Surgery Godfather
Chapter 1004 - 837 - : Am I not an assistant? Why am I in the audience?_2

Chapter 1004: 837 Chapter: Am I not an assistant? Why am I in the audience?_2

The surgery would definitely take a long time. Director Shi calculated with his fingers and couldn’t help shivering. Would it really take several days and nights?

A straightforward hepatectomy and autologous liver transplantation could clock up to over ten hours. Considering the resection and transplantation of these eight organs plus the clearing of various lymph nodes, it wouldn’t be short of a hundred hours—nearly five or six sleepless days and nights—to complete the surgery. Even if some organs weren’t as troublesome as the liver or pancreas, reducing the time, it would still take about two or three days.

Previously, he hadn’t calculated the time and had hurriedly come to observe the surgery. Now, figuring thus, he felt a sense of collapse. What kind of surgery lasted for several days and nights?

Professor Shi couldn’t help but turn his head to look at the few young people on the stage. Were these youngsters going to persevere through several days and nights? Impossible, right?

Looking at his junior brother and the other doctors, they seemed to be enjoying the show. Had they not realized the issue with time? Were they still in the dark? Indeed, ignorance is bliss.

Several days and nights. Even he, merely observing the surgery, was now frightened, let alone the surgeons standing at the operating table.

The video of the surgery continued, upholding a principle to temporarily preserve the arteries and veins, gradually severing all other connections. The tumor, without being dissected, along with the eight organs, was to be removed as one "major organ" entity.

Were these people not aware of the surgery at all, as if looking through a peephole?

"Just their team? Are there no relief teams?" Director Shi Guosheng asked Director Fang.

For such a major surgery, typically taking an extended time, several teams are needed to take turns, like running a relay race.

Director Fang was suddenly asked and temporarily blanked out, "Relay? What relay? Does Professor Yang need a relay team for the surgery?"

Director Shi was dumbstruck at his junior brother’s tone of speech. It was indeed the truth but easily sounded like a retort. If they were not close as senior and junior brothers, Director Shi would have scolded him again. Who talks like that? Yet, Director Shi was accustomed to him, knowing since university that this fellow was blunt to a fault, a simpleton then and still now, completely unchanged.

When it came to the relay, suddenly something clicked in Director Fang’s mind, sensing something amiss, yet he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He looked at the operating table, then at the audience below, then at the other people, and finally at himself.

Why did the scene suddenly feel so bizarre? What was amiss?

"What’s wrong with you?"

Director Shi, noticing something odd in his junior brother’s eyes, asked.

Director Fang didn’t respond, his eyes darting around. What was wrong?

Damn it!

Aren’t I the first assistant? Why am I below the stage? Why are they all up there?

Wasn’t it agreed that I’d be the first assistant?

How come I’m below the stage, why am I here—

Song Zimo, Xu Zhiliang, you two are being sneaky. Why are you guys standing on the stage? That’s my spot. We agreed I’d be the first assistant. How come no one reminded me today?

This is messed up. I’ve been so wrapped up accompanying my senior brother that I forgot I was supposed to be the first assistant. The surgery has already started, what now?

Should I just swallow my own knocked-out tooth? No way.

Director Fang immediately walked over to the operating table, first pretending to observe the surgery closely before casually dropping, "Dr. Song, must be tough. How about I lend a hand for a bit?"

Upon hearing Director Fang’s voice, Song Zimo didn’t immediately grasp what he meant. So, he responded, "No worries, it’s manageable."

Director Fang circled the operating table, growing more anxious by the second. How could he pass up such a golden opportunity? Not only could he learn a lot, but just being part of this surgery - albeit as an assistant - would provide bragging rights for a lifetime, beginning statements with "we"...

But now Song Zimo was the first assistant, performing admirably on the stage. Physically pulling him down would seem graceless.

It wasn’t that someone else snatched the opportunity; he foolishly hadn’t scrubbed in, choosing instead to accompany his senior brother, possibly giving the younger ones the impression he was entertaining a guest and giving up his chance to be on stage—a misunderstanding entirely his fault as he just realized he was offstage.

If the surgery hadn’t started yet, Old Fang would be direct and straightforward, "do me a favor, I’ll take over as the first assistant," but now, with everyone on stage, emotionally and logically, it was not right to pull someone off, nor was it feasible to keep disturbing him, risking the safety of the surgery. Old Fang was still conscious of that.

What to do now?

Director Fang paced like an ant on a hot pan, desperate and restless.

"Professor! The situation is worse than we thought, isn’t it?"

Song Zimo saw that the anatomy inside was a complete mess; the textbooks’ anatomy was practically useless here.

"Stay calm!"

Yang Ping reminded him, his hands never stopping their work.

Song Zimo looked up at the professor, and that confident gaze was almost divine, no wonder August said the professor was "The Man from Earth."

"I am calm."

Song Zimo perked up, following the professor’s pace, but it wasn’t anatomy at all—clearly a tangled mess of dough, and it was just the hellish beginning, with many more difficult steps yet to come.

"Dr. Song, do you need a break? No worries, you can rest, and I’ll cover for you for a while."

Director Fang finally seized the opportunity.

"No problem, we’ve hardly started, and I’m still full of energy," Song Zimo replied.

Director Fang sighed internally and wandered around a few more times. In just that short delay, the liver was almost completely separated, except for a few arteries and veins, almost freeing the liver—now working on separating it from the inferior vena cava—a step high in difficulty that could cause massive bleeding with a slightest mistake.

"Sorry, guys, I got so busy today I forgot I was supposed to assist, having you all cover for me, I truly apologize."

Old Fang was really straightforward and honest to a fault.

Unfortunately, at that moment, no one heard him, especially Song Zimo, as everyone was entirely focused on the operation. It’s not that they pretended not to hear; they really didn’t hear it.

Tragic, really, that no one heard him—it wouldn’t be appropriate to repeat himself, as it would clearly disturb the ongoing operation.

Old Fang had no choice but to stay by the operating table and watch, waiting for an opportunity to act.

Before cutting the front of the hepatic artery, they separated the peritoneum and the loose connective tissue above the pancreatic head, isolating the hepatic artery, proper hepatic artery, and gastroduodenal artery. The gastroduodenal artery was also separated and lured further with silk thread to continue the separation process until a satisfactory length was achieved before proceeding upwards along the hepatic artery to where it joined the abdominal artery, starting the separation of the inferior vena cava in this direction.

The lymph nodes at the upper edge of the pancreatic head were invaded by metastatic tumors, now part of "the whole" awaiting final extraction in one go.

The lymphatic and connective tissues on the right side of the gallbladder were incised at their normal locations.

Yang Ping’s hands sometimes cooperated, sometimes operated independently, one hand separating a blood vessel while the other hand worked on a different area; both hands performed separate tasks independently.

This was some impressive maneuvering; casually observing, one wouldn’t notice, but on a closer look, it was startling. It seemed as if two different people’s hands were operating, damn, one person’s two hands operating entirely independently.

It was truly a divine performance; it was like two separate individuals performing the surgery, effectively doubling the speed.

Things are supposed to make sense, but there’s no making sense of this: how can one person’s two hands operate independently, each doing its own thing? Yet, that was exactly what was happening.

Now Director Shi Guosheng finally understood why there seemed to be two assistants up there; he wondered why the roles of first and second assistant were so blurred.

These were two first assistants: one complemented his left hand, and the other his right.

Those few retractors were being pulled excellently, revealing each step of the operation continuously, relieving the two hands in the middle of surgery to focus solely on the chief surgeon’s tasks.

Holy cow, is this even possible in surgery? Is this even a human?

Director Shi Guosheng really couldn’t comprehend it; being a top in the general surgery of tumors, now it felt like he hadn’t seen anything before, everything was a shock.

"Left and Right Boko?"

A general surgery doctor who was a fan of Yang Ping immediately recognized the technique being used.

With both One-Stroke Flow and Left and Right Boko, a serious operation was turning into a scene from a martial arts novel.