Chapter 41: Walter and Son
Rayne Clinic, Sunday Morning.
Ethan pushed open the glass door and sighed, looking at the ground where faint red stains were still visible under the sunlight.
"Well—beautiful Sunday morning."
As usual, Rayne Clinic was closed on Sundays, but Mr. White had specifically called this week to say he'd be coming in on Sunday. So Ethan, as the clinic owner and only official employee, had no choice but to work overtime alone.
After entering the clinic, he first gathered the disinfection supplies, preparing for a thorough cleaning—
When Mary was stabbed and crawled into the clinic, his immediate response had been emergency treatment only.
If blood isn't dealt with within half an hour, it sticks like cement, and even hospital-grade cleaning agents would make whoever's responsible for cleanup question their life choices.
To thoroughly restore it to a truly "patient-friendly" environment, complete disinfection had to be done today.
By the time he finished cleaning, the clinic had returned to its reassuring sterile state. Sunlight streamed across the clean floor, and the air carried a faint scent of lemon disinfectant.
Just as Ethan pulled off his gloves, the clinic's entrance bell chimed, and the glass door swung open.
He looked up and saw Walter White walk in.
This time, Walter's condition was significantly better than their first meeting: his complexion was no longer ashen, his posture more upright, and his overall demeanor, breathing, and bearing were close to that of a healthy middle-aged man—though he still had that typical middle-aged 'dad bod' quality, at least it was a 'healthy dad bod.'
And the young man behind him must be Mr. White's son—Walter Jr.
Walter Jr. pushed the door with slight hesitation, subconsciously testing the ground with his crutch.
His toes were slightly turned inward, his knees locked, and each step was cautious—a typical gait of mild cerebral palsy.
His gaze swept around the clinic—equipment, examination table, UV sterilizer—with a hint of wariness in his eyes.
Walter smiled and placed a hand on his son's back: "Ethan, I brought my son along."
The young man frowned and muttered, "Dad, I'm not a patient."
Ethan stood up, his tone relaxed and friendly: "That's fine, you're my guest today."
The young man paused, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but he nodded.
Walter looked at Ethan, his tone relaxed but unable to hide his excitement: "I went back to the hospital for a follow-up, and the imaging results showed that the tumor has shrunk by more than a third."
Ethan smiled and nodded: "Good progress."
"Yeah," Walter continued, "but the doctor thought it was an equipment malfunction and told me to get another scan immediately."
"Mr. White, did you do it?"
"No." Walter shook his head. "I knew it wasn't the machine—it was your treatment. I didn't want to waste time, and I definitely didn't want to be dragged into a bunch of pointless control studies."
Ethan nodded: "Smart decision."
His gaze then fell on the young man: "We'll start with your father, and we'll check on you afterward."
The young man didn't refuse, just tightened his grip on the crutch and nodded.
Ethan gestured for the father and son to sit down, closing the door behind them.
"Mr. White, let's do a simple re-examination first."
Walter nodded and placed his messenger bag on the table: "Here's the hospital's imaging report and some diagnostic materials."
Ethan sat down and opened the bag.
Inside were CT scans, printed radiology reports, and a diagnostic summary form.
He held the scans up to the light box, comparing the two from different dates: "Hmm, the changes are very obvious... the tumor margins are shrinking... the active areas are decreasing rapidly."
"Good," he set down the images, "next, we'll do a physical exam."
He picked up the stethoscope: "Take a deep breath."
Walter inhaled and exhaled as instructed—
His lung sounds were clear and clean, without the dull obstruction from last time.
"Even better than right after the last treatment," Ethan put away the stethoscope, "the imaging and auscultation results are consistent."
Walter said earnestly: "Ethan... these past few days, for the first time... I feel like I might actually beat this thing."
Ethan nodded: "Yes, the recovery is more stable than I anticipated."
After speaking, he turned to the young man beside him: "Your turn, Walter Jr. Let's check your condition first."
The examination started with the basics; Ethan had Walter Jr. perform a few movements:
When standing still, his legs were noticeably stiff; his leg raises weren't fluid; and his lower back compensated significantly when stepping backward.
After a few steps, more issues emerged:
Both feet turned inward, calves excessively internally rotated, short choppy strides, unstable center of gravity, muscles tense as if about to cramp—classic mild spastic cerebral palsy.
Ethan hung the stethoscope back around his neck, sat down, and asked:
"Mr. White, just to confirm, when he was born... was he premature?"
Walter looked startled: "How did you know?"
"Because his gait pattern suggests—"
Ethan pointed to the young man's knee area, ankles, and thighs:
"—a nerve conduction disorder caused by early damage to the brain's white matter development."
Walter fell silent.
Walter Jr.'s face showed clear self-consciousness: "That's why I c-can't walk right..."
Ethan shook his head: "No. Given your medical history, you walk remarkably well."
The young man looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes.
Ethan continued: "Cerebral palsy isn't about damaged muscles or bones. The problem is—your brain's 'command system' was damaged."
He lightly tapped his forehead:
"For walking, this area should ideally issue complete commands."
Then he made a gesture of signal interruption: "But because of oxygen deprivation or other early complications at birth, some neural circuits didn't fully develop, causing abnormal pathways. Simply put—signals are scrambled, missing, or blocked."
Walter's Adam's apple bobbed.
"So his brain understands what to do, but his body doesn't get the message," Ethan summarized.
The young man bit his lip, clearly understanding, but nobody wants to hear that their brain has a "broken part."
"However—"
Ethan stood up, his tone becoming serious,
"Cerebral palsy isn't entirely hopeless. Your brain is still young, and many neural pathways haven't been activated yet."
"If we can locate them and re-ignite them... you'll be able to walk more easily."
Walter suddenly looked up: "You mean, your treatment... can do that?"
"I don't know how much improvement we'll see."
Ethan said honestly, "But I'm confident we'll see changes today."
In reality, cerebral palsy is considered irreversible because the brain's "structure is damaged" and can't regenerate.
But for Ethan—
If people can be brought back from death, what's cerebral palsy?
It's merely a matter of reshaping neural connections.
Almost all his healing abilities would work, just at different speeds.
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