A Hospital in Another World? C.186

"You?"

The chubby man squinted his eyes.

His round, chubby face already overflowed to the sides, almost sagging down—if it were on a blue cat, it would be quite plump—squinting, his eyes narrowed even further, with two gleams shooting out from between his eyelids:

"Are you capable?"

He scrutinized Garrett up and down. In terms of age, the young lad’s physique hadn’t yet reached the robustness of an adult man, his face still tender, appearing to be around fifteen or sixteen;

In terms of rank, the green leaves embroidered on his priest robe were only two, not as impressive as Reverend Matthew who had already ascended five levels;

In terms of accent, Garrett’s speech carried a somewhat rough texture, not as gentle and refined as those from this region, clearly sounding like an outsider...

His skeptical expression was too obvious. Before Reverend Matthew could speak up to vouch for Garrett, the chubby man snorted, turning to look at him:

"Oh, Reverend, every time I’m in pain, I come to you folks, and every time you charge me a hefty sum—yet no matter how you treat me, it never gets better. I always end up in pain after a few days, you know?"

Reverend Matthew’s face darkened. Of course, there were many reasons why the treatment wasn’t effective, such as this stubborn fat man’s reluctance to spend money. Unable to hold back, he retorted:

"Previously, you refused to use divine magic and only wanted to take medicine, of course, it wouldn’t be easy to recover!"

"You mean you can’t treat me without divine magic?" The chubby man widened his eyes forcefully. Reverend Matthew felt somewhat annoyed, while by his side, Garrett couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

This pattern was all too familiar. "If you don’t run tests, you won’t treat the illness?" "If you don’t take X-rays, you won’t treat the illness?" "If you don’t... you won’t treat the illness?" On average, each doctor hears these kinds of remarks at least ten times a day, with the entire emergency department tallying a few hundred times, which could be considered a low estimate. Sometimes, they even need to poke fun at their colleagues in the adjacent departments:

"In the past, skilled old Chinese doctors could diagnose and cure just by observing, smelling, asking, and touching... you guys..."

At moments like this, the doctors in the Western medicine department could only smile bitterly at their Chinese medicine counterparts, who were ridiculed by patients for running a battery of tests.

It’s not that without tests, treatment wouldn’t happen; it’s just that with tests, treatment could be more accurate. For example, this gentleman in front of us, without a few test orders, I wouldn’t know how high your uric acid is, whether there are crystalline deposits in your joints, or if you have hypertension, hyperlipidemia, diabetes, arteriosclerosis, coronary heart disease, and other common complications...

However, merely identifying symptoms was still possible. Garrett smiled as he stepped forward:

"Sir, may I ask if besides redness and pain, your right big toe also feels hot?"

"Yes!"

"Do you experience severe pain suddenly at midnight or early in the morning?"

"Exactly!—How did you know?"

"Did you have a sumptuous meal last night? Lots of seafood and strong liquor?" Garrett sniffed, detecting a hint of smoke. "And did you smoke as well, right?"

The chubby man nodded vigorously. Garrett continued to approach, circling around him with hands clasped behind his back, then turned his head to look at his ear, indeed spotting more than one nodule: "Is it that every time you’re in excruciating pain, it’s after indulging in lots of delicious food or drinking heavily?"

By this point, the man across from him had already turned pale, sweat dripping profusely down his round face. His calves, each with a circumference of over a foot, trembled violently. The extent of it could make someone believe there were hams hanging from the ceiling. He lunged forward, and if Garrett hadn’t been prepared, he would have been grabbed by the thigh:

"Oh, Reverend!—Reverend! You have to save me!"

Ah... should’ve said that earlier. Garrett gestured with his finger, indicating for Bernard to drag him up and place him on the treatment bed:

"Don’t move, let me take a look at your condition, emmmmm..."

Tsk tsk, redness and swelling of the first metatarsophalangeal joint of the right foot, swelling of the ankle joint, knee joint deformation; the finger joints also looked abnormal; the ear, joints, the olecranon bursa at the right elbow, swelling with nodules underneath, thin skin, rich blood supply. A pinch yielded a sensation akin to pinching sand...

Even without testing uric acid, without using a polarized light microscope for microscopic examination, the cause of the illness could be determined basically. In fact, based on his past life experience, Garrett knew at a glance: this fellow, he’s got gout.

Drinking, eating seafood, feasting, obesity, smoking—had turned himself into this.

As for how to treat it...

Colchicine? Probenecid? Sulfinpyrazone? Febuxostat? Indomethacin? Allopurinol?

Garrett took stock and realized that the only thing he had readily available now seemed to be colchicine... Not colchicine tablets, but colchicine itself. In this world, it might still be possible to dig up a few autumn crocus bulbs and make a potion...

Wait, what’s the lethal dose of colchicine again? Can the amount of colchicine contained in one bulb or one gram of bulb be effective? Will it poison someone?

This stuff has no antidote! All we can do is support treatment, purify the blood, and wait for the body to recover on its own! Garrett had no confidence at all in whether the detoxification techniques from this otherworld would be of any use...

Garrett’s mind raced, searching for information, articles, and bits and pieces he had seen in his previous life. He had seen a few cases of colchicine poisoning, but he didn’t need to personally intervene—that was the job of the emergency internal medicine department; he needed to recall how many active ingredients were in colchicine. But that chubby guy kept pulling his arm forcefully, bellowing loudly:

"Reverend... Save me... I’m about to burst!"

"Um um um um, lie down and don’t move." Garrett signaled Bernard to hold him down and casually pulled the curtains around the bed. "Bend your legs! Bend them! Pull down your pants a bit, let me feel... not so much!"

Tsk, this guy with the big belly, as swollen as that woman with the distended abdomen a few days ago. With such thick abdominal wall fat, it was impossible to see what was going on clearly, only to feel... Wow, the bladder is so swollen!

As soon as his hand touched it, Garrett nodded inwardly, basically confirming it. He remained calm, following the diagnostic process, first touching, then shifting, then pressing down. It felt like a water bag, immovable when shifted; with a slight pressure from his palm, the chubby man began to howl:

"It’s so swollen! It’s killing me!"

"Can’t urinate?"

"Yes! Yes!—It hurts!"

"When did the pain start?"

"Today! Today!—This morning!"

Alright, urinary retention, urethral stones. Hmm... Considering the gout attack, it’s more likely that a bladder stone got stuck—or perhaps the urethral stone that was already there just got a bit bigger. As for the type of stone it is...

"Turn to the side, let me use divine magic to take a look..." X-ray spell, activate!

Tsk, can’t see anything.

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