Free Web NovelChapter 2103: Chapter 1796: Strict Teacher, Outstanding Disciple (Part 2)
"This is a needle holder, used for holding sewing needles. When you use it, loop your thumb and ring finger into the rings, place your index finger on the handle to control direction. Do not grip too tightly, as that will make your hand shake; nor too loosely, as that will cause the needle to turn."
Yang Ping explained as he demonstrated. His movements were not fast, but each action was clean and precise, without any unnecessary flourish, like a seasoned craftsman showcasing the basics. His fingers were long and stable, knuckles flexible, the needle holder in his hand seemed like a pen, astonishingly obedient.
Zhaxi followed suit, picking up the needle holder, trying to clamp a sewing needle, purposely letting the needle drop onto the tray, then picking it up again, clamping repeatedly each time from a different angle he desired.
"The position for clamping the needle," Yang Ping walked over, holding his hand, adjusting the angle of the needle holder, "is at the junction of the last third of the needle. Too far forward, the needle tip is too exposed and unstable during sewing; too far back, the needle tip is clamped and cannot pass through the tissue, try to get it right in one go each time."
Yang Ping’s hand was warm, with thin calluses on certain parts of his fingers, worn from years of holding instruments. His hand was very steady, even when guiding others, without a trace of tremor. Zhaxi recalled an old saying, a surgeon’s hand is a gift from God. But now he felt this was no gift, it was honed through day after day of training. God only gives you an ordinary hand, it is you who turn it into a precision instrument.
Zhaxi took a deep breath, clamped the needle again. This time, he clamped it in the correct position with one try. The needle was firmly caught in the clamps of the needle holder, angle was suitable, needle tip facing down, needle tail upward. free𝑤ebnovel.com
"Good!" Yang Ping nodded.
In the days that followed, Zhaxi’s life was segmented into several fixed blocks.
Wake up at six in the morning, arrive at the hospital by six-thirty. He scanned through all the patients’ medical records, focusing specifically on new test results, noting any abnormal indicators in his notebook, as well as in his mind. At seven, he went to the ward for rounds, checking on his patients, asking about changes in their condition, conducting physical exams, recording patient progress. His ward rounds became increasingly proficient, knowing what questions to ask, what exams to perform, what details to pay attention to. His patient records also became more standard, no longer as verbose as before, but concise, precise, with orderly logic.
At eight, he handed over responsibilities, then either followed Yang Ping on outpatient appointments or went into surgery. During outpatient visits, he sat next to Yang Ping, responsible for inquiring about medical history, writing outpatient medical records, issuing test slips. Yang Ping was quick but thorough with each patient: asking medical history, conducting physical exams, reviewing scans, diagnosing, prescribing—all in one go. Sometimes Zhaxi couldn’t keep up with the pace, the next patient would come in before he finished writing the records. He could only fill in the gaps during breaks, or stay after clinic to organize them.
During surgeries, he stood opposite Yang Ping, serving as an assistant. Yang Ping’s surgical style, like the man himself, was clean, decisive, orderly. He wouldn’t make extraneous movements, each cut, each stitch, each time stopping bleeding was precisely calculated.
What Zhaxi feared most was when Yang Ping suddenly asked questions.
"What is the name of this anatomical structure?"
"What is the blood supply range for this blood vessel?"
"If this nerve is damaged, what symptoms will appear?"
Every time he was asked, Zhaxi would sweat nervously in his palms. If he knew the answer, he responded quickly; if he didn’t, he could only honestly say "I don’t know." Yang Ping never scolded him but would say a single sentence "Go back and check." This meant he had a knowledge gap, and this gap could one day threaten a patient’s life.
After the surgeries ended in the afternoon, without fail, he went to the training room.
The two hours in the training room were his most focused time of the day. No interruption from patients, no calls from nurses, no inquiries from family members. Just him and the instruments, under the shadowless lamp, with those models.
He started practicing from the most basic things. Holding the needle, clamping the needle, threading the needle, pulling the needle, tying knots. Repeating a move dozens or hundreds of times, until his fingers developed muscle memory. When tying knots, he started out very slow, taking over ten seconds to tie a square knot, and often making them slip knots. Yang Ping stood nearby watching, not speaking, only occasionally correcting his technique, "Push forward with your index finger, not down", "Line has to be tight, not elongated", "Knot should be tied to one side of the incision, not directly on top".
Soon, he could tie twenty square knots in a minute, each tight, flat, and without coming loose.
Next, he began practicing suturing. Making a five-centimeter incision on a silicone model, then sewing it up using various methods such as interrupted, continuous, mattress, and intracutaneous sutures. At first, the stitches were crooked, needle spacing uneven, edges asymmetrical, tension on the knots inconsistent. He would undo the stitches and redo them, practicing repeatedly until both sides of the incision aligned neatly, needle spacing was even, knots tight.
Yang Ping examined his suturing, using scissors to cut through the sutures line by line, then using tweezers to pull apart the incision, checking the alignment of subcutaneous tissue. He looked for a long time and then nodded.
"Microscope and laparoscope operations can also begin training now."
