Chapter 121
“The C-arm isn’t set up yet, is it?”
“Yes! It’ll take at least five minutes to bring the equipment over and hook up the power! Should I get a room ready?”
The nurse shouted urgently.
“In five minutes, the patient’s brain will be mush.”
“I’m checking with ultrasound… wait, let me look… right away….”
Even Scalpel God was flustered.
That scene felt quite alien to me.
I could feel my fingertips trembling slightly.
It meant the crazy ghost was nervous.
It couldn’t be helped.
Because the vessel couldn’t even be felt.
“Ultrasound! Ultrasound! More gel!”
Scalpel God snatched the ultrasound probe with his left hand and pressed it against the patient’s skin, and the screen crackled as a black-and-white cross-section appeared.
“CFA
(* femoral artery)
…Where the hell did you go, you bastard….”
It should have been showing a pulsing vessel on the screen.
But all that was visible was a blurry shadow flattened as if crushed.
The blood pressure was so low the vessel had stuck together like a sheet of paper.
“The pulse is too faint!”
Park Se-young shouted, stopping in the middle of trying to place the subclavian line.
“Understood!”
Scalpel God barked.
Without taking his eyes off the ultrasound screen, Scalpel God placed the 18-gauge needle in his right hand against the patient’s skin.
‘Here. It has to be here.’
If he missed on the first stab, a hematoma would form and block the view.
Then there wouldn’t be a second chance.
One shot.
That was the only way to survive.
‘Please… please….’
I prayed, having handed over control of my body.
Please get through.
You’re a god.
You’re not just some ghost.
You’re the God of Scalpels.
Thup.
The needle pierced the skin.
Scalpel God’s fingertips moved minutely.
But.
‘….’
A hesitation.
No blood beaded up.
Did I miss?
Or had I gone straight through because the vessel had collapsed so flat?
“Hyeonjae! How much longer?”
Park Se-young shouted, unable to hold back any longer.
Her voice cracked at the end.
“I’ve got the central line in, but the meds aren’t taking! We need to stop the bleeding before they can circulate!”
At her urging, Scalpel God bit his lip.
“No, I’m working on it right now…! No, yes! It’s almost done! Just a little more…!”
Scalpel God nearly snapped, then forced out polite speech.
When Scalpel God pulled the needle back just 1 mm, a tiny bead of blood appeared at the tip.
With no arterial pressure, it couldn’t spurt out and only barely seeped out.
‘Got it.’
Scalpel God pushed the guidewire in without even breathing.
It had to slide in smoothly.
There couldn’t be any resistance.
Shhk, shhk.
Tap.
It snagged on something.
“Ah, shit….”
The curse burst out of my mouth.
The vessel had shriveled so much the wire couldn’t get in and was just scraping against the wall.
“Arrest
(* cardiac arrest)
It’s PEA
(* pulseless electrical activity)
!”
At that moment, the intern watching the monitor shouted loudly.
The patient’s pulse was now zero.
His heart had completely stopped.
“Starting CPR!”
The nurse jumped onto the bed and began compressing the patient’s chest.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The bed rocked violently.
In a situation where it was already hard enough to insert even one needle, the patient’s body began shaking like an earthquake.
The worst.
“Don’t stop! Keep pressing!”
Park Se-young shouted.
“Hyeonjae! Get out of the way! This isn’t working now! Just keep pushing the meds!”
“I can’t!”
Scalpel God stubbornly insisted.
If I gave up here, it would really be over.
Even if CPR squeezed it, everything would leak out through the hole that had burst open in the abdomen.
Seal the bottom, and the top survives.
“Wait… wait…!”
Scalpel God grabbed the patient’s shaking legs and focused every nerve on the feel of the wire tip.
The rhythm of CPR.
Thud.
Thud.
The instant the pressure eased.
The instant the vessel briefly opened.
‘Now.’
Swoosh.
Like a lie, the wire slipped in.
The resistance disappeared.
It entered the aorta.
“It’s in!”
Scalpel God secured the wire and pulled out the needle.
After that, it was all speed.
He inserted the sheath and threaded the thick REBOA catheter up the wire.
“Zone 1! 45 centimeters in!”
Scalpel God checked the catheter markings and roughly pushed the catheter in.
Right up to just below the heart, at solar-plexus height.
It had to be blocked above the ruptured abdominal aorta.
“Inflating the balloon!”
Scalpel God filled a syringe with saline and connected it to the catheter port.
The moment he braced his hand and pushed the plunger.
Sshhh.
8 cc.
10 cc.
12 cc.
It blocks the blood flowing downward.
It diverts all blood flow to the heart and brain.
If blood starts flowing into the coronary arteries, the stopped heart will beat again.
“Balloon inflated! I’ll check the rhythm!”
Everyone’s eyes went to the monitor.
With the balloon inflated, in theory the blood pressure should surge and the heartbeat return.
But.
Beep—
On the monitor, only a limp waveform was still drifting slowly along.
PEA.
No pulse.
“No pulse!”
The intern said in a gloomy voice.
“Again, compressions! Get back up there!”
Once more the staff climbed onto the patient and started CPR.
…
Even after inflating the balloon, there was no response.
It was either because he’d already lost too much blood or because his heart had already suffered irreversible damage before the balloon could stop it.
‘Hold on.’
Scalpel God let go of the catheter he had been holding.
His hand dropped limply.
“Ah….”
Scalpel God let out a groan.
“We’re screwed. Shit.”
***
“Switch hands!”
“Yes!”
As soon as the sweat-soaked intern retreated, gasping for breath, the waiting EMT rushed in to take his place.
Chest compressions did not stop.
In this cramped resuscitation room, all the staff were clinging together and waging an endless battle against the reaper.
And the result was about to reveal itself.
The REBOA balloon was fully inflated.
It blocked the aorta, cutting off the blood leaking into the lower body.
We were pouring in type O blood and fluids like crazy.
And yet the patient’s heart still wouldn’t come back.
On the ECG monitor, a very slow, weak waveform appeared intermittently, but no actual pulse could be felt at all.
Scalpel God stared at the scene with a dazed expression.
The gloved fingertips tightened and trembled violently.
Technically, it was perfect.
He’d found that collapsed vessel with the hand of a god.
Hold on.
This is… a little harsh on Scalpel God, isn’t it?
He’s a surgeon.
A surgeon obsessed with saving people through surgery.
And yet here he was, outside an operating room, with hands and feet tied, forced to watch a patient die.
‘At least I know how the whole thing is going to play out….’
There are no miracles now.
There was no need to dump that filthy aftertaste on the ghost, either.
That was on me, the living doctor who chose to take this patient.
‘Haa….‘
I focused my mind.
I needed to end the possession soon.
But the moment I let it go, terrible muscle pain and fatigue would crash over me like a tsunami.
In that state, I wouldn’t even be able to stand, let alone do CPR.
‘Did the Gallery still work in this state?’
I opened the blue window.
Thankfully, I could still access it.
I hurriedly tapped the shop tab and scrolled down.
There had definitely been an item I’d been eyeing before.
[Fatigue Recovery Drink (Superior)]
[Price : 1,000 LP]
[Description : A special drink that makes you forget all fatigue, muscle aches, and body aches for 9 hours. It’s also excellent for hangovers.]
[When used to offset the penalty that occurs after using a skill, its duration is limited to 5 minutes.]
‘Ah, there it is.’
The footnote… probably a line added only when I’m in a possessed state.
This is the first time I’ve opened the shop while possessed.
Expensive.
1,000 points.
But I can’t collapse now.
That much time would be enough to close out this tragedy.
‘…Yeah.’
I pressed the purchase button and took a deep breath.
‘You worked hard.’
I shouted the shutdown code in my mind.
‘Possession ended. Scalpel God.’
Swish…
The cold energy slipped out of my body.
‘Use.’
As soon as the possession ended, I used the superior fatigue recovery drink.
Fortunately, this energy drink wasn’t a visible physical object; like a game item, it took effect the instant I used it.
My head cleared in an instant.
A five-minute boost.
Let’s hold out with this.
“I’ll take over!”
“Yes!”
The intern, drenched in sweat, stepped back.
I leapt into the spot and placed my clasped hands on the patient’s sternum.
With my weight behind it, five centimeters deep.
At a rate of 100 compressions per minute.
‘Please, just once.’
Sweat ran into my eyes, stinging.
At the femoral site where the REBOA catheter was inserted, blood was seeping out and soaking the sheet.
This isn’t a drama.
One genius doctor can’t save every life.
“Epi’s in!”
“Three minutes have passed! I’ll check the rhythm!”
At the nurse’s shout, I lifted my hands.
Everyone looked at the monitor.
Beep—
A straight line.
Asystole.
Now the heart isn’t even sending out an electrical signal to try to beat.
“Again, compressions!”
Park Se-young shouted.
The intern shoved me aside and started compressions again.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
I stepped back, breathing hard.
Because of the drink, my body felt light, but my mind was the opposite.
CPR that I couldn’t stop even while knowing it was pointless.
I kept buying energy drinks and somehow kept the resuscitation going.
By the time we’d switched hands two or three more times, the empty epinephrine ampoules had piled up on the floor.
“How many minutes has it been?”
Park Se-young asked in a hoarse voice.
The corners of her eyes were wet, and her hair was disheveled.
The nurse checked the clock.
“It’s been 37 minutes. It’s been 25 since the REBOA.”
37 minutes.
If there’s no response for more than 30 minutes in traumatic or hemorrhagic shock-induced cardiac arrest.
And if he still doesn’t come back even after we blocked the aorta and flooded him with transfusions.
Any further resuscitation is meaningless.
The medical judgment had been made.
Park Se-young bit her lip tightly, then slowly lifted her head.
She placed a hand on the intern’s shoulder, the intern who was doing compressions.
“Let’s stop.”
“…What?”
I asked blankly.
Was it because of the medication, or because I couldn’t bear to let go?
“Let’s stop. Now.”
Park Se-young’s voice trembled.
“We’ve done all we can. Let’s let him go.”
….
Silence settled over the resuscitation room.
The intern stopped compressions.
When even the sounds of CPR stopped, only the machine noises echoed emptily through the resuscitation area.
The waveform on the monitor was still a straight line.
“……Ah.”
I only then looked around.
No one spoke of miracles.
Everyone knew the end had come.
I threw off my wet gloves.
My hands were trembling.
“……Yes.”
I agreed with Park Se-young, then looked at the clock.
“10:42 PM.”
My voice cracked dryly.
“The patient has passed away.”