Chapter 2159: Chapter 1422: I Think This Is More Poetic
The waiting days were harder than imagined.
On the first day after Chen Jianguo and his wife returned, Manstein compiled all the examination data into a complete report, forty-seven pages, including original imaging images, electrophysiological original waveforms, and full blood biochemical indicators. He personally wrote every word of the report, checking the punctuation twice.
During the first week after the ethics approval report was submitted, Manstein checked his email three times a day. The first thing he did in the laboratory in the morning was open the email, check it again while having lunch at noon, and once more before leaving in the evening. No reply.
"Is the Ethics Committee on vacation?" he asked August.
"No! I called them. They said they are reviewing it and told us to wait patiently."
"Patience!" Manstein repeated the word, as if savoring a taste he did not like.
August looked at him, not exposing him. Someone who hasn’t given up after spinning in circles for more than ten years is now unable to wait two weeks for approval. It’s not because he’s impatient; it’s because this time is different.
In the second week, Manstein began to experience insomnia.
On the Monday of the third week, the approval finally came.
That morning, just as Manstein arrived at the laboratory, his phone vibrated. An email from the Ethics Committee, titled: "Ethical Review Opinion on ’Three-Dimensional Gene Technology Repair of Chronic Spinal Injury Clinical Research.’"
Manstein stared at the title for five seconds, not opening it.
He stood up, walked out of the laboratory, and went to Yang Ping’s office door. The door was open, and Yang Ping was looking at a paper manuscript.
"Professor!" Manstein stood at the door, his voice somewhat tight, "The approval has arrived."
Yang Ping looked up at Manstein’s expression. That German face was mixed with anticipation, nervousness, fear, and excitement, like a child waiting for college entrance examination results.
"Come in! Let’s see it together."
Manstein came in, placed the phone on Yang Ping’s desk. The two sat side by side, looking at the screen.
Yang Ping opened the email.
The body was short, only three paragraphs. The first paragraph was routine, thanking the research team for the submission. The second paragraph was the conclusion.
"After review by all members of the Ethics Committee, it is believed that the research plan is reasonable in design, has clear scientific value, sufficient risk control measures, complete patient informed consent content, and the committee unanimously agrees to approve the research plan."
Manstein’s breath stopped for a moment.
"Unanimously agrees." Yang Ping read aloud, "Four heavy words."
Manstein didn’t speak, he reached out, pointing at the screen, his finger slightly trembling.
"Professor, scroll down, there’s an attachment."
Yang Ping scrolled down, the attachment was a twelve-page review opinion, listing ethics committee’s evaluation and suggestions for the research proposal. Most were affirmations, a few were modification suggestions; the wording of the informed consent needs to be more colloquial, risk notification needs to be more sufficient, postoperative rehabilitation plan needs to be more detailed.
When scrolling to the last page, Yang Ping’s hand stopped.
The last page contained only a paragraph, not a formatted opinion, but a handwritten paragraph by the chairman of the review committee:
"This research is a bold attempt in the field of human spinal injury repair. As the Ethics Committee, our responsibility is to protect patients’ rights and safety. During the review of this proposal, we deeply felt the research team’s respect and sincerity towards patients. Especially the principle of ’not giving false hope, only providing real opportunities’ proposed by the research team, convinces us that this research is conducted in the right hands, in the right way, and for the right purpose. Wish the research success."
Manstein finished reading this statement, leaned back in the chair, looking at the ceiling.
"Professor, do you know what I feel when I see this statement?"
"What feeling?"
"Feels like someone patted my shoulder, saying ’Go ahead.’"
Manstein started dialing Chen Jianguo’s number.
The phone rang three times, then answered.
"Chen Jianguo, this is Manstein."
Chen Jianguo’s voice on the other end sounded, the other party paused, Yang Ping detected a slight tremor hardly noticed.
"Professor Manstein!"
"The approval came through! You can join the group."
Again silence, this time longer.
Yang Ping heard a woman’s voice on the other end, very small, very light: "Jianguo, what’s wrong?" Then a long breath, like something blocked the throat and was forced out.
"Professor Manstein," Chen Jianguo’s voice finally had a crack, "Thank you."
"Don’t mention it!"
"When can I come?"
"As soon as possible, we’ll do your surgery next week."
A short sound came from the other end, like laughter and crying.
"Alright! See you next week."
The call was disconnected.
Manstein put down the phone.
"Professor, do you know what I’m thinking now?"
"What?"
"I’m thinking, if the surgery fails, how can I face him."
Yang Ping looked at Manstein and said:
"Manstein, I’ve asked myself this question countless times. Since before the first patient entered the operating room. The answer is—you don’t need to ’face’ him. What you need to do is, before the surgery, think of everything you can think of, prepare everything you can prepare. After the surgery, regardless of the result, tell him honestly. Speak successful words if successful, speak failure words if failed. Don’t evade, don’t lie, don’t make excuses. That’s ’facing.’"
