Chapter 118 Treatment
The patient was around thirty-five years old. Due to years of battling AIDS, she was now emaciated, her eyes deeply sunken into their sockets. Though she was still breathing, she looked like a corpse.
This was Brooklyn's first close encounter with an AIDS patient.
Brooklyn put on gloves, pried open her eyelids, and listened to her heartbeat. The accompanying doctors watched Brooklyn's actions, retreating in fear.
"What are you all standing around for? Get the medical kit. The patient's breathing is weak, and her heart rate is slow. She might have fainted due to a sudden severe headache from her worsening condition. Administer the injection immediately."
One doctor, trembling, said, "I don't dare."
Even the male doctors were hesitant to approach. Out of the eight-member medical team, only Brooklyn was actively treating the patient.
Brooklyn was furious, glaring at the seven of them. "Since you're here, then do your job properly! The virus only spreads through three ways. As long as we take proper precautions, nothing will happen. If we don't check all the patients today, we'll continue tomorrow. Your choice."
Hearing that they might have to continue tomorrow, one of the male doctors snapped to attention. "Alright, I'll get ready right away."
Brooklyn found a vein in the patient's emaciated hand, inserted the needle, and the liquid slowly flowed into her body.
The little boy, wide-eyed with fear, looked at Brooklyn. "Doctor, will my mom die? The lady next door died yesterday. Will my mom die, too?"
The boy's face and body were covered in dirt, and his hands looked like they hadn't been washed in days. His sweat-soaked clothes had dried in the cold wind, but he continued to wear them, emitting a pungent odor. Yet, his innocent eyes were so pure that one couldn't harbor any prejudice.
Brooklyn bent down, looking into his eyes. "No, your mom will wake up soon. Where's your dad?"
The boy lowered his head. He was very skinny, with a head that seemed too large for his slender neck. "My dad died last year. My mom says she will die too, and so will I."
His voice was as soft as a mosquito's hum, causing Brooklyn to feel heartache, and her eyes welled up with tears.
"Little one, don't be afraid. Actually..."
The boy looked up, his dirty face contorted in sorrow.
"Doctor, I know this disease can't be cured. You don't have to lie to me."
Brooklyn found it hard to continue her words, so she changed her tone. "I wouldn't lie to you. You seem like a smart kid. I wanted to say that everyone dies eventually. It's just a matter of time. I will die, too. But after death, you and your dad will meet again in another place, so there's nothing to be afraid of."
The boy sniffled. "Really?"
"Really! I wouldn't lie to you!"
The boy timidly said, "Then let's pinky promise."
Brooklyn hesitated for a moment, then hooked her clean, white finger around his small, dirty one, smiling gently, "Pinky promise!"
The other doctors exchanged glances, whispering among themselves, "Is Dr. Mitchell crazy? This kid is also sick."
"But didn't you think Dr. Mitchell looked really beautiful just now, being so gentle?"
"Are you out of your mind? This is no time to admire beauty!"
One male doctor volunteered to carry Brooklyn's medical kit. "I never expected the legendary top internist to be like this."
Brooklyn chuckled and asked, "What did you expect me to be like?"
The male doctor gave an awkward smile. "Just different from what I heard."
Brooklyn instructed the boy to stay with his mother while the doctors headed to the makeshift clinic. They hadn't even arrived when they saw a long line of patients waiting outside. There were about fifty patients in this village!
The oldest was in their forties, and the youngest was still an infant.
The eight doctors each took on their roles and began the consultations.
Brooklyn was responsible for checking if any of the patients had heart conditions. Fortunately, although these people were physically weak, none had severe heart diseases, which would have been very difficult to treat.
"Dr. Mitchell, this female patient broke her leg a year ago and hasn't had any treatment. Her condition is very bad now. If we want her bones to heal, she needs surgery."
Surgery on AIDS patients was a significant challenge for doctors, as even a slight mistake could lead to infection.
The two male orthopedic doctors fell silent, and so did Brooklyn. After a while, she said, "Is there no other way? Can't we correct it externally?"
The male doctor shook his head. "No, the bone is severely misaligned. Forcing it could break the bone."
The patient, a girl in her twenties, yelled upon hearing the doctor's words. "I know what you're afraid of. Surgery involves blood, and you're afraid of getting infected by me! If you're scared of getting infected, why did you come here? Get out!"
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