Chapter 243

Garrett’s heart couldn’t help but race.

The illness he was facing now, at its mild stage, could be managed with vigorous administration of sugar-salt water, or WHO-recommended oral rehydration solution. Moderate dehydration might require intravenous fluid supplementation, but when it progressed to severe dehydration...

Muscle spasms!

Hypokalemia!

Uremia, acidosis!

Cardiac failure!

Acute renal failure!

Acute pulmonary edema!

Which one is easy to deal with! If it were in the emergency department, he would have started yelling by now: "Emergency blood gas! Electrolytes! Creatinine! Open the intravenous access! Start IV fluids!" And he would have to prepare hydrocortisone or dexamethasone, epinephrine, or dopamine to maintain blood pressure at the shock level, and so on and so forth...

But he didn’t have anything on hand now! No blood gas analyzer, no electrolyte analyzer, no injection needle—even if he could immediately have the little demon conjure up an injection needle, sterilized it under high temperature and pressure, he still couldn’t produce sufficiently pure, sterile intravenous fluids!

Given the current situation, if he were to administer intravenous fluids recklessly...

Hey, septicemia is watching you.

He didn’t even have antibiotics to suppress it! Garrett could only do his best with what he had. Without intravenous injection, he could only resort to oral administration, but, of course, the first thing to do was to conduct a thorough examination!

The girl was covered in filth from head to toe. Garrett ignored it, knelt beside the girl, and took out his stethoscope, pressing it against her chest. Listening to her heartbeat while feeling her pulse, he quickly gave orders:

"Feel her calf muscles, see if there’s any cramping!"

"Cramping!"

The young woman trembled as she felt the girl’s calf muscles. Garrett sighed inwardly: calf muscle cramping, or gastrocnemius spasm, was a manifestation of vomiting and diarrhea, leading to massive sodium and salt loss. As for the pulse, the sensation under the fingertips was fast and weak, almost imperceptible...

The heart rate was fast, but in terms of heart sounds, there were no signs of atrial fibrillation or ventricular tachycardia—meaning, hypokalemia wasn’t severe enough to significantly affect the heart.

The breath sounds weren’t too bad either, no crackles were heard, and the patient didn’t exhibit signs of pulmonary edema such as chest tightness, orthopnea, coughing up pink frothy sputum, or distended neck veins.

"Little sister, are you thirsty?"

Garrett asked softly. The little girl lifted her head slightly, her lips parted, but she couldn’t produce any sound. Garrett urgently shouted:

"Aurora! Bring water over here!"

"Coming!"

Aurora Worton held a bowl of sugar-salt water in her hands, bent over, leaned forward, and walked briskly with small, duck-like steps.

He knelt down, brought the bowl of water to the girl’s lips, and the girl opened her mouth slightly but couldn’t swallow. As soon as a spoonful of sugar-salt water entered her mouth, it quickly flowed out from the corners of her mouth.

"Let me feed her!" the young woman hurriedly reached out to take the bowl. Garrett blocked her with his elbow:

"No. Let me figure it out!"

He had to make do with what he had! Garrett jumped up and rushed outside. Despite the urgency, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes. He thoroughly washed his hands to ensure that most of the bacteria on his hands were washed away, returned to his original position, and began to give orders:

"Let her lean to the side! Don’t lie flat or sit up straight! Good, that’s it!"

"Keep drinking! Drink as much as you can!"

Oral rehydration!

The healing spell continued!

Although he was an emergency surgeon, Garrett had also read literature. The improvement of cholera patients wasn’t supposed to be this quick. The guidelines mentioned how things should progress within the first six hours, and then within 24 hours. But now, the improvement was immediate; within an hour, the girl’s condition had shifted from severe dehydration back to moderate!

Moderate, where death wasn’t so imminent!

"Garrett! We’re here!"

The sound of urgent hoofbeats. Before the people arrived, their voices preceded them. In a moment, Elder Wood strode in with purposeful steps. Upon surveying the scene, he halted in the center, slamming his oak staff:

"Garrett! Step aside!"

Garrett quickly moved aside, almost stumbling, and pressed himself against the wall. Elder Wood bowed his head in prayer, with five or six disciples behind him, gripping their oak staves and chanting prayers in unison:

"Great god of nature! You protect us, nurture us, comfort us, and guide us. We are all your children; you nourish our bodies and soothe our souls. Now, your children are afflicted with illness. May your grace heal them..."

Flickers of white light appeared at the tip of each staff, then gathered above the heads of the priests, converging into a single point before exploding outward, scattering sparkles. Soon, the patients’ complexions improved, and they began to rise.

"Thanks to the god of nature!"

"Thanks for the grace of the god of nature—"

Half of the people surrounded Elder Wood, while the other half surrounded Garrett, expressing their gratitude in a continuous chorus. Garrett quickly inquired about their conditions, and the patients clamored to respond:

"My stomach doesn’t hurt anymore!"

"I don’t feel like vomiting anymore!"

"I’m not having diarrhea anymore!"

Their smiles were truly radiant. Garrett couldn’t help but smile too, but his medical instinct urged him to shout:

"Don’t crowd here! Go wash your hands! Take a bath! Cleanse thoroughly, soak your clothes in disinfectant, soak the houses, soak the floors, everything! Hurry up!

—A little dirt might trigger another epidemic!!!"

He shouted and gestured, driving all the villagers out of the wooden house to clean themselves. Elder Wood wiped the sweat from his forehead and approached Garrett:

"How did this epidemic suddenly break out? I rushed over as soon as I received the news, and so many people were already sick! If you hadn’t noticed, half the village might have died!"

More than half... Garrett shrugged. As for the cause of the epidemic, he felt somewhat embarrassed to say—it wouldn’t do to mention that the pathogen originated from his laboratory. After a moment of silence, Sam, the adept in molding magic, took over the conversation:

"It was a spy from the Radiant Church who brought in the dirt. We’re tracking his escape route. Now, it seems Garrett was right; everywhere he passed through needs thorough cleaning—"

"And everyone who had contact with him! Horses! People in close contact with those people!" Garrett hastily added. Old Sam smiled kindly at him:

"Exactly. I’ve already spread the word. Now we’re checking everywhere for abnormalities. We hope the followers of the god of nature can assist us in tracking and tracing—"

He paused suddenly, looked up at the sky, and beckoned. A small bird with yellow beak and green feathers swooped down and landed in the old mage’s hand, chirping urgently:

"Old Sam! The warhorse ridden by the spy has fallen ill with a strange disease! Several horses in the stable, the horse’s owner, and the stable hands have all fallen ill! Please come quickly!"

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