Chapter 58
I briefly paused my battle with the wailing child and headed in the direction the nurse pointed.
Bed C-8.
Even the name is devious.
A fuckin’ C-8 bed, huh.
When I pulled back the curtain, a small child was lying on the bed wrapped in a blanket, and beside them stood a young couple with expressions that looked ready to collapse at any moment.
“Are you the baby’s parents?”
At my question, the woman who seemed to be the child’s mother nodded, almost in tears.
“Yes, doctor... the kid’s completely limp right now, and the fever’s at 40 degrees... We gave fever medicine at home, but it won’t drop below 39, and they keep trying to sleep... It’s not something terrible, right, doctor? Please?”
The guardian’s voice trembled with fear.
The sentence that came out of the guardian’s mouth: the kid is limp.
There is no scarier word than that in pediatric emergency care.
“...”
For a moment, I observed the child on the bed without saying anything.
The child’s face was flushed bright red, and they were breathing in shallow, panting breaths.
Their eyes were closed, but they weren’t completely motionless.
The child slightly furrowed their brow at the hint of my approach.
I began asking the child’s parents questions.
“Um... ma’am, when and what kind of fever medicine did you give the child?”
“An hour ago. Champ Syrup
(* children’s fever reducer/pain reliever)
at the proper dose, but....”
“How old is the child?”
“They just turned two... 24 months.”
I nodded and continued with the basic history-taking.
Whether they were eating well, urinating normally, and whether there were any other symptoms like coughing or a runny nose.
Though flustered and rambling, the parents answered my questions earnestly.
As I took the history, I rubbed my cold hands together to warm them and then gently laid a hand on the child’s body.
First, the neck.
I gently examined whether the neck was stiff.
I was checking for neck stiffness, the most important sign of meningitis.
Fortunately, the child’s neck moved smoothly.
Next was the chest.
I placed my stethoscope on the small chest.
For now, the breathing was even and soft.
The heartbeat was regular too.
The abdomen was soft, and even when I moved the limbs, there didn’t seem to be any particularly painful spot.
Finally, I decided to try gently waking the child.
“Hey there, buddy. Want to look at the doctor for a second?”
When I lightly shook the child’s shoulder, they opened their eyes with a whine.
Seeing my unfamiliar face, the child pouted as if about to burst into tears.
Then they weakly stretched out their arms toward their mother.
At that moment, I almost let out a sigh of relief.
I called over the nurse standing by to help with the child’s treatment.
“Nurse.”
“Yes, Dr. Han.”
Looking at the new nurse, I smiled in relief before I knew it.
“It wasn’t limp at all... Hah, that was a close one...”
I cleared my throat with a fake cough.
“It’s just that the fever is so high the child’s a bit drained. This isn’t a medically dangerous level of drowsiness or limpness.”
Ahem.
I turned back to the parents.
A gentle smile rested on my face.
“That must have frightened you a lot. When a fever goes up to 40 degrees, even adults feel wiped out like they’ve come down with the flu and slump over. It’s the same for kids. You don’t need to worry too much.”
I explained slowly, meeting their eyes.
“From what I’ve examined, there are currently no signs that would make me suspect a very dangerous illness like meningitis or sepsis. The most likely diagnosis is just a bad feverish cold.”
Yes. Based on what I’ve seen so far, a bad feverish cold seems to be the most likely thing.
“The fever is so high and they’re not eating well, so they’re getting dehydrated and have no energy at all—that’s why they’re struggling. Of course, if this continues it can become dangerous, but it isn’t there yet.”
At my explanation, the couple’s expressions began to soften.
“First, we’ll start an IV right away. We’ll give fluids with fever-reducing medicine and extra hydration. And to find the cause of the fever, we’ll also do blood tests and respiratory virus tests like influenza and RSV. Until the results come back, let’s keep them here on fluids and watch how things go.”
After placing the orders, I asked the nurse to start the IV and stepped out beyond the curtain for a moment.
“That was a real close call...”
Phew.
Limp.
For a doctor, especially one who treats children, that word is pure terror.
Because “limp” is the worst possible sign that a child’s brain and nervous system are losing function due to infection or shock.
A truly limp child is floppy like a doll.
If you lift an arm and let go, it drops down with a thud, unable to resist gravity.
They barely respond even to stimulation and can’t even cry properly.
Their eyes lose focus and stare into the void.
It could be a decline in brain function caused by sepsis, or the result of increased intracranial pressure from meningitis.
In any case, whatever the cause, the moment a doctor faces a limp child, they instinctively realize the patient has already stepped into the river of death.
I felt as if I had just gone all the way to the mouth of that river of death and come back.
I’m really glad that wasn’t it.
***
After the IV had been started and the child’s condition had improved a bit, I returned to the pediatric ER station with the relief of having just gotten over one hurdle.
The place was utter chaos.
Children’s shrill cries bursting out everywhere, parents’ anxious voices trying helplessly to soothe them, and the nonstop beeping of monitor alarms.
I looked around for Lee Minjae, who was backing me up today.
Ah. There he is.
He was over at Bed C-3, checking the pupil reflex of a child who had just finished a febrile seizure.
“Why am I working overlapping shifts with this guy again right after coming back from the conference? What is my fate, seriously.”
I grumbled to myself and waited a moment for Lee Minjae to finish treating his patient.
“Doc.”
“Oh, Hyeonjae. What’s up?”
“Earlier, a 24-month-old boy came in to Bed C-8 with fever. After the fever shot, his temperature dropped to 38.2, and his consciousness cleared up, so now he’s sitting quietly in his guardian’s arms. He’s under observation on an IV for now, and the guardians have calmed down a lot.”
At my briefing, Lee Minjae nodded.
“Really? Nice work. Kids have been getting sick especially often lately. Maybe it’s because of the changing seasons. I heard the RSV (*respiratory syncytial virus) patients were packed in yesterday, and today it’s another fever-cold party.”
“The beds are full right now, right, doctor?”
“Yeah. All ten beds in the C area are full. As soon as one patient leaves, the next one comes in—it’s an endless loop. Why?”
“No, it’s just... it’s been a while since I’ve been in the pediatric ER. I’m having trouble adjusting.”
“You’ll adjust soon enough. People get used to hell pretty quickly.”
Lee Minjae gave my shoulder a light tap and moved off to see the next patient.
I sat down in front of the station computer to sort out the charts again.
And as I started organizing the charts, I also logged into the Gallery.
HellJoseonSlave1 : PediatricGhost, the tips you gave me this morning are really coming in handy. Thanks.
At my thanks, PediatricGhost showed up as if he’d been waiting for it.
ㄴ PediatricGhost77 : That’s me. A true doctor who worries about children’s health even after death.
When I told the Gallery this morning that I’d been assigned to the pediatric ER, PediatricGhost had turned into a very serious cram-school tutor.
PediatricGhost77 : So you didn’t just stick a stethoscope on the kid right away like I told you, did you? Observing how the child plays, their breathing pattern, and overall condition from a distance for over a minute is the most basic of the basics in pediatric exams!
ㄴ HellJoseonSlave1 : Of course I did.
PediatricGhost77 : What about when you looked at the throat? You didn’t jab the tongue depressor in and make the kid have a fit, did you?
ㄴHellJoseonSlave1 : That’s in the textbook too. I showed them a cartoon sticker and sang, “Aaaah, shall we try?” and they opened their mouth nicely.
PediatricGhost77 : Good. Then the final secret weapon. How did the [injured doctor game] work when the kids were screaming and throwing a fit so badly you couldn’t examine them at all?!
At that question, I unconsciously pressed a hand to my forehead.
The secret weapon PediatricGhost had taught me was more effective than I could have imagined, but it was also more painful than I could have imagined.
‘Kids are scared of doctors. But they’re not scared of something dumber and more ridiculous than themselves. While playing peekaboo, deliberately ram your head into the corner of a table. Then fake crying and say, “Ow! Ow! Doctor, it hurts!” The kids will usually stop crying and stare at you like, “What the hell is this idiot?” That’s your chance!’
Yeah... it was effective, all right.
“Peekaboo!”
I tried hard to do peekaboo, and...
“Wow~ Harim, where did the doctor disappear to and then reappear from?”
The mother played her supporting role with great enthusiasm.
“Okay, peeka...boo! Ack!”
I had only meant to make it look like a light bump, but I really did smack my head.
The child started giggling at me, and the guardian panicked, asking, “Doctor! Are you okay?”
I tried hard to act fine, but the truth was my head still hurt.
ㄴ HellJoseonSlave1 : I failed to pretend to smash it and really did slam my head into the table. I saw stars. It hurt like hell, but the kid was thrilled and laughed because I kept whining that it hurt. Thanks to that, I only managed to examine them once they finally stopped crying. Good.
ㄴ PediatricGhost77 : Hahahahahahaha. A pediatrician has to become a clown, that’s just how it is, yeah. Congrats. Welcome to the world of pediatrics.
Right. If I wanted to survive here, I had no choice but to become a lunatic too.