A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 363: Oh no, the necromancer is cutting into the heart!

Gasping for breath, the priest dragged over... Garrett didn’t see the person at first, but rather five twig-like fingers, thin and dry, probing the nostrils of the injured just like Garrett would. Then, they retracted and checked the patient’s pulse.

In the midst of busyness, Garrett raised his head. Wow! What... What race is this orc...?

Not like a dog, nor a cat, and if it were a minotaur—judging by the horns on its head, somewhat similar—then it’s too short and too thin. It also has a hunched back, its entire body trembling and huddled together, its face etched with sorrow.

If it had anything to do with the word ’bull,’ it could only be a snail...

Regardless of snail or beetle, healing the injured is what counts as good. Unfortunately, the elderly orc kneeling on the other side had a very unpleasant expression, his hand trembling as it reached towards the injured’s chest, hesitating multiple times to pull out a dagger, yet not daring to:

"My healing magic level is too low, let’s maintain his condition together for now, and wait for a higher-level healer..."

He bowed his head, muttering a chant. Even with [Comprehend Languages], Garrett couldn’t make out what he was singing, just as understanding Chinese doesn’t necessarily mean one can recognize song lyrics. Only a pale red glow of light rain could be seen falling on the injured, and in no time, the old priest was gasping for breath, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Hey, you help too! Aren’t you a priest?" a young orc called out. Garrett glanced around, dropped a minor healing spell casually, and continued observing the injured:

This room full of orcs, some resembling dogs, others cats, and some foxes; their skin colors deep and light, yellow and white; their physical traits significantly different from humans, now making it difficult for him to use as a reference to judge whether the patient’s complexion was pale or not...

Too many references, unable to judge, I take my leave.

Garrett, drawing on his decades of emergency clinical experience, quickly assessed the injured’s condition. The patient’s eyes were wide open, his gaze following their movements, his consciousness still clear; a wound on his chest, about 2cm long, the depth unknown, not daring to remove the knife. The stabbing was in the left-center of the front chest, the... the fifth rib interstice...

How many pairs of ribs should this damned orc have?

Is the heart damaged?

Did it pierce the lung?

Garrett quickly pulled out the [Endless Ink Pen] and shoved it under the orc. Inhaling deeply, focusing, he released [Detect Magic]...

And saw nothing.

Uh... This is awkward...

The [Endless Ink Pen] is a level 9 magical item, capable of observing objects five levels lower than it. This warrior, clearly of a higher level, has too strong a life force. The magical aura of the [Endless Ink Pen] couldn’t penetrate the injured’s body...

The old priest continued to chant fervently, maintaining the injured’s vital signs. Garrett seized the moment, casually wiping the sweat from the injured’s forehead;

The neck’s veins bulged prominently, suggesting, perhaps, the jugular vein?

The pulse... The normal pulse of an orc is unknown, but the feeling under his fingertips was shallow and rapid, and getting faster, no different from the weak sensation of hypovolemic shock due to a sudden drop in blood pressure from blood loss in his previous life;

He took out a copper stethoscope to listen...

Thump, thump, thump. The heartbeat sounds were weak, muffled, and vague, as if coming from far away!

A stab wound to the precordial area, not much bleeding, jugular vein bulging, blood pressure plummeting, heart sounds low and distant—all these symptoms, one by one, all pointed to a critical condition, acute cardiac tamponade!

—Outside the human heart, there’s a layer of muscle called the pericardium. Extremely dense, it envelops the heart, with pericardial fluid inside for lubrication. Like now, with the heart stabbed and bleeding, the pericardial muscles contract on their own, trapping the blood within the pericardium, preventing it from flowing into the chest cavity.

With this layer of protection, the bleeding from the heart won’t be too much, not quickly leading to hypovolemic shock; but, if there’s too much bleeding, the blood accumulated in the pericardial cavity increases pressure, externally compressing the heart. 𝖗

When the pressure reaches a certain level, surpassing the heart muscle’s pumping force, the heart will be unable to beat, causing cardiac arrest!

Without the heart’s beating, arterial blood can’t be transported throughout the body, and the patient will quickly enter a state of hypoxia. In just three to four minutes, the hypoxic brain tissue will suffer irreversible damage.

By then, even if they were revived, it would be futile!

Garrett immediately sprang into action:

"Who’s in charge here? Who can make decisions?"

"Me, me, me!" Several orcs shouted together. There were the warriors who arrived first at the scene, the old orc who had dragged over the priest and was crying out "Save my brother," and even a gracefully slender cat-woman. As they shouted, they also pushed and shoved each other, clearly eager to respond.

This scenario was all too familiar to Garrett from his past life in emergency medicine. Rooms filled with nosy relatives, one asking questions after another, some fumbling for money; others pressing forward to question the doctor, but retreating when it was time to sign and pay...

All sorts of behaviors, a complete collection that could be gathered in just a week at the emergency department.

With the situation being critical, Garrett had no time to argue. He scanned the crowd and immediately focused on a golden-haired orc with the most jewelry and the proudest chest, standing at the center of the crowd, his voice urgent:

"He’s dying! I might be able to save him—but only if we open his chest and touch his heart! If you allow it, I’ll treat him. If not, there’s nothing I can do but leave!"

The method to relieve cardiac tamponade is actually not complicated—or rather, it doesn’t seem complicated to a modern surgeon. Open the chest, perform a pericardiotomy, let the fresh blood flow out from the pericardium. With the pressure in the pericardium reduced, the heart will naturally resume beating.

As long as it’s done before four minutes of oxygen deprivation, there’s a chance to save him!

But, this kind of treatment is undoubtedly heresy here. Garrett wouldn’t dare proceed without making it clear to the family, or rather, without getting approval from someone in charge on the scene!

Joking aside, there were about a dozen orcs on-site, and together with Bernard, even if they included the dwarf Gavin, they were only three people in total. Rashly proceeding to open someone’s chest, they wouldn’t survive the ensuing beating!

"What? Open the chest!"

The room erupted into chaos. Before the golden-haired orc could respond, several warriors had already begun to loudly protest:

"Are you a devil?!"

"No, are you a Necromancer?!"

"He’s already so gravely injured, opening his chest will surely kill him!"

"Simond—Simond—"

The cat-woman collapsed on the injured, her face pressed against his chest, crying bitterly. After just a few cries, a copper tube suddenly descended, brushing past her cheek to land on the injured’s chest. The cat-woman jumped in shock, her claws instinctively extending.

With a clang, three scratch marks appeared on the stethoscope’s outer wall. Garrett, expressionless, retrieved the stethoscope and looked up at the golden-haired orc:

"You’d better decide quickly. His heartbeat is getting weaker; he won’t last much longer."

"How long can you keep him alive?"

The golden-haired orc suddenly spoke up. But he wasn’t asking Garrett; he was asking the old orc on the ground. The old orc, trembling and drenched in sweat, replied:

"Not long... I’m just a mid-level priest, I can’t heal this kind of fatal wound..."

"Simond saved my life once," the golden-haired orc suddenly said. He removed a gold bracelet studded with gems and handed it to Garrett:

"If you can save him, ask for anything you want. But if you kill him—"

Garrett immediately got up to leave.

What a joke, the injured saved your life, not mine. With such a dangerous operation as opening the chest and the family’s attitude like this, they still expect me to intervene?

I’m not foolish!

There was no registration, no ambulance to the hospital, no rule that doctors can’t refuse treatment, so he wouldn’t!

Two orc warriors reflexively blocked the door. Garrett stopped, his expression stern:

"What? Did I kill the man? —Let me through!"

The two warriors stood frozen, refusing to move. Garrett snorted, turning his body halfway, with Bernard ready to step forward. Just then, from the depths of the room, a shrill cry rang out:

"His heart has stopped beating!"

Cardiac arrest?

So soon?!

Garrett suddenly turned back. The old orc, trembling and wavering, suddenly pulled out the dagger from the injured’s chest, then slashed his own chest. One cut, two cuts, three cuts, blood gushing forth. Immediately after, a burst of illusory blood rain sprayed directly from his chest onto the injured.

Garrett quickly cast a life observation spell. The injured

’s breath briefly strengthened, then quickly weakened again. Amidst the cat-woman’s desperate pleas and the warriors’ roars, the old orc collapsed to the ground, helplessly shaking his head.

"You treat him! —It’s not your fault if you can’t cure him!"

The golden-haired orc finally called out. Garrett stepped back to the injured’s side, bent down to take a look, and directed everyone to lift him onto a table, reaching for the dagger...

"Boss, you can’t cut through."

Bernard calmly reminded him from behind. Garrett silently took a deep breath, then another deep breath... Then, with a slap of his space bag, the silver skeleton given to him by Mage Edgar flew out, assembling itself piece by piece.

The room fell suddenly silent. From behind Garrett, an orc whispered:

"He really is a Necromancer..."

Garrett had no time to bother with that guy. He quickly disinfected the patient’s chest with iodine, wiped it, poured alcohol, wiped it again. The silver skeleton stepped forward, and Garrett handed it the dagger, casually casting [Enchanted Weapon] on it. Then, very proficiently, he stepped back to take the position of an assistant from the caster’s direction.

This time, he finally didn’t have to stand in the position of a surgical nurse, which was a relief.

The silver skeleton, holding the dagger, made a cut. Time was of the essence, and there was no room for fine work; the cut directly opened the chest, and four [Enhanced Mage Hands] appeared, two on each side, pulling the ribcage apart.

Amidst the grating sound that made one’s teeth ache, a large, bright red heart, the size of two fists, quickly appeared before everyone’s eyes.

The orc warriors crowded around to see. The silver skeleton made another cut on the heart’s surface. Garrett yelled, "Back off—"

No one listened. Each one, as if their lives depended on it, pressed forward, eager to get a clearer view. However, as this cut was made, the pericardium split open, and a column of dark red blood surged up, spraying the ceiling instantly!