Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Special Tutoring (1)
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It was right then.
Massive footsteps started thundering toward us from the resuscitation area.
“Out of the way! Out of the way! Everyone move!”
I turned my head toward the sound. It was the chief.
“What the hell happened! What’s going on! Why’d the alarm go off in bay B all of a sudden! Cardiac arrest?!”
Fourth-year resident Lee Min-jae shoved through us and rushed to the patient.
The chief took a quick look at the patient’s condition, then checked the settings on the BiPAP machine.
“Hmm…”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then pressed a few buttons on the machine to make a slight adjustment.
“Bump the RR to 16, and FiO2 to 30%. That should make things a lot more stable.”
The chief glanced at the ABG results in the EMR and nodded.
“Looks good. Nice initial management.”
The chief headed back to the resuscitation area with a satisfied expression, off to wrap up the trauma patient.
‘…I saved him.’
Pretending to head to the supply room, I slipped into a corner and quietly opened the system window.
A clear popup appeared in my vision.
[You have successfully treated a patient with acute respiratory failure!]
[Reward: 300 LP granted.]
My eyes widened.
…Whoa, 300 points.
***
The night was finally winding down.
I was slumped in exhaustion in the corner of the station. The seniors who’d been battling it out in the resuscitation area started trickling out one by one, their faces worn out. The trauma patient ended up surviving and heading up to the OR.
“Hyun-jae, you heading out?”
Kim Ji-hoon, who’d snuck up on me, looked down at me with hollow eyes.
He looked utterly wrecked.
“You go first. I just need to finish a few more charts.”
“Dude, you’ll drop dead. Wrap it up roughly and let’s go. Don’t you have that conference prep the day after tomorrow?”
“Got it. Be out soon.”
I waved him off to send him ahead.
Conference prep? All I wanted was to dive into bed.
My fingers lacked the strength to even tap the keyboard properly.
Finally, I finished the last patient’s chart and hit logout.
“Sir, I’m heading out first.”
I gave a quick bow to the senior holding down the station.
This is the MZ generation for you.
“Yeah, get going. Good work today.”
Sure thing.
I swallowed my soulless reply and turned around.
Grab a cab?
Nah, just take the bus.
Cabs this early in the morning are a luxury.
‘…Does this thing open outside the hospital?’
The thought crossed my mind.
Is it like Wi-Fi? I’d never once thought to open the gallery during my commute in or out.
‘Gallery.’
Ping-
The familiar blue interface popped up.
It works.
I let out a sigh of relief and scanned the gallery main screen. I couldn’t help but snort.
Title: But doesn’t Hell ER Slave 1 suck absolute ass at suturing?
Author: God’s Scalpel
I overheard him suturing that forehead earlier, and it was a disaster. At that level, the patient’s pitiable.
The brutal fact hit me speechless for a moment.
These guys are monitoring my every move.
I let out a hollow laugh and started typing a post.
Title: Galrum, I’m off duty ㅇㅇ
Author: Hell ER Slave 1
Don’t look for me.
I hit post, and moments later, the comment notifications exploded like crazy.
Anonymous (210.94): Dude!!!!!!! Don’t go fuck!!!!!!!!
Bone Fanatic 88: Already off? No broken-bone guys showed up today! I haven’t seen any yet!
Pediatrics Ghost 77: You bastard!!! At least wait for a pediatric ER croup case!!!!
Latte’s Just Words: Tch tch, these kids are soft. Back in our day, 48-hour straight shifts were standard. No grit in today’s generation.
Heir of Hippocrates: O living one, thy rest is a rightful claim, yet most lamentable is the end of our diversion.
What bullshit.
I can’t die just to entertain you lot.
My scrolling gaze halted at one comment.
Anonymous (118.235): But don’t you study? Your skills scream you need to grind hard.
Pure fact.
100% pure fact stabbing right at my core.
I froze.
…Is that so?
Thinking about it, yeah.
‘Hands are talent territory. If you can’t, you can’t.’
One comment flashed through my mind.
No talent? Then grind with effort.
I can’t rely on this insane gallery forever.
After a brief deliberation, I replied.
Re: Hell ER Slave 1: Gotta study, yeah ㅇㅇ
The moment my reply went up, the gallery’s vibe shifted in an instant.
Re: Respiratory Ghost: Oh? Gonna study? Start with my paper list then. Full course from latest COPD guidelines to ARDS treatment.
Re: Hematoma Hell: Hematology-oncology is fucking hard. No way you conquer it solo. I’ll tutor you.
Re: Bone Fanatic 88: Wanna see bones? Hit me up anytime!
These workaholic maniacs.
I snorted and closed the gallery window.
***
‘Buy some pork rind and practice suturing it at home every day.’
One ghost’s comment came back to me.
And so, I stocked up generously on suturing pig skin and arrived at my officetel, plastic bags in both hands.
Antiseptic swabs, sutures, surgical instruments, and bright red pork rind.
Yeah.
Let’s do this.
***
Hell was unfolding on my officetel kitchen counter. The desk lamp served as surgical lighting, illuminating the pork rind below.
Reality crashed over me like waves.
‘You can borrow a head, but not hands.’
Knowledge I could cheat, but hand feel was on me.
‘…Gotta record and upload this.’
No point fumbling alone.
I needed feedback.
This crazy gallery let me write posts and snap pics with thoughts alone.
Video recording should work too.
‘Record my view for the next 1 minute starting now.’
A small REC icon appeared in the corner of my vision.
Okay.
I picked up the needle holder and forceps.
Whew.
Deep breath.
The first needle plunged toward the pork rind.
Poke.
Ah, fuck.
Too deep. Angle’s all wrong.
Trying to pull it out, it wouldn’t budge. I tugged the rind with forceps, and it tore grotesquely. No knot—just a mangled wound.
‘Stop recording.’
I opened the gallery and attached the freshly recorded 1-minute disaster video to a new post.
Title: [Video] Pork rind suturing—feedback pls.
Author: Hell ER Slave 1
First comment was predictably from that guy.
God’s Scalpel: So this is what rotting eyes feel like.
God’s Scalpel: If you’re gonna do it that shitty, quit now. That’s not suturing, it’s butchery. That poor pig.
OR Ghost 3: Dude!!!! Closed the video the second I saw it!!!! Needle goes in at 90 degrees, you idiot! Digging at 45 like fuck, is that suturing??
OR Wall Clock: Look at that forceps grip. Crush that hard and it’ll necrose later. Even pork rind has rights, you bastard.
Vitriol and curses poured in from all sides.
Right. 90 degrees.
90 degrees.
I started recording again. This time, laser-focused on the angle.
Perpendicular. Perfect right angle into the needle.
Oh, got it.
Went in nice and smooth this time.
Smiling, I pulled the needle out the other side and tugged the suture. Just tie it off now. Tried the surgeon’s knot like I’d learned.
Loop once, loop twice.
Huh? Fingers tangling.
Suture knotting up.
‘Stop recording.’
Shot another 1-minute clip and attached it as a reply.
Re: Hell ER Slave 1: [Video] Nailed the angle. Knot sucks. What next.
Re: Plastics Guy: Ugh, look at those fingers. Don’t you know instrument tie? How long you gonna fumble with hands?
Re: God’s Scalpel: IQ issue? How’d you even graduate with hands like that? If you were in front of me, I’d scalpel your fingers off. Better for patients.
I muttered curses under my breath and untangled the mess.
Instrument tie. Instrument ligation.
Yeah, tie with tools.
Record again.
Grab suture end with needle holder, circle around forceps.
Ting-
Ah fuck. Dropped the suture.
I barely resisted slamming my head on the table.
Right then, even the internal med guys started piling in.
Latte’s Just Words: Aigoo, pointless. Stay up all night like that and infection pops it all anyway. Hell ER Slave 1. If that pig’s diabetic, what’s your wound dressing? Betadine okay? No? Answer that first.
Respiratory Ghost: Ah fuck, zero fun. Feels two years older. Rather poke a hole for pneumothorax and practice chest tube. That’d be way more fun.
OR Ghost 3: IM boomers shut up and watch. Can’t you see a sacred surgeon being born?
Hematoma Hell: Birth my ass. It’s on the verge of miscarriage.
I ignored the chaos and refocused on the pork rind.
Record.
Upload.
Eat shit.
Record again.
Upload.
Eat double shit.
Crooked and uneven.
Intervals a mess, knots all shapes.
Sweat dripped from my chin onto the table.
But weirdly, repeating this madness sharpened the sensation in my fingertips bit by bit.
Grip strength on the needle holder, delicacy grabbing tissue with forceps, tension pulling suture.
Not my brain—my body was starting to remember. Automatically.
Around the eleventh video upload, the comments’ tone shifted subtly.
Plastics Guy: Huh? Tie’s getting there. Still kid stuff, but.
OR Wall Clock: Got grit. Takes that beating without mental collapse. ER needs tough bastards ㅇㅇ
And finally, after the fifteenth video.
My hands in the video no longer trembled.
Five clean knots in pretty even intervals, one after another.
God’s Scalpel: From total trash to chicken-bone level, I guess. Do it 1000 more times. Might pass for human?
Highest praise.
I couldn’t help but smirk at that comment.
I closed the gallery window.
Crushing fatigue washed over my whole body. Wanted to faceplant on the table and sleep.
But I did it.
One drink.