remained.

Diana said nothing and headed straight for the door.

Charles caught up with her. "Diana, wait."

Diana stopped. "Mr. Windsor, is there something else?"

Charles looked at her. "Diana, after the surgery, could we have a proper conversation?"

Diana turned her head away. "Mr. Windsor, there's nothing for us to discuss."

Charles took a step forward. "Diana, could you give me one more chance?"

Diana didn't answer and quickly left.

 

The night before surgery, the consultation room at Hopewell Hospital was brightly lit.

Diana sat before dozens of thick medical files and the latest dynamic electrocardiogram projections. Across from her sat several renowned experts in cardiac surgery, including Professor Schmidt, who had flown in specially from Frostvik, and Brad Thornton from Stanford-Whitmore Institute of Medicine.

These were all distinguished figures in the medical field, usually surrounded by students and patients' families. Yet here they were, gathered together because of a young female doctor not yet thirty.

Professor Schmidt adjusted his reading glasses, his tone carrying a hint of scrutiny. "Dr. Johnson, your proposed 'off-pump multi-vessel arterial bypass' combined with 'minimally invasive valve repair' could theoretically reduce the trauma to Mrs. Young's weakened body, but in practical application, the precision of anastomosis and bleeding control would increase exponentially. Are you certain that without cardiopulmonary bypass, you can control bleeding from a beating heart?"

Diana looked up, her gaze clear and unwavering, showing no sign of retreat. "Professor Schmidt, Mrs. Young's kidney function is already at a critical point. Once we use cardiopulmonary bypass, the probability of postoperative complications is eighty percent. We're not solving a multiple-choice question—we're taking the only path to survival."

Brad scoffed softly, twirling his pen. "It's good for young people to have ideas, but given Mrs. Young's special status, if massive bleeding occurs during surgery, the responsibility..."

"I'll take full responsibility." Diana interrupted him, her voice quiet but resolute. "I've asked you all here, hoping that when circulatory fluctuations occur during surgery, you can use your extensive experience to help me stabilize the situation. As for the scalpel on the heart—that's mine to wield."

The conference room fell into brief silence.

The experts exchanged glances. In their decades of practice, they'd never encountered a young person so "audacious" in their presence.

James tried to mediate. "Everyone, Dr. Johnson's technique is world-class, personally vouched for by Dr. Foster. Let's focus on refining our coordination procedures."

 

Meanwhile, at the end of the hospital corridor.

Charles leaned against the wall, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Nathan approached quickly, reporting in a low voice: "Mr. Windsor, regarding the Smith family—Julia wanted to come out and seek revenge on Ms. Johnson, but Mr. Smith has her under strict house arrest. All doors and windows are sealed. As for the company, Mr. Baron Windsor has been unusually quiet lately, seemingly waiting for Mrs. Young's surgery results."

Charles's eyes turned cold. "He's not waiting for results. He's waiting for the surgery to fail. If grandmother dies on the operating table, he'll rally those old fossils to impeach me, claiming I used immature medical resources to kill an elder—essentially premeditated murder."

"Should we... increase security at the hospital?"

"Not just security." Charles looked toward the closed consultation room door. "I need to ensure no interference reaches Diana."

 

The next morning, the red light in the operating room turned on.

This was the highest-profile surgery in Hopewell Hospital's history.

The observation room was packed with department heads, young doctors drawn by reputation, and several invited medical school professors.

Everyone wanted to witness firsthand whether the legendary "Hand of God" that Glenn had praised so highly was truly worthy of the title.

Diana changed into surgical scrubs, mechanically and meticulously washing her hands at the scrub station.

Charles appeared at the corridor corner.

He didn't approach, just watched her from a distance.

Diana sensed his gaze and turned to look.

Behind her mask, Charles couldn't see her expression, but he could see her eyes—calm and clear as autumn water.

"Good luck," Charles mouthed silently.

Diana looked away and strode into the operating room.

Inside the OR, the atmosphere was taut as a drawn bowstring.

"Open the chest," Diana took the scalpel, her voice steady without the slightest tremor.

When the chest cavity opened, revealing that aged, enlarged, and weakly beating heart, a low gasp rose from the observation room.