Chapter 42
The next day.
I woke up before my alarm went off.
The aftereffects of the terrible muscle ache were still clinging to every part of my body, but strangely enough, I felt as light as a feather.
Was it because I was relieved to have survived?
I showered and spent at least five extra minutes carefully drying my hair.
Then I picked out my cleanest clothes and put them on.
Today is a good day.
The first day of the blessing that extended my life as a doctor.
My steps toward the ER were unbelievably light.
The automatic doors opened, and the familiar hellscape spread out before me, but today even that scene felt oddly endearing.
Even the rotten, dead-fish eyes of my coworkers, shuffling around like zombies after an all-nighter, somehow looked like they were sparkling today.
Unable to contain the positive energy surging inside me, I loudly called out toward the nurse station that caught my eye first.
"Haha! Hello, nurses?! Good morning!"
At my booming greeting, every movement in the station stopped. Nurses who had been charting all night, nurses preparing medications, nurses getting ready for handoff—everyone stared at me with expressions that said, "Has this bastard finally gone crazy?"
I didn't care about those icy stares.
I kept marching on.
Passing by the labs, I smiled brightly and waved at the medical technologists carrying specimens with tired faces.
"Haha! Nice to see you too, medical technologists! Let's do our best today!"
The medical technologists stared at me blankly, their faces looking like they were about to drop the specimen tubes in their hands.
"Oh! Nice to see the front-desk staff too! And the security guards who keep our ER so dependable—what perfect weather today, isn't it? Haha!!"
I gave them a thumbs-up.
The front-desk clerk nearly slapped the face of the patient being checked in, and the security guard who always stood there expressionless had his mouth faintly fall open.
….
Then I sauntered off to the resident room.
***
Only after the resident room door closed and Han Hyeon-jae disappeared completely did the frozen time in the ER start moving again.
"……Hey."
The first to speak was the veteran nurse.
The nurse whispered to the colleague beside her, still staring at the hallway where Han Hyeon-jae had disappeared, her expression full of disbelief.
"Why is Dr. Han acting like that? Did he eat something weird? He stayed up all night last time writing that report, and now did a fuse in his brain finally blow?"
"Exactly... wasn't he practically walking around like a corpse just yesterday?"
"The Han Hyeon-jae I know isn't someone who smiles that brightly. Why is he so hyped today, like a crazy bastard?"
"Seriously. That's the first time I've seen someone in such a good mood this early in the morning. Among doctors, I mean. No, among people."
Just then, one of the medical technologists joined in on their conversation.
"Hey, you didn't know?"
"Know what?"
"That thing came out already."
The veteran nurse narrowed her eyes.
"What? Ah, that? The disciplinary committee for the belly-slicing incident?"
"Yes."
The medical technologist lowered his voice while glancing around.
"Rumors were flying all over the education and training department and the administration this morning. A reprimand and a one-month pay cut. That's it. It didn't even get sent to a formal disciplinary committee."
At those words, the younger nurse's jaw dropped.
"What? Really? After all that chaos, that's all?"
"Ah—"
Only then did the veteran nurse let out a long exclamation, as if everything had finally clicked into place.
"I was wondering why he was so worked up. He thought he'd get fired, but if they just cut his pay a little and let it end there, I can see why he'd be running around like a madman."
After that, the veteran nurse turned her gaze back to the monitor.
"Let him be. He's a lottery winner. At that point, he's innocent enough to live like a madman for a day."
And just like that, under the conclusion that "Han Hyeon-jae isn't actually crazy; he just came back from the brink of death and is in a really good mood," the ER began regaining its usual bustle.
***
As soon as I stepped into the resident room, I tossed my bag into the battered locker with my name on it.
I ripped open a packet of instant mix coffee and dumped it into a paper cup, lost in deep thought about how I was going to survive the day. That was when—
Bang!
The resident room door flew open with a force that made it seem like it might break.
There stood Lee Min-jae, the living disaster of emergency medicine and my natural enemy, the chief resident.
"The thing I heard... is it true, Han Hyeon-jae?!"
I put on the most innocent "I don't know anything" expression I could manage.
"Huh? What is it, doctor?"
"What do you mean, what is it? Are you pretending not to know?"
Lee Min-jae strode over and grabbed both of my shoulders in a vice grip.
"You! You dared to perform a resuscitative laparotomy in the ER resus room!!!! A guy who hasn't even gone through a proper trauma resuscitation course yet!!! This is a miracle! A revelation from God! And this is precisely why you have no choice but to bury your bones in emergency medicine and never run off anywhere else!!!!!!"
"Aaaagh, doctor, I said I got it!!"
"Please stop burying bones! I'll bury my own bones myself!"
My head was being rattled by that enthusiastic shaking, and I felt like I might end up with a concussion.
He finally let go of my shoulders, stepped back, and looked at me again.
"Anyway...."
He opened his mouth.
"Let's calm down and talk again. Han Hyeon-jae. I'm genuinely praising you."
"I'm not just talking about the outcome. The process and your judgment too. From what I heard, you didn't make a single mistake in that madhouse. And... most importantly, you didn't hesitate at the crucial moment. That's not something a first-year can do. You were really amazing."
Embarrassed, I scratched the back of my head, and Lee Min-jae's gaze sharpened again.
"But."
Lee Min-jae looked straight into my eyes.
"Weren't your hands total crap?"
He hit the nail right on the head.
"I remember it clearly—you couldn't even get a single vein just a few months ago, and you turned a patient's arm blue. And when it came to suturing, your hands shook so badly that more than once I had to finish it for you."
His gaze was full of suspicion.
I broke out in a cold sweat and pulled out that ridiculous excuse I'd used at the training committee once more.
"Uh, so... I... I'm still inexperienced with IV lines or simple sutures, so I can't really do those properly. But in special situations like this... those surgical techniques I've run through countless times in my head... I can suddenly bring out an enormous level of concentration..."
Lee Min-jae listened to my pathetic excuse without saying a word.
"Hmm... so that's how it is."
His eyes were still full of suspicion.
Lee Min-jae probably didn't believe my excuse. Just as he was about to press me further—
Creak.
An intern carefully opened the resident room door and poked his face in.
"Ah, Dr. Lee Min-jae. You're supposed to be rotating to the pediatric ER, but the child patient isn't doing too well right now...."
"Ah, already? Is it that time?"
Lee Min-jae stood up and looked at me with a meaningful gaze.
"I'll be going. Let's talk again later."
Lee Min-jae gave my shoulder one firm squeeze.
"You! You absolutely have to stay in EM! Got it!"
With that, he left the resident room without looking back.
'Let's never see each other again... please... and stop having our shifts overlap...'
Talking to that guy takes more energy than doing CPR on a patient in full cardiac arrest.
***
After the commotion in the resident room was over, I returned to the station with my soul completely drained.
I mechanically moved my fingers as I handled charting.
Patient admission, discharge, transfer.
This boring, draining labor was actually more comforting.
At least there were no unpredictable variables here.
About an hour later, the nurse at the triage desk called me over the intercom.
"Dr. Han, could you please look at one headache patient in Zone B?"
"Yes, understood."
Finally, the day had come. Headache.
A tiresome regular that ranked among the top three non-emergency ER complaints, along with colds and abdominal pain.
'Well, it's not like the ER only gets patients whose bellies are split open and who have blood fountains bursting out of their throats.'
I stood up in relief.
As I headed toward the triage desk, I glanced at the chart the nurse had just finished entering.
[28/F. C.C) Headache, Nausea. V/S : 125/80-88-20-36.8-99%]
28-year-old woman.
Chief complaint: headache and nausea. Vitals stable.
The patient was sitting in the chair in front of the triage desk, pressing her temple hard.
She was a young woman.
She was dressed in a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants.
Her face was pale, and deep dark circles hung beneath her eyes as if she'd pulled several all-nighters.
At a glance, she looked exactly like the worn-out face of an ordinary K-office worker of this era.
Her job, she said, was web designer.
At her words that she'd spent days chasing a deadline, I even felt a sense of kinship.
The patient looked at me and spoke with an almost resigned expression.
"Doctor... I think it's just a really bad migraine. It happens sometimes. I don't even have time to come to the hospital, so I kept putting it off, but today it got too bad... Could I just get a painkiller shot and go?"
"Could you lie down on that bed over there for now? I'll go check a few things and give you a shot."
I guided the patient to an empty bed in Zone B.
Once she was on the bed, I drew the curtain and started the basic history and physical exam.
"When did the headache start? Does your whole head hurt, or is it just one side?"
"Since yesterday afternoon. The right temple hurts in a throbbing, pounding way. I think I feel a little foggy too."
"Do you feel sensitive to light or sound?"
"Yes. Even now, I feel like the fluorescent lights are making me a little dizzy."
"Have you recently hit your head, had a fever, or had a stiff neck?"
"No. Not at all."
Every answer matched the textbook symptoms of migraine exactly.
I performed a final neurological exam.
I checked the pupillary reflex with a penlight, tested the strength of both arms and legs, and looked for any abnormalities in facial sensation.
There didn't seem to be any problems.
Her pupils were equal, and there were no signs of weakness or sensory abnormalities at all.
There were no red flags anywhere that would make me suspect a horrifying disease like stroke or meningitis.
The diagnosis was almost certain: acute migraine aggravated by overwork and stress.
I went back to the station and sat down in front of the computer.
All that was left was the prescription.
"First, what kind of IV fluid should I give?"
It would be fine to give her a quick painkiller shot in the butt and send her home right away.
That was the fastest and most efficient method.
But for a patient who'd pulled several all-nighters, that felt a little too heartless.
She'd probably be dehydrated too.
"Let's give her a bag of fluids."
I opened the order window.
One liter of normal saline, the basic fluid.
And what should I mix into it?
Ketorolac, the painkiller, and Macperan to ease the nausea would be standard.
"...Vitamins?"
A so-called vitamin drip. A yellowish IV mixed with all sorts of minerals like B vitamins, vitamin C, magnesium, and more.
I clicked the vitamin B complex medication and added it to the IV order.
"There, a special cocktail for a K-office worker."
I smirked and pressed Enter to finalize the prescription.
Now that patient would be hooked up to a yellow IV, sleep soundly for about an hour, and then be discharged with a refreshed face.
It was a very peaceful, very ordinary, perfect scenario.
After pressing Enter, I leaned back in my chair.
Phew.
Finally, I could breathe a little easier.
Just as I was thinking of making myself a cup of mix coffee to savor this peaceful moment, a familiar voice came from the nurse station.
"B-09, the 28-year-old patient, NS 1L with ketorolac, Macperan, and vitamin mix, right?"
"Yes, yes."
That was the order I had just placed.
The nurse headed to Zone B carrying the IV bag and a tray of medications.
As it happened, the path I was taking toward the bathroom overlapped with the nurse's route.
Because of that, when the nurse drew the patient's curtain, I absentmindedly peeked inside.
It was a perfectly ordinary scene: a tourniquet wrapped around the patient's arm and the area where they were looking for a vein being wiped with an alcohol swab.
The patient was turning her gaze away from the sight of the needle, clearly afraid of it.
I was about to just pass by.
Right then.
A faint bruise on the inside of the patient's right forearm caught my eye.
"Huh... a bruise?"