After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

She turned to the nurse and asked, "How long will Benjamin's blood gas count be after his first surgery?"

The nurse checked her watch.

"Three minutes."

"Urine volume?"

"The catheter was just connected, and we're still recording the data."

"Lactic acid?"

"The previous result was 9.2, and the post-operative results haven't come out yet."

Ye Zhen then looked at the reporter again.

"People who use children to create hype will stand in front of the camera and announce the good news."

She handed the medical record sheet in her hand to the nurse next to her.

"I just want to give my child a chance to live."

The assistant wanted to ask more questions.

"So you deny any connection to the Nobel Prize?"

"I can't even guarantee that Benjamin will be alright tonight."

Ye Zhen slowed down her speech.

"If you insist on putting the Nobel Prize in front of a baby, that's your problem."

Benjamin's father suddenly rushed to the cordon.

The security guard tried to stop her, but Ye Zhen raised her hand to stop him.

The man's voice was hoarse, yet it resonated clearly into every tape recorder.

"Stop it."

He clutched the critical condition notice, his hands trembling violently.

"Please stop asking about prizes. My son is not a story. He is four months old."

Xu Wenqiang stood to the side, translating in a low voice to the Chinese personnel.

He said, "Stop asking about the awards. His son isn't news material; he's only four months old."

The blonde woman covered her face, unable to suppress her sobs.

Robert put down the tape recorder.

Ye Zhen did not help the parents.

In situations like these, excessive comfort is useless.

She only spoke to remind the nurse.

"Take the family members to wait outside the intensive care unit. If blood is found, notify me first, and then the attending physician will explain to the family."

The nurse nodded.

Ye Zhen closed the medical record page and turned back to the reporter.

"You have a few more minutes. If you have any questions, ask anything related to medicine."

Outside the cordon, the tape recorder was raised again.

A reporter from The New York Times preemptively asked, "If Benjamin's condition worsens within 24 hours, who will be held responsible? Mayo, or you personally?"

Stephen's face darkened.

Ye Zhen spoke first: "The responsibility is written in the authorization documents, surgical records, and postoperative medical orders. Every step of the procedure is recorded, and every medication is signed. Everything is done according to the documents."

The reporter was cornered, but someone nearby immediately chimed in: "Dr. Ye, do you believe this surgery proves that Chinese standards have surpassed the American medical system?"

After this question was raised, the surroundings became much quieter.

Ye Zhen did not follow his lead.

"Medicine is not a competition."

She threw the used gloves into the medical waste bin.

"Benjamin survived, and the patients benefited. Anyone who insists on writing about the rescue of a four-month-old baby as a matter of victory or defeat is a matter of their profession."

Someone in the back row was taking notes in a low voice.

Another television reporter squeezed to the front: "Will you submit the complete surgical plan to the FDA? If not, does that mean your standards cannot withstand US scrutiny?"

Xu Wenqiang's expression changed: "This question is leading."

Ye Zhen raised her hand, signaling him to stop.

"What I can disclose are the surgical principles, data models, and postoperative follow-up results after removing patient privacy. I will not keep anything that can be made public."

The reporter wanted to ask more questions, but Gu Zheng pointed to the media badge on his chest.

"One media outlet, one problem."

The man had no choice but to shut his mouth.

Soon, more people raised their hands.

"Dr. Ye, the family member's emotional outburst just now suggests that you did not adequately explain the risks during the pre-operative consultation?"

Harrison frowned.

Ye Zhen remained calm.

"The preoperative informed consent form outlined three types of risks: not being able to get off the operating table during the operation, low cardiac output for 24 hours after the operation, and uncontrolled shunt thrombus and pulmonary blood loss."

She turned to the stenographer.

"I went over these points one by one before the family signed. Mayo's legal counsel, ethics authorization, and the attending physician were all present."

She paused for a moment.

"Family members' fear does not mean that doctors are hiding anything; do not use fear as evidence."

This answer was even firmer than before.

The reporter who asked the question lowered his head and flipped through his notebook, without responding further.

Reporter Emily squeezed her way out of the crowd.

She wasn't holding a tape recorder; instead, she was holding a medical record folder that had been folded many times.

Gu Zheng took half a step forward, blocking her from getting any closer.

The female reporter immediately stopped outside the cordon and took off her work badge.

"I'm not trying to steal the spotlight. My name is Emily, a reporter for The Washington Post."

Ye Zhen didn't reply.

She didn't know this person.

Emily clutched her press pass tightly in her hand, her voice trembling.

"I am not asking this question as a journalist. I am a mother."

Robert turned his head: "Emily, what are you doing?"

Emily ignored him.

She held up the medical record folder.

"My daughter is three years old and has a ventricular septal defect. Her left ventricular ventricle is underdeveloped. Boston Children's Hospital told us to continue to observe her, but recently she has turned purple after activity and has severe shortness of breath at night."

She paused for a moment.

"Can I apply for a Huaxia Standard assessment? I want you to see my child for yourself."

No one was urging them on.

Ye Zhen did not take the medical record bag.

Did you bring the complete documentation?

Emily nodded immediately: "The ultrasound, ECG, blood gas, and two follow-up examination records are all there. There are also photos of her during the attack."

Ye Zhen glanced at her watch.

"I can't watch it now."

Emily's hand hung down halfway.

Ye Zhen continued, "Benjamin's postoperative monitoring is the priority. If your daughter doesn't have an acute hypoxia attack right now, submit the documents according to the Mayo Clinic consultation procedure."

Emily quickly pressed, "Then will you be able to watch it?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Give the data to Professor Harrison. Fill in any missing information. If the criteria are met, proceed with the consultation."

One reporter immediately interjected, "Doesn't this count as giving the Washington Post a backdoor?"

Ye Zhen turned to the man.

"Not really."

She pointed to the medical record folder in Emily's hand.

"You all heard her submit the documents. It's the Mayo Clinic process, queuing according to the severity of the illness, no cutting in line. If the illness isn't urgent enough, she can only be placed after the more critically ill children. It's not expedited because she's a journalist, nor is it rejected because she's a journalist."

The reporter fell silent.

Emily's voice was a little nasal, but she nodded very quickly.

"Sure, as long as you look."

Ye Zhen then took the outer layer of the medical record bag, checked the name, age, and diagnosis summary, without flipping through the privacy page inside, and then handed it to Harrison.

"Register first."

Harrison took it: "I'll register myself."

Emily hung her press pass back around her neck.

She didn't ask any more questions about the news, only whispering, "Thank you."

Ye Zhen turned to all the reporters.

"Ten minutes are up."

Robert was about to speak when Gu Zheng raised his hand to signal the security guard to put the phone away.

Stephen's assistant came running down the corridor, holding a freshly printed lab report.

"Dr. Ye! Benjamin has his first blood gas after surgery!"