Chapter 90
Thus, I started my day shift in a thoroughly exhausted state.
Hm, another peaceful day.
As of 10:14 a.m., four nuisances had already passed through the ER during my day shift.
Pretty good.
The first problem case came in right at 7 on the dot.
A middle-aged man had been complaining of a scratchy throat since last night, and after looking it up online, he insisted it was exactly the same as the early symptoms of laryngeal cancer, then threw a half-hour tantrum demanding an immediate special consultation with the ENT professor and a neck CT.
The second problem case came in at 8:30.
He said he thought he'd sprained his ankle, so we took an X-ray, and the bones were perfectly fine.
When I explained that it seemed like a stretched ligament, the old woman went berserk, foaming at the mouth and yelling that some kid who looked way too young had no right to diagnose her ankle, demanding that the orthopedic chief be called right away.
9:10.
Number three.
A man in his forties who spent twenty minutes causing a scene because he needed a health checkup but didn't have time, so couldn't he just register through the ER?
And just moments ago, the fourth problem case was still shouting at the billing counter for the twentieth minute, asking why an emergency care fee had been tacked onto a simple cold visit.
Yes. Very orderly and peaceful.
I buried my face in the pile of incoming charts.
Then Lee Min-jae tapped me on the shoulder.
“Ah, yes, doctor. What is it?”
I gave him the kindest second-year smile I could muster.
“Uh, Professor Cheon wants to see you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Dunno? Just go see.”
Lee Min-jae shrugged as he said that.
...What was that inscrutable look?
He's definitely smiling.
I felt a chill run down my spine and got to my feet.
‘Ah, is this a disciplinary committee? No, wait. I haven't done anything to get disciplined, have I?’
All sorts of worst-case scenarios flashed through my mind.
‘No way, are they already dragging me off over that doctor-helicopter thing? Or did Baek Eun-seo snitch that I brushed off her question yesterday? No, no way.’
I trudged down the hallway and knocked on the door of the room where Professor Cheon was.
Inside, Professor Cheon Eun-jeong was intently studying something on her tablet PC.
“Yes. You called for me, so I'm here.”
“Oh, right. Hyun-jae.”
Professor Cheon lifted her head.
Her face wore a very bright, pure, and terrifying smile.
“Are you ready?”
“...Ready for what?”
My brain started sounding the alarm.
This pattern felt familiar. A seriously fucked-up memory was about to resurface.
Ready?
Ready for what?
Does she mean consecutive on-call shifts?
Or is there an after-work dinner today?
Professor Cheon, oblivious to my panic, spun the tablet screen around toward me.
A flashy poster covered in all sorts of logos filled the screen.
[April 14~16 | Daegu Exhibition & Convention Center EXCO]
[Korean Society of Emergency Medicine Spring Academic Conference]
“Of course, getting ready to go to the spring conference!”
“Huh?”
“Last year, that sore throat myocardial infarction thing? How was the poster experience? It was good, right!”
...Hmm, was it good?
I recalled the nightmare from last autumn.
Being dragged all the way to Seoul in a suit for the first time in my life, becoming the avatar of the cardiology ghost, publicly executing residents from other hospitals, getting cornered by professors from Korea's top hospitals and handed business cards, and then doing the insane thing of calling them in the middle of the night because of those cards.
‘Was it good?’
I did get some praise.
‘Let's just be socially functional for now.’
I flipped on my inner K-slave switch.
“Hahaha... Of course, it was great, Professor! It was a very useful and rewarding experience!”
I marshaled every ounce of acting skill I'd ever had and put on my most moved expression.
“Good, good!”
Professor Cheon nodded in satisfaction, as if very pleased with my reaction.
“Anyway, now that you're a second-year, you should go to the spring conference at least once, right?”
“I... suppose so?”
My answer was more of a question, but Professor Cheon took it as agreement.
“So, are you ready?”
...I had actually forgotten there even was a conference.
Spring conference.
Spring academic conference.
March.
Just as I'd finally shed my first-year tag and thought I might catch my breath with new slaves like Baek Eun-seo and Park Seong-jeong coming in...
Why does this hell never end?
Spring conference? In spring?
In spring, you're supposed to see cherry blossoms, not go to a conference.
But I couldn't bring myself to say that out loud.
I could only smile awkwardly in front of the bright-eyed professor.
Not a cherry blossom ending, but a hell-gate ending.
But what could I do?
When a professor says jump, you jump—that's the fate of a slave, no, of a second-year resident.
I survived somehow last autumn too.
Didn't I rally every last gallery ghost I could and finish the abstract in just thirty minutes?
I'd survive this time too.
With all my resignation, I answered as positively as I could.
“Ha-ha... then what should I prepare for the poster session...”
Before I could even finish, Professor Cheon cut me off.
“Huh? Poster?”
Professor Cheon laughed heartily as if something was hugely amusing.
“No, no. What poster? You already did that as a first-year.”
Professor Cheon's eyes sparkled.
For some reason, that look seemed twice as dangerous as when she ordered me to submit a poster last fall.
“Oral presentation!”
“Y-yes?”
An unbelievably stupid squeak came out of my mouth.
Oral presentation?
Oral Presentation?
If a poster is a one-year prison sentence where you just stand awkwardly by the wall for an hour or two, then an oral presentation is a life sentence.
You go up alone onto a dark, enormous stage where hundreds of professors and doctors are seated staring only at you, grab a microphone, and talk for ten minutes.
And that's it?
No.
The worst academic torture a resident can suffer: having to take the next five minutes of Q&A head-on, with no protection.
“You should go with an oral presentation! You're a second-year now.”
“Professor, I'm still just a junior resident. How could I possibly dare to do something like that...”
“Ah, it'll be fine. Second-year is just right.”
Professor Cheon started flipping through the tablet briskly, searching for a topic with great enthusiasm.
She looked as carefree as someone deciding what to buy for dinner at a supermarket.
“Uh... REBOA... that's still pretty new, so organizing the data would be a bit difficult... ah!”
Professor Cheon's finger stopped at one spot.
“How about you just go with the case where you cut open a belly as a first-year?”
“Huh? No... I mean...”
I coughed like I'd choked on something.
Cut open a belly?
No, it wasn't me who did the cutting—it was that crazy bastard, the God of Scalpels, but still.
You mean that legendary insane stunt I pulled in the ER resuscitation room last year.
“Yeah, why?”
Professor Cheon looked at me as if she couldn't understand why I was hesitating.
“No, Professor. Just a moment.”
I threw every circuit in my brain into overdrive to stop this disaster.
An excuse.
I needed an excuse that was perfect, rational, and impossible for a professor to argue against.
“Professor, I've been thinking about it.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“If I present this, I think it'll turn into a mess no matter how emergency medicine-oriented the conference is...”
“Hm?”
Professor Cheon tilted her head.
She looked as if she couldn't see what the problem was.
“I mean, I was the one who cut open the belly. In the ER. As a first-year.”
“Right?”
“Even if it was damage control, it was still in the ER, and a first-year, too...”
“Mm.”
“If I present this, wouldn't the surgeons hate me?”
Yes, this is it.
The most perfect logic.
‘A resident from your hospital and your department dared to encroach on the sacred domain of surgery.’
This could blow up into an issue of pride between hospitals and departments.
There was no need to provoke surgery in this hospital system, was there?
Professor Cheon propped her chin on her hand and fell into thought for a moment at my defense.
‘Got her! Please! Please work!’
“Oh... that's a reasonable analysis.”
‘Got her!’
I cheered inwardly.
“Yes! Right, right! If I present it, it'll just sour things with surgery for no reason... I'd rather just quietly do a poster...”
Just as a relieved smile was about to bloom on my face.
“Hmm...”
Professor Cheon smacked her lips.
“That's a shame. Professor Kang Hyun-jun from trauma surgery really liked it.”
“...What?”
Another stupid sound escaped my mouth.
What? Professor Kang? You mean that trauma surgery professor, right? The guy who saw me, no, the God of Scalpels, perform that laparotomy firsthand as a first-year.
No, what the hell.
Why on earth do those surgery bastards with their huge pride like this?
“Professor. His expression back then was no joke...”
“Sure, maybe on the surface. But later he contacted me separately and was full of praise, saying that first-year's nerve was something else and that the basics of the technique were rock solid. Even Vice Director Yoon Tae-ryong was laughing when he heard about it?”
‘...Thanks, God of Scalpels?’
My excuse had been shut down.
I made one last desperate attempt.
“No matter how you look at it, isn't this topic a little too heavy for a second-year resident to present...?”
“Hmm, is that so?”
Professor Cheon pretended to think for a moment, then looked at me with a devilish smile.
“Then how about cutting open a few more cases and turning them into a three-case or four-case retrospective study...”
“Huh?”
My face went pale.
What on earth was this crazy professor talking about...
“Haha! I'm joking, I'm joking!”
Professor Cheon gave my shoulder a hard smack and laughed merrily.
“That must never happen. You're not crazy enough to cut open another belly, are you.”
Professor Cheon was laughing, but I couldn't.
...
My silence.
I couldn't bring myself to answer.
‘How can you be sure I won't cut one open?’
I already had in my hand the button I bought for 5,000 LP, the one that could summon the devil again at any time.
Ah, right. Points.
Let's check that later.
As my silence stretched on, Professor Cheon's laughter gradually faded.
“Hyun-jae?”
Professor Cheon's eyes narrowed.
“Why aren't you saying anything?”
Only then did I come to my senses and force the corners of my mouth upward.
“Ha-ha... R-right. Why would I be crazy enough to do something like that again?”
“That's more like it.”
Professor Cheon still looked vaguely unconvinced, but she didn't press further.
I thought to myself.
I don't know.
Would there really be no chance I'd cut one open again later?
I don't know. Really.