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Chapter_205
Harold looked seriously at Lucas, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “Lucas, Mr. Chambers is in grave danger. I’ve performed the initial surgery, and he’ll soon be ready for transfer to the ICU. However, the blood clot in his brain is in a critical spot. My skills aren’t enough to operate on it. Within the next twenty-four hours, you need to find a leading neurologist to perform the surgery, or…” His voice trailed off, but the meaning was clear.
Lucas felt a wave of panic flood over him. He anxiously asked, “Dr. Anderson, everyone in Seacrity knows you’re the top neurologist. If even you can’t do this surgery, who else can I find at this hour?”
Harold sighed deeply. “I have no other options. The only choice is to contact top neurologists, both domestic and international, and have them fly in immediately to operate on Mr. Chambers.”
Lucas stood frozen, at a loss. Where am I supposed to find a top neurologist right now? he thought. Is this just watching Mr. Chambers slip away?
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Lucas turned instinctively, and Harold also glanced toward the source of the noise. A group of doctors in white coats approached, along with a few nurses. At the front was a man dressed in black, exuding an icy, intimidating aura that seemed to command the space around him. Behind him was none other than their old dean, Tristant Sloan.
Harold’s eyes widened in recognition. Tristan? Didn’t he go to Betrico for a meeting? Why is he back at the hospital?
Lucas, too, froze for a moment, then was overwhelmed with joy. The image of Jeremiah from the police station flashed in his mind.
Harold hurried toward Tristan, while Lucas rushed straight to the man at the center—Jeremiah.
“Mr. Sloan, why are you back? Did the medical conference end early?” Harold asked, his voice a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Tristan glanced at Jeremiah next to him, his expression unreadable. Jeremiah, without a word, had pulled Tristan out of the conference and rushed him back to the hospital after briefly explaining the situation with Zachary.
Lucas, nearly breathless with hope, bent in front of Jeremiah. His eyes were filled with desperation. “Hello, Mr. Chavez! Are you here for Mr. Chambers? What about Ms. Chambers? Has she returned too?”
Jeremiah nodded slightly, his cold eyes locking onto Lucas. “Yeah, she’s on her way. I’ll handle it.”
Lucas felt a flicker of disappointment that Yvette hadn’t arrived yet, but seeing Jeremiah lead a team of doctors gave him a bit of hope.
Tristan turned to Harold. “How is Mr. Chambers doing now?” he asked, his voice serious. Harold paused before answering.
“Mr. Sloan, the situation is critical. When Zachary was brought in, his heart and lung functions were severely damaged. There’s a blood clot in a very bad spot in his brain. I performed the initial surgery, but it only stabilized him temporarily. We’re moving him to the ICU now,” Harold explained, his tone grave.
He continued, “We need a top neurosurgeon within 24 hours, or his life is in danger. The only one I know who can handle it is Quentin Xander, the head of neurosurgery at Betrico Medical University. But he’s currently abroad at a conference, and there’s no way he can return in time.”
Tristan’s face darkened. How is this even considered having a chance of survival?
He thought for a moment before speaking to Jeremiah, his voice skeptical. “Quentin is at an international medical conference that only happens once every three years. If he leaves, it could affect his career. Why would he rush to Seacrity for someone he doesn’t know well?”
Lucas collapsed to the floor, pale and trembling, unable to bear hearing the hopelessness in Tristan’s words.
Jeremiah’s dark eyes remained emotionless as he pulled out his phone. He scrolled quickly, finding Quentin’s name on his contacts, and dialed a video call. The call was answered almost immediately.
Quentin, clearly startled by the ringing phone, had been resting. He rubbed his eyes and froze when he saw the caller. After a moment of shock, he quickly pulled himself together.
The video call revealed a refined middle-aged man, with a warm smile despite the early hour. “Hello, Mr. Chavez,” Quentin greeted in a soothing, friendly voice.
Jeremiah didn’t waste time. “Get dressed now. Someone will pick you up in thirty minutes. Come back to Seacrity for surgery. A patient needs your expertise.”
Quentin blinked, surprised, but nodded quickly. “No problem. I’ll pack right away. What’s the patient’s condition? Is there a lead doctor? I need to understand the situation and prepare a surgical plan,” he asked.
There was no need for Jeremiah to elaborate. Quentin knew the urgency immediately. A call from Jeremiah meant this patient was on the edge between life and death.
Harold, still stunned by the situation, took the phone from Jeremiah. He looked at the familiar face on the screen but couldn’t process his emotions. A top neurosurgeon—Quentin Xander—is about to discuss a patient’s condition with me? he thought in awe.
Quentin glanced at Harold’s shocked face and politely greeted him. “Hello, I’m Quentin. Can you tell me about the patient’s condition? Is there significant blood loss? Where exactly is the brain injury?” he asked, his tone professional.
Harold, snapping back to reality, walked to a quieter corner and provided a detailed update on Zachary’s condition, using medical terms. Three minutes later, Harold returned to Jeremiah’s side, his demeanor markedly more respectful.
“Here’s your phone. Dr. Xander wants to discuss something with you,” Harold said, handing the phone back to Jeremiah.
In the video call, Quentin’s expression had shifted to something more serious.
“Mr. Chavez, I have a basic understanding of the situation. It’s critical. The next 24 hours are crucial. Even if we perform surgery in time, the five-hour flight back to Seacrity could cause complications. If I operate directly in Seacrity now, it might be fine. But if we wait, even if I perform the surgery, there’s only a 60% chance of success. You need to inform the patient’s family,” Quentin explained.
