Chapter 139
One day, after an all-night on-call shift had ended and the sky was starting to brighten.
The winter morning sunlight came in through the emergency room window.
“Haaah….”
I yawned until my jaw felt like it might come loose and stretched.
‘Chairman, please replace the on-call room bed too.’
Uncomfortable.
Really.
“I’m seriously dying.”
Lately, the fatigue had been even worse.
That’s because the specialist exam period was starting soon, so most of the fourth-year seniors had practically all left.
Thanks to that, the ER workload was dumped squarely onto the remaining second-years, third-years, and first-years.
The fact that an entire year among the senior residents was missing meant there were fewer people making decisions, which meant there were more things I had to decide on and take responsibility for.
It was rougher and a lot harder to work that way, but what could I do?
I’d be a specialist in two years too.
I should think of this as getting used to it in advance.
Half-asleep, I sorted charts and called to Park Seong-jeong beside me.
“Seong-jeong.”
“Yes, doctor.”
Park Seong-jeong answered briskly.
“This kidney stone patient. Why use a narcotic analgesic instead of ketorolac? Usually NSAIDs work better for stones, don’t they?”
When I asked, Park Seong-jeong answered calmly.
“At first I was going to give ketorolac, but when I checked the past history, I saw AKI
(* acute kidney injury)
had been recorded. The current labs are only a little elevated, but I changed it to be safe in case it put any strain on the kidneys.”
“Oh?”
Past history check.
Kidney function considered.
Basis for the drug choice.
Since the contrast incident last time, Park Seong-jeong had become almost obsessively fixated on the kidneys.
“Good job. Thorough.”
“Thank you.”
Park Seong-jeong smiled shyly.
By the end of the second year, there were people who had improved—some quite a lot—and watching those changes was pretty enjoyable.
At that moment, Lee Minjae came into the station carrying coffee.
“Oh, what’s this? Such a warm atmosphere? Seong-jeong getting praised?”
Lee Minjae cackled and wedged himself between us.
“Yes. Seong-jeong is actually starting to pull his weight now. He also keeps up with the charts well.”
“Oh? Really?”
Lee Minjae looked Park Seong-jeong up and down, then grinned wickedly.
“So now you’re not going to care about work-life balance anymore? Instead of going home after work to watch dramas, you’d rather stay up all night reading Tintinalli and grinding through papers?”
Lee Minjae poked at Park Seong-jeong’s sore spot.
Park Seong-jeong had been the spirited first-year who proudly said he came to emergency medicine for work-life balance.
“No, no. It’s not that….”
Park Seong-jeong flailed his hands in panic.
“Work-life balance is still one of my top priorities, and in any case it’s still a major factor in my life.”
Park Seong-jeong stammered, then glanced at me and Lee Minjae.
“But now that I see my classmates and seniors too, I feel like I’m the only one falling behind. I’ve started feeling motivated to study now, and… learning things is fun too.”
“So that’s how it is? You’ve gone from a capitalist-type human to a scholarly type?”
Lee Minjae nodded as if satisfied.
“Good, then the Park Seong-jeong Rehabilitation Project is temporarily disbanded for now.”
“Tem… temporarily?”
Park Seong-jeong’s eyes widened.
So not a complete disbandment, but temporary.
“Got a problem with that? Any time those screws loosen again, that’s when Rehabilitation Project Season 2 starts. Got it?”
“A-ah, no! I’ll keep it in mind!”
“Heh heh.”
At Lee Minjae’s laughter, I burst out laughing too.
Good, at least he’d become a resident who could do his share.
Next year, when the new first-years come in, he’ll properly serve as their senior.
.
.
“Please please please!!!”
Someone’s desperate cry came from the resident room side.
It was Kim Ji-hoon.
He was clutching his phone and pacing around like a madman.
“Keep it down. You’ll jinx it.”
“Shut up! This is that important! The announcement is today! Today at 10!”
Kim Ji-hoon shouted.
“What do you mean it’s not that important? What difference does it make how many new first-years come in? Either way we’ll be busy teaching them.”
I calmly drank my coffee.
“Shut up! I know you’re trembling inside right now! If zero come in, how are we supposed to make the on-call schedule next year? You want to do alternating on-calls? Huh? You don’t want to go home?!”
Kim Ji-hoon’s fact barrage shut me up.
Right.
It really was important.
Next year, the Emergency Medicine quota at our hospital was 4.
If we fell short or got zero, that workload gap would be dumped squarely onto us once we became third-years.
The gates of hell would open.
Meanwhile, the gallery screen floating in the air looked no different from last year’s.
[Dead Medical Scholars Gallery]
==========================
Please save us
Author : Hell Joseon Slave 1
Pleasepleasepleaseplease, all four, all four
==========================
[Comments]
“Anon (39.7) : No applicants ^expected^.”
“Back in my day: You can just assume nobody will come to the ED, yeah.”
“Thoracic Surgery Old Hand: We had none either, so you guys shouldn’t have any either. Let’s die together.”
“ㄴ Hell Joseon Slave 1 : Why are you trying to drag me down too when you’re already dead?”
“Master of the Scalpel: Did you charm anyone? Did you buy the interns some meals?”
“ㄴ Hell Joseon Slave 1 : No? We were busy this year, so we didn’t do that.”
“ㄴ Master of the Scalpel : Good luck. Then it’ll be zero. What goes around comes around.”
“ㄴ Hell Joseon Slave 1 : Our first-year juniors lured them in.”
“ㄴ Back in my day : Trust the juniors…?”
“ㄴ Bone Nerd 88 : Naive, aren’t you?”
That was when I was focusing on the gallery with an uneasy heart, ignoring the crap coming from beside Kim Ji-hoon as if I had noise-canceling headphones on.
Ding.
Along with the notification sound, a new post icon appeared on the hospital intranet board.
“Ah, it’s up.”
Kim Ji-hoon turned off his phone and approached the computer, and I also quietly pulled my chair over.
[Notice] Announcement of the final list of first-year residents accepted to Cheongjin University Hospital/Cheongjin University Geoje Hospital
My heart thumped.
Please.
Please, just not zero.
Click.
Kim Ji-hoon clicked the post title with trembling hands.
The scroll goes down.
Internal medicine.
Not it.
Surgery.
Not it.
And after scrolling for quite a while, finally.
[Emergency Medicine | Quota (TO): 4] (including assignments to affiliated hospitals)
“…Hyeonjae.”
Kim Ji-hoon swallowed hard.
“Why.”
“Why do I feel like there’s an ominous word in there? Affiliated-hospital assignment?”
“…They won’t be sent immediately. Shut up and keep scrolling.”
Whoosh.
As the scroll moved down one more line, the list of successful applicants appeared.
[Kang Jeong-hoon]
One person for now.
[Kim Seo-ah]
Two people.
[Yun Tae-hyun]
Three people.
And an empty space.
…!
“Three?”
Kim Ji-hoon stared blankly at the monitor.
Quota 4.
Successful applicants 3.
Short by 1.
But Kim Ji-hoon’s expression looked far from despair.
My expression was the same.
We looked at each other and let out deep sighs of relief at the same time.
“…Phew. We can live with that. Thank goodness.”
“Right? I thought we were screwed. I seriously thought my heart would stop because I was afraid it’d be zero or one.”
In this era of total extinction for unpopular specialties, filling 3 of the 4 spots was almost a miraculous save.
What’s more, judging by the names, they were kids whose reputations among our hospital interns were pretty good.
“Well… we’re short one, but three is still something. That’s one more than last year.”
“What a relief. Seriously.”
We high-fived like people who’d won the lottery.
Three new slaves… no, new family members.
Welcome to the family-like company.
When these friends come in, the second-year life will also end, and we’ll really start becoming third-years.
Of course, there were still two years left.
“Let’s have a drink tonight. To celebrate.”
“You just want to drink yourself, don’t you?”
By then, the morning sun had fully risen and was brightly lighting the emergency room.
It was a winter morning that was cold but somehow warm.
***
The last week of February.
The period when the hospital becomes the noisiest and most chaotic.
A strange season where endings and beginnings coexist.
The good news was that all the fourth-years had safely passed the specialist exam.
The bad news was that all of them would now be leaving for local hospitals as specialists.
It was the time when they were in the middle of packing up.
Clunk.
Han Jae-eon, a fourth-year who was shoving his specialty textbooks into a box, glanced at me.
“Why, are you sad?”
“Huh? No. Not really. I just thought the room might get a little more spacious.”
“Aigoo~ our Hyeonjae~ What are we going to do~ You’re on duty so you can’t even go to the send-off party~ Are tears blurring your eyes because noona’s leaving?”
Han Jae-eon teased me and tapped my shoulder.
Today was the send-off party.
A day to gather, grill meat, and drink.
But someone has to keep watch over the ER, and that someone happens to be me.
Hmm, it’s not like I particularly want to go anyway.
“Jae-eon, stop teasing Hyeonjae. You’ll make the kid cry.”
Chief resident Choi Soo-min said.
Our eternal angel.
“Aigoo, right. Our angel doctor~ You’re so devoted to your juniors right up until the end. That’s enough to make me cry, honestly, cry.”
“I’d appreciate it if you could just shut that mouth, Jae-eon. Want me to stitch it shut?”
Choi Soo-min said with a bright smile.
‘Ugh, why is Dr. Choi Soo-min’s smiling face so scary?’
I had painfully learned during the last Park Seong-jeong incident that an angel getting angry is scarier than a demon.
“Anyway, the new slaves… no, no. The first-years are coming in too. We’re leaving too. Bittersweet, huh.”
Han Jae-eon looked around while sticking tape on the box.
“Well, maybe we’ll keep in touch sometimes… no, I don’t think we will. We’ll all be busy.”
“Aren’t you being a little too honest?”
I snickered, and Han Jae-eon asked back.
“You still keep in touch with Dr. Yoo Seong-hoon? And Dr. Kim Min-uk?”
“…No.”
In truth, it wasn’t that I didn’t keep in touch; I couldn’t.
We were busy, too.
And there wasn’t really any need to keep in touch anyway.
“Right? Then you won’t keep in touch with us either, will you?”
“Right? But wow, you’re being absurdly logical. I can’t even argue with that.”
“Take that as a compliment. Not keeping in touch is good news. Contact from the hospital usually means something bad.”
Han Jae-eon lifted the box.
An empty space.
That spot would now be filled by me and my classmates, and then by the new first-years.
It felt strange.
It was like the sturdy roof over my head had flown away, leaving me to face the wind and rain with nothing over me.
“Ah, yes, yes~ Hurry up and go already. That box looks heavy. Want me to carry it?”
“Oh? So now that we’re going to local hospitals, you think there’s no more reason to see us again? Your tone’s gotten casual, huh?”
“Yes, so hurry up and go. I’ve got patients to see.”
“Wow… you really are heartless.”
Han Jae-eon clicked his tongue, but his expression was bright.
Choi Soo-min stepped up from the side.
“Haha… Anyway, take care, Hyeonjae. You worked hard. We’re really going now, so work hard for the remaining two years.”
Choi Soo-min held out her hand to me.
I took her hand in both of mine.
“Go on. If you stay in this harsh university hospital any longer, it’ll bring bad luck. Once you’re out there, take care of lots of serious but not complicated patients. Make lots of money.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult? Serious but not difficult patients?”
Choi Soo-min burst out laughing.
“We’re really going! Good luck! Third-years, fighting!”
“Yes~ Farewell!”
The fourth-years walked out the door.
Their laughter faded away down the hallway.
Clunk.
The resident room door closed, and silence returned.
I stared blankly at the neatly organized desk.
A dust-covered monitor stand, one slipper left behind without its owner.
It was something I’d gone through last year too.
But somehow my chest felt like a hole had been punched through it, and my shoulders felt pressed down.
Caught up in complicated, hard-to-describe feelings, I was wrapped up in them when—
“Ji-hoon.”
Without even turning around, I called to my classmate Kim Ji-hoon, who would be lying on the bed in the corner of the resident room.
“Why?”
The answer came from behind me.
“Just because it feels weird.”
“Really?”
Hold on.
“What the hell.”
‘That voice doesn’t sound like Kim Ji-hoon’s, does it?’
It’s too relaxed.
I reflexively spun around.
“…Why are you here, doctor?”
When I turned my head, instead of Kim Ji-hoon I saw Lee Minjae sitting in a very comfortable posture on the resident room sofa, legs crossed, playing a smartphone game.
Lee Minjae replied with a grin without taking his eyes off his phone.
“The staff ditched me and went out to the dinner party.”
“Pardon?”
“They went out for a farewell dinner, but they left me out. I’m a specialist too, you know? I have farewell duties too.”
Lee Minjae grumbled as if he’d been wronged.
“So I had nowhere to go and was taking refuge in the resident room.”
“Is that so?”
“But you just swore, didn’t you? Something like ‘shi—’?”
“No? It’s an exclamation. Short for ‘Wow, your voice is so nice, shi—’….”
“What a load of crap.”
Lee Minjae laughed and got to his feet.
“Hyeonjae. Let’s order jjajangmyeon and eat. I’ll treat.”
He threw an arm around my shoulders and dragged me out of the resident room.
“Yes… let’s go. Will you buy sweet-and-sour pork too?”
“Order the large. I’ll swipe the department head’s card.”
“Why on earth do you have the department head’s card?”
“If you know, you’ll get hurt.”
The tail end of winter.
It was a February night just before I was about to put on the new name tag of a third-year resident.