PFC Chapter 2357 Psychic Assault (2)
Chapter 2357 Psychic Assault (2)
Chapter 2357 Psychic Assault (XII)
"You have to believe what I say. It's not a good thing to get those ordinary people involved so early. It's the same for both of us. You're too impatient, Nick!"
Strange stood in the middle of Nick's office, looked at Nick seriously and said, "The fact is that they are good at screwing up everything, everything!"
Nick was not angry, he just sighed and said, "Stephen, I can understand that you have been a genius since you were a child. You always see that ordinary people have shortcomings everywhere, and you think their efficiency is too low compared to yours."
"But I hope you don't forget who we are launching this plan for. The majority of the human race is still those inefficient ordinary people. A small number of elites can lead society, but they cannot control society, let alone isolate themselves from society."
"I never said that we should be isolated from society." Strange pinched his brows and said, "You are always good at misinterpreting my meaning. I mean that most of the work in the current solar system development plan has not yet been done by ordinary people."
Nick shook his head again and said, "That's because you've been away from Earth for too long. You see, Peter's uncle Ben Parker is just an ordinary person, but he has become the chief engineer of the Manhattan Shuttle Terminal through learning on the job, and has become an elite middle-class person."
"This is the purpose of our development, to provide more jobs, higher salaries, more valuable work, and to raise the production and living standards of the entire human society to a higher level."
Strange also sighed and said, "You've never thought about where Peter Parker's genius wisdom comes from."
"Are you a bloodline theist?"
"Of course not. My dad couldn't even get into community college." Strange looked Nick in the eyes and said, "Wisdom comes from character in addition to innate IQ. Peter is the superhero with the best personality I've ever seen, and that's inseparable from his uncle's teachings."
"This proves that Ben Parker may not have a super high IQ, but he must be very smart in dealing with people. To some extent, it was the original society that held him back, and you just put him back to the right place."
"But some people are not. You have to believe that there are some people in this world who deserve their current situation. Maybe not all of them, but if such a person is in a key position, then everything is over."
Nick obviously disagrees. He said: "Human beings can be reeducated through labor. If they work properly, get the rewards they deserve, and have the life they want, then there is no bad habit that cannot be changed."
"Yes, if you're retraining a new generation, of course it's true," Strange said. "But the problem is that if you want to recruit directly from society, the people who come are adults, and they don't have much room to change."
"We can set strict screening conditions," Nick said, "to screen out those who are incompetent or have bad intentions."
“But people change.”
"They usually don't change for the worse, and even if they do, we can stop them and make them pay the price."
Strange sighed deeply.
Nick walked forward, put his hand on his shoulder and said, "We must give them enough opportunities. Even if it costs something, we can't use this as an excuse to never take that step."
"Otherwise, things will get worse. We say they are not suitable, and everyone says they are not suitable, and then they also feel that they are not suitable, and finally everything will fall into the hands of a small number of people, but in fact, that small number is also not suitable and is not more qualified than others, and then the disaster will happen."
Strange pursed his lips. He knew he couldn't convince Nick, but he also expressed his disapproval with his attitude. He said, "You already know what price this will cost you, right?"
"I made the decision and took responsibility for it, and I bear all the consequences. If they want to write me as a villain in the history books, they'd better write me as a handsome guy."
The atmosphere in the office was solemn. All the interns stood straight in a row, not daring to breathe. Everyone kept their heads down. If their eyes had any substance, they would have seen that a piece of the floor tile had been scratched off.
The doctor sitting at the desk seemed to feel nothing. He stood up, put down his pen, glanced around and said, "I was quite busy recently and didn't have time to supervise your internship."
"Starting today, I will perform an average of six surgeries a day, each lasting at least three hours. Everyone will take turns to perform the surgery, and each person will be guaranteed ten hours of internship time a day. All time spent outside the operating room does not count, and the first two days of familiarizing myself with the procedures does not count either."
The room was filled with the sound of people gasping for air, and some people couldn't help but turn their heads to look at the sign hanging outside the department - Neurosurgery.
Neurosurgery performs six operations a day, which can be life-threatening, because this department often does not perform surgeries at all, but once it does, it deals with difficult and complicated cases that are a matter of life and death.
An operation that can be completed within four hours is considered a minor one. In the case of particularly serious and difficult diseases, it is normal for four or five doctors to take turns working on it for twenty to thirty hours. If one person does six operations a day, there is only one sentence to describe it - "He is God, but he just sometimes thinks he is a doctor."
And the person standing before them was indeed God, the world's most famous neurosurgeon, Stephen Strange, known as the Hand of God.
Then they began to whine about their future lives. They worked on the operating table for ten hours a day, but if they wanted to memorize all the theoretical content, it would take at least eight hours a day. After deducting the time for meals necessary to survive, they would be considered lucky if they could sleep four or five hours a day.
"By the way, don't go to the corridor on the left side of the first floor of the next building." Strange said, "If you are absent from work because of this, get out of this office."
After saying that, he strode out the door and prepared to go for surgery. No one else dared to make a sound until the sharp ring of the phone broke the silence.
"Oh, hello, yes, but he just left and asked me to tell him... Okay, no problem."
"Who?"
"A psychiatrist. He seems to be friends with Dr. Strange."
"Isn't that Dr. Schiller?"
"Of course, who else can call Doctor Strange a friend?"
"But I heard that they don't have a good relationship." A female intern lowered her voice and gossiped, "Dr. Strange often doesn't give Dr. Schiller face during consultations."
"It seems that it's because Dr. Schiller is always late."
"Oh my god, if we're late..."
"will die."
In Schiller's office, Charles was looking at the case with great interest. It could be said that reading medical records for interns in the psychiatry department was the least boring of all departments.
There is a very important requirement in psychiatry, which is that when writing the medical record, you must record what the patient said. After all, psychiatry is different from other departments and cannot see pathological images. The patient's movements, expressions and language are direct evidence of whether the symptoms have improved.
This results in the fact that most of the case reports written by psychiatrists look like fantasy novels. In the mouths of one patient after another, a hospital can be a temple, a dungeon, or even the folds on the back of a mushroom, but it is not a hospital.
The doctors and nurses here can be demons and angels, goblins and elves, or ladybugs that landed on mushrooms, but they are definitely not doctors and nurses.
Reading this kind of case is not only not a boring way to pass time, it can even be regarded as an extremely interesting pastime. However, the price is that it is easy to only remember the story but not the judgment, and when answering questions in the examination room, your mind will be blank.
The paper masters in Schiller's department basically don't read medical records, because Schiller's medical records are particularly interesting, always vivid and fascinating, and there is no end to them, which wastes a lot of study time.
But Charles obviously had no such worries, so when he was not seeing patients, he would hide in the ward and watch.
Jingle bell, jingle bell.
"Hello, this is the psychiatric department... Oh, really? Tell him for me that I miss him too. Yes, of course I remember, Grete, we agreed to defeat the Red Flame Dragon together next time. Don't worry, I didn't forget... Okay, bye."
"Hello, hello, this is...Oh, Miss Onion, yes, your nurse is right, you have to take your magic pill first, then you can beat all the onions around you and become the tallest one. The nurse didn't lie to you, I promise, okay, see you tomorrow."
"Hello? Uh... No, head nurse, listen to me. The 5000 milliliters yesterday was definitely an accident. The 600 tablets today may also be shock therapy. Yes, this lady has always had her own unique understanding of adequate medication. How about you prescribe the medicine and send the remaining 540 tablets to my office..."
As expected, the head nurse's roar was heard again on the phone. Schiller threw the phone away again, and Charles sighed in his heart.
Over the past few days, he had almost figured out what kind of image Schiller played in the hospital. This was mainly because when he modified the memories of the doctors and nurses who had met Lisa and Oaks, he read their minds more deeply and found out what was going on.
Schiller had a history of drug addiction and alcoholism. He would avoid consultations and lectures if possible, was always late for important lectures, and always mingled with the mentally ill patients he was in charge of, always standing on the patients' side. Many nurses and doctors were annoyed by him.
However, they all share the same understanding that Schiller is very good at dealing with these bizarre mental patients. He can always make them laugh and satisfy the patients and their families. He is also the backbone of New York-Presbyterian Hospital's efforts to rank among the top three in the psychiatry department this year.
It turned out that he had such a high level of professionalism. Charles looked down at the medical records again. Anyway, he really couldn't find a better excuse to deal with the degenerative hallucinations and vegetative delusions in the two phone calls just now.
However, he was still somewhat dissatisfied with Schiller's negative work attitude, because in just a short period of time, Schiller had pushed back at least two or three requests for him to go over and check on the situation, and they all sounded urgent.
I must persuade him to go next time, Charles made up his mind silently. Other departments are very busy, but they are the only ones who have so much free time. If they have this much time, they can use it to comfort the patients more.
"Hello, hello, psychiatry department."
Charles immediately pricked up his ears, knowing that his opportunity had come.
"What? A student is trying to commit suicide?"
Schiller stood up, and Charles also stood up.
"Katherine? Which department is she from? Neurosurgery?...Oh." Schiller dragged out the words and sat down again. "I know her. She's Linda, an intern in Neurosurgery 1001 and a student of Dr. Stephen Strange."
"It's okay. I don't need to go. You just need to tell Dr. Strange to stop talking about how she dared to be his intern after only publishing 47 papers. Make sure she stays healthy."
With a click, Schiller hung up the phone and turned to stare at Charles.
"what happened?"
"Aren't we going?"
"You can go if you want, but I won't go anyway."
"No, we two will go together."
Schiller and Charles stared at each other for 30 seconds, but finally gave in and said, "Okay, let's go see Linda, but you have to promise me not to talk to that long-faced doctor."
"why?"
“We’re in a cold war.”
"Why are you guys having a cold war?"
"Because he said that my return to the hospital would significantly lower the moral standards of clinical medicine in New York."
Charles opened his mouth.
"What did you want to say just now?" Schiller asked with narrowed eyes.
"Nothing." Charles looked away and said, "Not really."
"That's pretty much it."
“At best, it’s the world of clinical psychiatry.”
_(:з」∠)_
(End of this chapter)