sinovels Chapter 1422 I think this is more poetic
Chapter 1422 I think this is more poetic
Chapter 1422 I think this is more poetic
The waiting was harder than I had imagined.
On the first day after Chen Jianguo and his wife returned home, Mainstein compiled all the test data into a complete report, forty-seven pages long, with original imaging images, original electrophysiological waveforms, and a full set of blood biochemistry indicators attached. He personally wrote every word of the report, even checking the punctuation twice.
During the first week after submitting the ethics review report, Mannstein checked his email three times a day. The first thing he did upon arriving at the lab in the morning was check his email, he checked it again during lunch, and he checked it again before leaving in the evening. There were no replies.
"Are the people on the ethics committee on holiday?" he asked August.
"No! I called and they said it's under review and we should wait patiently."
“Patience!” Mainstein repeated the word, as if savoring a flavor he didn’t like.
August looked at him but didn't expose him. A man who had been stuck in a dead end for over a decade without giving up was now impatient to wait two weeks for approval. This wasn't because he was impatient; it was because this time was different.
In the second week, Mannstein began to suffer from insomnia.
On Monday of the third week, the approval finally arrived.
That morning, as soon as Mainstein arrived at the lab, his phone vibrated. It was an email from the ethics committee, titled: "Ethical Review Opinions on 'Clinical Study of 3D Guided Gene Technology for Repairing Old Spinal Cord Injuries'".
Mannstein stared at the headline for five seconds without clicking it.
He stood up, walked out of the lab, and went to Yang Ping's office. The door was open, and Yang Ping was reading a paper.
“Professor!” Mainstein stood in the doorway, his voice slightly strained, “The approval has arrived.”
Yang Ping looked up at Mainstein's expression. The German's face held a mixture of anticipation, tension, fear, and excitement, like a child awaiting their college entrance exam results.
"Come in! Let's take a look together."
Mannstein walked in and placed his phone on Yang Ping's desk. The two sat side by side, looking at the screen.
Yang Ping opened the email.
The main text is short, with only three paragraphs. The first paragraph is a routine thank you to the research team for their submission. The second paragraph is the conclusion.
"After deliberation by all members of the Ethics Committee, it was determined that the study protocol was reasonably designed, its scientific value was clear, its risk control measures were adequate, and the patient's informed consent was complete. The committee unanimously agreed to approve the study protocol."
Mannstein's breathing stopped for a moment.
“Unanimously agreed.” Yang Ping read it aloud. “Four words, very weighty.”
Mannstein didn't speak; he reached out and pointed at the screen, his fingers trembling slightly.
"Professor, please scroll down; there are attachments as well."
Yang Ping flipped through the file; the attachment was a twelve-page review report, listing the ethics committee's evaluation and recommendations on the research protocol point by point. Most were positive, with a few suggestions for revision: the informed consent form needed more colloquial language, the risk disclosure needed to be more comprehensive, and the postoperative recovery plan needed to be more detailed.
When Yang Ping turned to the last page, his hand stopped.
The last page contains only one paragraph, not a formatted comment, but a handwritten statement by the chairman of the review committee:
"This study represents a bold attempt in the field of spinal cord injury repair. As the ethics committee, our responsibility is to protect the rights and safety of patients. In reviewing this protocol, we deeply felt the research team's respect and sincerity towards patients. In particular, the research team's principle of 'giving real opportunities, not false hope' assent us assent us with certainty that this research is being conducted by the right people, in the right way, and for the right purpose. We wish the research success."
After reading this passage, Mannstein leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
"Professor, do you know how I felt when I saw this?"
"How does it feel?"
"It felt like someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Go ahead.'"
Mannstein began dialing Chen Jianguo's number.
The phone rang three times before I answered it.
"Chen Jianguo, I am Mannstein."
Chen Jianguo's voice came from the other end of the phone. After a moment of silence, Yang Ping noticed a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.
"Professor Mannstein!"
"The approval has been granted! You've passed the test and can join the team."
Silence again, this time even longer.
Yang Ping heard a woman's voice on the other end of the phone, very soft and gentle: "Jianguo, what's wrong?" Then came a long, forceful exhale, as if something had blocked her throat.
“Professor Mainstein,” Chen Jianguo’s voice finally cracked, “thank you.”
"You are welcome!"
When can I come?
"The sooner the better, we'll do the surgery next week."
A short, abrupt sound came from the other end of the phone, sounding like a mix of laughter and crying.
Okay! See you next week.
The phone hangs up.
Mannstein put down his phone.
"Professor, do you know what I'm thinking right now?"
"what?"
"I'm thinking, what if the surgery fails? How will I face him?"
Yang Ping looked at Mainstein and said:
“Maninstein, I’ve asked myself this question countless times. I’ve been asking it since before my first patient entered the operating room. The answer is—you don’t need to ‘face’ him. What you need to do is think of everything you can think of and prepare everything you can prepare before the surgery. After the surgery, no matter the outcome, you must tell him honestly. If you succeed, say you succeeded; if you fail, say you failed. Don’t run away, don’t lie, don’t make excuses. That’s what ‘facing’ him is.”
Mannstein lowered his head, looking at his hands. Those hands had performed countless surgeries, won Nobel Prizes, and written countless papers. But at this moment, they were just hands, hands about to perform surgery on Chen Jianguo.
"Professor, will you sit with me?"
Yang Ping was taken aback.
"What did you say?"
"You need to be with me on the day of the surgery; I need you to be there."
Yang Ping stared at Mainstein for a long time.
Okay! I'm here.
In the following days, the entire team entered the final sprint before the surgery.
Mannstein went through the surgical plan more than ten times. Every step, every possible unexpected event, and every contingency plan. He drew a huge flowchart on the whiteboard, from the patient's admission to anesthesia induction to the surgical incision to gene editing to postoperative recovery, marking the risk level and corresponding response measures for each node with different colored pens.
August was in charge of equipment preparation. He made a list of 147 items, from the most crucial gene-editing reagents to the most inconspicuous hemostatic swabs, checking each one twice. He posted this list on the wall of the operating room, checking off each item as it entered and exited.
Clara was in charge of intraoperative electrophysiological monitoring. She began adjusting the equipment three days before the surgery, testing all the electrodes, amplifiers, and filters repeatedly. She told Mainstein, "Don't worry about the surgery; leave the signal to me. As long as one axon grows through, I can tell you." Hans was responsible for the postoperative rehabilitation plan. He reviewed over a hundred articles on spinal cord injury rehabilitation and, based on Chen Jianguo's specific situation, developed a personalized 52-week rehabilitation plan. From passive movement on the first day after surgery to community walking training in the 52nd week, the goals, methods, and assessment criteria for each week were clearly written out.
Fritz was in charge of one thing—telling M7.
That afternoon, Fritz squatted in front of M7's cage and spoke softly in German for a long time. Yang Ping couldn't understand what he was saying, but judging from M7's expression—its head tilted, its eyes blinking, and occasionally reaching out to touch Fritz's fingers—it seemed to understand.
“What did Fritz say to it?” Yang Ping asked August.
August translated: "He said, 'M7, your task is complete. Next week, someone is coming who, like you, has been in a wheelchair for a long time. You need to give him strength. Let him see how you stand up and walk. You are his role model.'"
"Can the M7 understand? It seems to be able to understand?" Mainstein asked Yang Ping.
Yang Ping thought for a moment and said, "It can't understand. It's just a monkey, and its intelligence isn't developed enough to understand such complex language. But perhaps it can sense something."
“Professor, you are so rational. Actually, I know it doesn’t understand, but I just want to hear your answer that it can understand. I think that would be more poetic.”
Yang Ping smiled and said, "Okay, I'll correct you—it can understand!"
"You have a great sense of humor, but few people can appreciate this kind of humor."
"Didn't you taste it?"
A few days before the surgery, Chen Jianguo and his wife arrived at Nandu.
This time, it was Mannstein who personally went to pick them up at the station, taking a PhD student as his driver.
He waited at the exit for twenty minutes. Then, Sister Li pushed a wheelchair out of the crowd. Chen Jianguo was wearing a clean dark blue coat, his hair was cut, and he had shaved; he looked much more energetic than before.
“Professor Mannstein!” Chen Jianguo’s eyes lit up when he saw him. “Why did you come in person?”
Mannstein walked over, squatted down, and looked Chen Jianguo in the eye.
“Mr. Chen, you will be going into surgery in a few days. I came to pick you up today and wanted to have a talk with you. I wanted to ask you one last question in person.”
Chen Jianguo looked at him and said, "Go ahead and ask!"
"Are you sure? This is your last chance. If you say no now, no one will call you a coward. You can go back and wait until our technology is more mature and the risk is lower. No one will blame you. In fact, you have already waited so long. You don't necessarily have to take such a huge risk to be the first."
Chen Jianguo did not hesitate.
"Professor Mannstein!"
"Let's follow Chinese custom and you can call me Professor Man or Dr. Man."
“Professor Mann… I’m sure. I’ve been in a wheelchair for eleven years, waiting for this day. I know the risks, and I’ve thought about failure. But what I fear most is that one day you will succeed, and I won’t have signed up.”
Mainstein looked at him for a long time. Then he stood up, pushed his wheelchair, and walked towards the parking lot.
Sister Li followed beside them, carrying the old bag. The three of them walked slowly in the train station square.
A few days later, Chen Jianguo was wheeled into the operating room.
Sister Li followed the trolley all the way to the entrance of the operating room. A sign above the door read, "Surgical Area, Family Members Prohibited." She stopped and placed her hand on Chen Jianguo's shoulder.
"Jianguo, I'm waiting for you outside."
Chen Jianguo reached out and took her hand.
"it is good."
After holding hands for a long time, Sister Li let go, took a step back, and the operating room door closed.
Chen Jianguo was moved to the operating table. The anesthesiologist came over and gave him an injection in his arm. He turned his head and glanced at Yang Ping, who was standing in the corner.
"Professor Yang, you've arrived."
"Let me take a look."
Chen Jianguo smiled, and then the anesthetic took effect. His eyes slowly closed, and his breathing became steady and deep.
Mannstein stood in front of the operating table and took a deep breath.
“Begin!” he said.
The scalpel was handed to him.
Yang Ping stood in the corner, watching Mainstein's hands. Those hands were very steady, each cut as precise as if measured with a ruler. From skin to subcutaneous tissue, from subcutaneous tissue to muscle, from muscle to vertebral laminae, layer by layer, like turning the pages of a thick book.
Auguste handed over instruments, Clara monitored the electrophysiological signals, and Hans recorded the time for each step. The only sounds in the operating room were the clanging of instruments and the rhythmic ticking of the monitors.
The surgery lasted three hours and the task was to remove all the scar tissue at the site of the original spinal cord injury and create a fresh "injury section".
When the last stitch was finished, Mainstein put down the needle holder, stepped back, and looked at Chen Jianguo on the operating table. There was no smile on his face, no relief, only a deep, almost pious calm.
“Professor,” he said, “it’s done.”
Yang Ping walked to the operating table and looked at Chen Jianguo's face. The anesthesia hadn't worn off yet; he was sleeping soundly, as if he hadn't slept like that in a long time.
"Mannstein, do you know what he's doing right now?"
"Sleeping."
"No, he's dreaming. In his dream, he's walking."
"Professor," Mannstein said, "do you think he'll be able to walk after he wakes up?"
"No! Nerve regeneration takes time. Days, weeks, months. It's impossible for someone to wake up and walk immediately."
“I know, but I want him to see hope as soon as he wakes up.”
Yang Ping walked over to Mainstein's side.
"He will see it, not because his leg moves, but because you are standing here, a Nobel laureate, personally performing surgery on him, personally waiting for him to wake up. That is hope."
The operating room door opened.
Sister Li stood up from the chair in the corridor and walked over quickly.
"Thank you for your hard work, how was it?"
"The surgery was a success. He's still under anesthesia, but he can go back to his ward once he wakes up."
Sister Li's tears welled up instantly. She didn't cry out loud, but just stood there, tears silently streaming down her face.
Can I see him?
"He's still in the anesthesia intensive care unit now that he's awake."
Sister Li nodded and sat back down in the chair. She sat there with her hands on her knees, her back straight, like a soldier on guard duty.
(End of this chapter)