Chapter 122
I fumbled through the air with trembling hands and bought one more premium fatigue recovery potion from the point shop.
That made me feel like I might calm down a little.
I steadied my breathing and clenched my fists, hiding the trembling in my fingertips.
Then, the resuscitation room door opened.
“Doctor. The rAAA patient’s next of kin is here.”
“...Ah.”
I let out a short sigh.
“So the guardian is here.”
“Yes. It's his wife.”
“Got it. I'll explain.”
I stood up and looked down at the plastic gown wrapped around me.
I couldn’t go out like this.
I roughly tore off the PPE straps.
The rustling sound of the plastic peeling off sounded especially loud.
I pulled off my bloodstained gloves and stuffed them into the trash, then roughly brushed back my sweat-soaked hair and slipped on the relatively clean white coat I had hung over the back of the chair.
I couldn’t save him.
From the moment I first answered the phone.
From the moment I saw the patient’s face.
It was a case even a god couldn't save.
It was too late.
I know.
There was no operating room.
The patient was in shock.
His heart had stopped.
The Scalpel God had managed the REBOA, but it might have been no more than fanning the flames of a fire that had already gone out.
I've issued countless death sentences, haven't I?
I've watched countless deaths until now, haven't I?
Then why is this happening?
Why are my hands shaking so badly?
Don't get rattled.
I took a deep breath.
I forced my expression to harden.
There was no mirror, but I just hoped my face was wearing the mask of an emotionless doctor.
“Let's go.”
Then the resuscitation room door opened again.
The hallway was still noisy, but nothing reached my ears.
Family consultation room.
When I opened the narrow, stifling door, a middle-aged woman was sitting inside.
Her clothes were disheveled, and one slipper looked ready to slip off.
She must have dashed over like a madwoman the moment she got the call at home.
“Next of kin.”
“Doctor, I'm the patient's wife... How is he? Is he okay?”
The next of kin’s hand started to reach for my sleeve, then hesitated.
I couldn't bring myself to take that hand.
“Well...”
I was at a loss for words.
How should I start?
Where should I begin to make it hurt less?
'Calm down. You've done this countless times. Follow the manual.'
“Please prepare yourself before you hear this, ma'am.”
At those words, her eyes quivered.
Her legs gave out and she staggered backward.
“The patient was brought to our emergency room with suspected ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm.”
I began the explanation, keeping my expression blank and stripping away emotion as much as possible.
“It's a disease in which a major blood vessel in the abdomen ruptures. It has a very high mortality rate. Unfortunately, transfer was delayed while the patient was being moved from hospital to hospital, and the patient arrived at the ER already in severe shock—in other words, in a very poor condition.”
Stay calm.
“Cardiac arrest occurred during treatment....”
“What?”
She asked back.
“We performed CPR for over 30 minutes.”
I lowered my head.
“His heart didn't start again.”
“....”
“So our medical team stopped CPR and pronounced him dead at 10:42 p.m.”
A brief silence fell over the consultation room.
“Aaaahhh!!”
Her scream filled the cramped room.
She collapsed to the floor, clawed at her chest, and then grabbed my pant leg.
I couldn't say anything.
The words I couldn't bring myself to say got stuck in my throat.
If only they'd arrived sooner.
If only there had been an operating room.
Countless what-ifs swirled through my mind, but the outcome didn't change.
***
“...Hah.”
After sobbing on the floor for a long time, the next of kin finally seemed to run out of steam and managed to collect herself, drawing ragged breaths.
“Doctor.”
She opened her mouth in a hoarse voice.
“What do we do now? If it's like this....”
Utter helplessness.
“For now, the ER administrative staff will help you with the follow-up procedures.”
I opened the consultation room door and called in the administrative staff who had been waiting.
“Please talk to them here. They'll guide you.”
The staff member carefully supported the next of kin and led her out.
I stood there quietly until her back disappeared down the end of the hallway.
“Hoo....”
I left the consultation room, rubbing my face with dry hands.
I felt as heavy as lead.
Was it because the premium fatigue recovery potion was wearing off, or because the mental damage had pushed past my physical limits?
Then, as if he'd been waiting for me, the PD standing in the corner of the hallway followed after me.
The PD's face was also streaked with fatigue and shock, but the red light on the camera was still on.
This guy must be pretty shocked too.
Is that professional dedication?
“Doctor. About that patient from earlier....”
The PD carefully held out the microphone.
He probably wanted my thoughts on doing my best but still ending with such a heartbreaking result.
He probably wanted to capture that emotion.
But right then, I didn’t have a single drop of energy left to squeeze out a broadcast-worthy line.
“Ah, let's talk about this next...”
I couldn't get the words out properly.
The world spun.
‘Uh...?’
I need to hold on.
My shift still isn't over.
I still have to write the chart.
And just like that, my consciousness, which I had been barely holding together by delaying things with the recovery potion's power, flew away.
Thud.
That was the last sound I heard as my body crumpled to the floor.
…
…
Warm.
And quiet.
I couldn't hear the emergency room's usual machine beeps or shouted voices.
Blink, blink.
When I forced open my heavy eyelids, a blurry white ceiling came into view through my hazy sight, and I smelled the familiar scent of disinfectant.
And on my arm...
An IV line?
A drip?
“You're awake.”
A low, deep voice.
I turned my head to the side.
The section chief was sitting in the chair beside the bed, arms crossed, looking down at me.
This was an emergency. A real emergency.
Why is my superior there?
The section chief's eyes were unusually serious and complicated.
“Ah! Section Chief...?”
Startled, I tried to sit up.
“I'm sorry. I collapsed again while on duty....”
I should apologize first.
“Ahem.”
The moment I reflexively tried to get up from the bed, Park Woong raised a hand and firmly stopped me.
“Don't get up. Rest for now. Don't move until the IV is finished.”
“....”
I weakly laid my head back on the pillow.
My body was unbelievably heavy.
Where am I?
The professor's on-call room?
Where did the PD and the camera go?
I passed out again in such an embarrassing way.
Silence fell.
Park Woong watched the IV drip without saying anything, then casually spoke.
“Han Hyeonjae.”
“Yes.”
“Looks like you did REBOA.”
“Yes...”
“That high-difficulty procedure you said you'd only done once last spring—the one you hadn't even finished yourself. You stuffed that into the middle of the night, all by yourself, as a second-year resident.”
There was pity mixed into the section chief's voice rather than reproach.
“And even so, failing still stressed you out that much?”
I stayed silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Stress.
Could it really be described with just that word?
Even after borrowing the power of a god.
Even after getting that balloon in against miraculous odds, I still ended up losing a life.
That helplessness was weighing me down.
“...Yes.”
I answered quietly.
Whether I'd had help from a ghost or not, in the end I failed.
Even after using a method that made it seem like I could do anything, I still failed.
The life slipped away at my fingertips.
That fact hurt all the way to the bone.
The section chief nodded.
“You did your best, and you used every possible means, but still failed in the end. Of course that would hit you hard. It'd be strange if your mental state didn't take a beating.”
The section chief had no idea I'd collapsed as a side effect of possession.
He probably thought I'd fainted from the shock of losing the patient and from overwork.
Strictly speaking, that wasn't wrong.
The section chief pulled his chair closer and sat nearer to me.
“Hyeonjae. When I was training, back in the days when tigers smoked cigarettes, what do you think the mortality rate for AMI
(* acute myocardial infarction)
patients was?”
“What?”
I blinked at the sudden question.
“I mean, before stenting became common.”
The section chief's eyes went distant, as if he were reminiscing about the distant past.
“These days, if someone has a heart attack, we just open the vessel, put in a stent, and send them home, right? But it wasn't like that when I was training.”
The section chief gave a bitter smile.
“Back then, we'd just give a thrombolytic and pray that the clot would dissolve. Pray that the heart would hold out. That was all.”
I listened quietly to the section chief's words.
“But even then, when I was training, we really thought, ‘Wow. Medicine really is endless. Modern medicine has made incredible advances.’”
The section chief's voice gained strength.
“Back then, too, we studied the latest findings. We used the best drugs available at the time. We thought we'd thrown every insane trick we had at it.”
The section chief looked straight at me.
“And still, a lot of people couldn't make it.”
“....”
“I know what you're feeling now. Why did they die even after REBOA? What did I do wrong? Would they have lived if I'd put it in sooner? That's the eternal homework and burden a doctor has to carry.”
Park Woong firmly gripped my shoulder with his rough hand.
“Even if medicine advances and you become a master with the hands of a god, there will still be times when you're powerless before death.”
The section chief's words sank into my chest.
“In a situation with no operating room, you tried REBOA just to somehow buy time. You struggled far beyond what a second-year resident is capable of.”
The section chief said firmly.
“Beyond that, even a god can't do anything. You didn't fail; you did your best right up to the limits of modern medicine.”
“...Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“So pull yourself together and get back on your feet. You got through it even when you saw your first death patient, so you're still in the ER, aren't you?”
The section chief stood up.
“When the drip's done, go out and get something to eat. Don't worry about the documentary stuff. They said they'll edit it themselves.”
Just as the section chief was about to leave.
“Ah, and.”
The section chief, who had been about to leave, hesitated.
“I said you did your best, but there might be problems later, just in case. So if anything comes up, make sure you tell me.”
“...Yes, understood.”
After the section chief left, silence returned to the room.
I quietly watched the drip fall one drop at a time.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.