It can’t be that hard to open a hospital in another world, right? 5
by admin## Chapter 5: I, the Overworked and Reincarnated, Have Transmigrated
Saline solution?
Wu Zhou turned his head and saw a rough hand holding a wooden bowl towards him. The warrior’s hands were full of calluses, even after washing, the deep black dirt in his fingernails couldn’t be cleaned. His black and yellow thumb was pressed against the rim of the bowl, with his nail deeply embedded in the water…
Wu Zhou only glanced at it and felt his stomach churn. But, in this lousy place, to find something else to hold the saline solution…
Forget it!
This thatched-roof house, with wooden buckets so dirty they couldn’t even see their original color, besides the wooden bowl, there’s probably nothing else!
Wu Zhou lowered his head and sipped the saline solution, tasting it, his heart filled with sorrow.
The wild, without readily available saline solution, is so miserable.
Boiling water, adding cold water, adding salt. How much salt to add is up to me to calculate on the spot!
He adjusted the concentration by taste and felt the temperature, thinking that the concentration might be a bit off, but the temperature was roughly right. As for the temperature being half a degree lower than 37 degrees, the saline concentration being 10% off…
No time for that!
Add salt, add salt, add more salt. To be safe, Wu Zhou had them add salt three times in a row before he adjusted it to his satisfaction. Then, he directed these clumsy men to use strong liquor to wipe the opening of the water bag, lift it, and pour it in…
From the upper abdomen to the lower abdomen, little by little, carefully washing it. After washing once, he gently held the intestines with both hands and continued to yell:
“Come on, lift him up! One lifts the shoulder, one lifts the feet, one lifts the back!”
The red-haired archer held the injured man’s shoulder.
The young man who had been kneeling beside the injured man, holding his intestines, lifted the injured man’s legs.
The little pastor, who was kneeling in a twisted position opposite the injured man, one hand pressing on the brachial artery and the other hand pressing on the posterior tibial artery, also released his hands as Wu Zhou allowed. Surgery, examination, cleaning, after a series of operations, the blood on the injured man’s left arm and left leg had basically stopped, and the little freckled man’s pressure work was over, he turned to lift the injured man’s back.
“One, two, three, up! Turn to my side!”
With a whoosh, the saline solution used to wash the abdominal cavity poured out.
Wu Zhou continued to cry.
No suction device, no drainage tube, nothing… Suck it out with a straw or reed tube? Just thinking about those warriors’ big yellow teeth, and what if they couldn’t suck well, and vomit back into the abdomen a mouthful or two, Wu Zhou simply said, forget it.
With no choice, he could only use the simplest, most brutal method: After washing the abdominal cavity, lift the person up and pour out the water.
The water was basically drained, Wu Zhou carefully checked one last time. Luckily, there was no bleeding, or, to use Wu Zhou’s usual term, no active bleeding. He finally let out a sigh of relief, straightened his back slightly, stretched out his hand:
“Suture!”
… No one paid any attention.
No forceps, no needle and thread, no smiling instrument nurse, gently placing the needle holder in his palm…
Wu Zhou: “…”
T_T
He should have gotten used to it.
This is not a hospital, not an operating room. There is no first assistant, second assistant, instrument nurse, circulating nurse, a group of people working together. When he shouted suture, there wasn’t even anyone around who knew what he meant…
“Give me the·needle·and·thread!”
“Huh? …Oh!”
The little pastor with a face full of freckles jumped up and began to rummage through his inner pocket.
Wu Zhou’s eyes lit up.
He had thought that the thatched hut next door was old and dilapidated, but at least it was a household, so they should be able to find some needle and thread. Who knew that this little freckle-faced fellow actually had needle and thread? That’s great, the pastor’s class is higher than the commoner’s, so the things he gets should be better…
No, wait!
What is this crap!
A sewing needle, no, that length, that thickness, it’s basically a needle for sewing quilts!
And it’s bent!
Bent!
Bent from sewing clothes!
And this thread! This thread! Don’t ask for it to be antibacterial suture thread, with barbs, knotless suture thread, but this hemp thread, still lumpy, not smooth at all, what’s the meaning of this?
Forget it… You can’t ask for too much in this broken place…
Wu Zhou tried to comfort himself, flying needle and thread, sewing the abdominal wall as fast as he could. While sewing, the blue veins on his forehead jumped: No absorbable suture, no silk thread, only the most inferior hemp thread – the needle for threading is still a sewing needle! Straight! Straight!
No needle holder, no curved needle, holding a sewing needle in his hand and poking it into the flesh, this feeling, only those who have sewn it know…
He concentrated and held his breath, patiently sewing layer by layer. Peritoneum, superficial fascia, skin and subcutaneous tissue… meticulously doing three layers of suturing, tying the last knot, he felt exhausted and leaned back, falling to the ground.
“Dress him up…”
No one even helped him wipe his sweat.
Sadness.
No one helped him wipe his sweat during the operation, thankfully someone took care of him after the operation. Wu Zhou lay down, and immediately five or six hands stretched out to support him, the warriors who had been directed around by him, not daring to say a word, swarmed up, talking all at once:
“Little Grett, you’re amazing!”
“Little Grett, when did you learn this?”
“Little Grett…”
Wu Zhou: …???
His exhausted mind turned, and then turned again, finally pumping a piece of memory into his brain. Yes, those people were calling him, his name was Grett, Grett Nordmark, a recruit in the city guard…
Today, he followed the squad out of the city to patrol, and by the way, escorted the pastor – the little freckled fellow, named Johannes – back home to visit relatives. The one he just rescued was their squad leader, Uncle Kalen, who had been taking care of him.
Uncle Kalen was injured, and his nephew Raymond, the spearman, was the one kneeling and holding his intestines; the red-haired archer, Tom; and the shield warrior, Wally, who had been sent by him to boil water, together, made up the entire squad.
So… I transmigrated?
Sure enough, I, who had been crazily working overtime in the emergency department, finally became a corpse…
Sigh, I survived the residency, I survived the attending physician, but I still fell at the associate professor level!
Wu Zhou silently wiped away a tear of sadness for himself. He looked around, towards the rolling hills and verdant grass in the distance, towards the thatched-roof house with an ancient style, towards his teammates with high noses, deep eyes, and Caucasian features, finally, he lowered his eyes and mourned for himself for a second, whispering:
“From now on, I’m Grett…”
Grett raised his eyes again and saw a row of warriors, oh, and a pastor, staring intently at him. Obviously, they were all surprised and curious about how he suddenly learned to open the belly and save people.
Grett: “…”
How should I explain it?
Should I tell them that I have this ability because I’ve been trained by twelve years of elementary and middle school education + seven years of undergraduate and graduate studies + ten years of clinical work in my previous life?!
If I really said that, I would… be burned to death…?
There’s also a pastor on the scene who saw everything, and he can report it to the church when he goes back, there’s no way to hide it!
Grett, shivering.jpg
Just when he was going from the religious court to the stake, and about to imagine the ten greatest tortures, a worried question interrupted his train of thought, and also saved him from the fire:
“Little Grett… Captain, will he survive?”
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(End of chapter)
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