Chapter 58
Chapter 58
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: A One-Star Amusement Park (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I paused my battle with the wailing child for a moment and headed in the direction the nurse was pointing.
C-8 bed.
What a sneaky name.
C-Pal bed, my ass.
I pulled back the curtain, and there on the bed lay a small child bundled up in blankets, with a young couple standing beside them, their faces on the verge of collapse.
"Are you the child's parents?"
At my question, the woman who appeared to be the mother nodded, her voice nearly breaking into sobs.
"Yes, Doctor... The kid's totally limp right now, and the fever's at 40 degrees... We gave them fever reducer at home, but it won't go below 39, and they keep trying to sleep... This isn't something serious, right, Doctor? Right?"
The guardian's voice trembled with fear.
The words coming from the guardian's mouth. The kid's limp.
In pediatric emergency care, there are few words as terrifying as that.
"..."
I observed the child on the bed silently for a moment.
The child's face was flushed red, and they were breathing in shallow, ragged gasps.
Their eyes were closed, but they weren't completely motionless.
The child faintly furrowed their brow at my approaching presence.
I began questioning the parents.
"Um... Ma'am, when and what kind of fever reducer did you give the child?"
"An hour ago. We gave the right dose of Champ syrup (*a children's fever and pain reliever)."
"How old is the child?"
"Just turned two... 24 months."
I nodded and continued with the basic history-taking.
Whether they were eating well, urinating normally, any other symptoms like cough or runny nose.
The parents rambled but answered my questions diligently.
While taking the history, I rubbed my cold hands together to warm them up, then gently placed them on the child's body.
First, the neck.
I checked softly to see if it was stiff.
To confirm cervical rigidity, the most critical sign of meningitis.
Fortunately, the child's neck moved flexibly.
Next, the chest.
I placed the stethoscope on their small chest.
Still even, steady breathing sounds.
The heart sounds were regular too.
The abdomen was soft, and moving the limbs didn't seem to cause any particular pain.
Finally, I decided to gently wake the child.
"Hey, little buddy. Look at the doctor for a sec?"
I lightly shook their shoulder, and the child whimpered as they opened their eyes.
Seeing my unfamiliar face, the child pouted as if about to burst into tears.
Then, they weakly reached out an arm toward their mom.
In that moment, I nearly let out a sigh of relief.
I called over the nurse standing nearby to assist with the child's care.
"Teacher."
"Yes, Dr. Han."
Looking at the new nurse, I couldn't help but smile in relief.
"It's not limp at all.... Ha, that shaved ten years off my life...."
I cleared my throat with a cough.
"It's just that the fever's so high they're out of energy—it's not the medically dangerous kind of lethargy or limpness."
Ahem.
I turned back to the parents.
A gentle smile was on my face.
"You must have been really scared. When the fever hits 40 degrees, even adults feel completely drained like they have a bad flu. Kids are the same. No need to worry too much."
I explained slowly, making eye contact.
"From my exam, there's no sign of anything super dangerous like meningitis or sepsis right now. It's most likely just a severe fever from a cold."
That's right. Based on what I've seen so far, a feverish cold is the top possibility.
"The fever's too high, they can't eat well, so they're dehydrated and totally wiped out. Of course, if this persists, it could get dangerous, but not right now."
As I explained, the couple's faces began to relax.
"For now, we'll start an IV right away. We'll give fluids to replenish the fever med and hydration. And to find the cause of the fever, we'll do blood tests and checks for flu, RSV, and other respiratory viruses. We'll monitor while they get fluids until the results come back."
I gave the orders, asked the nurse to handle the IV, and stepped out from behind the curtain for a moment.
"That really shaved ten years off my life...."
Whew.
Limp.
To a doctor, especially one seeing kids, that word is terror itself.
"Limp" means the child's brain and nervous system have lost function due to infection or shock—the worst possible sign.
A truly limp child is like a rag doll, floppy and loose.
If you lift their arm and let go, it flops down, unable to fight gravity.
They barely react to stimuli and can't even cry properly.
Their eyes lose focus, staring into space.
It could be brain dysfunction from sepsis or increased intracranial pressure from meningitis.
Whatever the cause, the moment you face a truly limp child, the doctor senses the patient has one foot in the river of death.
I felt like I'd just gone to the gates of that river and come back.
Thank God it wasn't that.
***
After the IV, I checked the child's improved condition and returned to the pediatric ER station, feeling like I'd finally cleared one hurdle.
It was pure chaos all around.
Screeching cries from kids erupting everywhere, frantic voices of parents trying to soothe them not knowing what to do, and the nonstop blaring of monitor alarms.
I scanned around for Lee Min-jae, who was covering for me today.
Ah. There he is.
Over at C-3 bed, checking the pupil response on a kid who just finished a febrile seizure.
'Why the hell do I keep getting shifts with this guy right after the conference? What's my karma?'
I grumbled inwardly and waited for Lee Min-jae to finish his procedure.
"Teacher."
"Yeah, Hyun-jae. What's up."
"Earlier, a 24-month-old boy came in with high fever to C-8. Got the fever IV, temp down to 38.2, consciousness clear now—sleeping quietly in mom's arms. Monitoring with fluids for now, and the parents are much calmer."
Lee Min-jae nodded at my briefing.
"Good job. Kids have been getting sick a lot lately. Must be the changing seasons. Yesterday it was RSV (*respiratory syncytial virus) patients overflowing, today it's a fever-cold party."
"All the beds full now, right, Doctor?"
"Yeah. All 10 beds in C section are packed. One leaves, next one comes in—infinite loop. Why?"
"Just... It's been a while since pediatric ER. Still adjusting."
"You'll adapt soon. Hell has a way of becoming familiar quick."
Lee Min-jae patted my shoulder and headed off to the next patient.
I sat back down at the station computer to sort charts.
And while organizing charts, I logged into the gallery at the same time.
HellJoseonSlave1: PediatricGhost, those tips you gave this morning are coming in super handy right now. Thanks.
At my thanks, PediatricGhost appeared like they'd been waiting.
Re: PediatricGhost77: It's me. A true doctor who even in death worries about kids' health.
This morning, when I posted that I'd been assigned to pediatric ER, PediatricGhost had turned into a super-serious pinch-hitter tutor.
PediatricGhost77: So you didn't shove the stethoscope in their face right away like I told you, right? In peds, the absolute basics are observing the kid playing from afar, their breathing pattern, overall condition—for at least a minute!
Re: HellJoseonSlave1: Of course I did.
PediatricGhost77: How'd the throat exam go? You didn't shove the tongue depressor in and trigger a meltdown, did you?
Re: HellJoseonSlave1: That's straight out of the textbook. Showed them animation stickers and sang 'Ahh~ wanna try?' and they opened wide nicely.
PediatricGhost77: Good. Then the final secret weapon. How'd the [Hurt Doctor Game] go for when kids are screaming and you can't examine them?!
At that question, I instinctively rubbed my forehead.
The secret weapon PediatricGhost taught me for my sake had been more effective than imagined—but also more painful than imagined.
'Kids fear doctors. But they don't fear someone dumber and more ridiculous than them. Play peekaboo, then deliberately bonk your head on the table corner. Cry 'Ow! Ow! Doctor hurts!' They usually stop crying and stare like 'What an idiot.' That's your chance!'
Yeah... it worked, but.
"Peekaboo!"
I'd tried peekaboo enthusiastically.
"Wow~ Harim, where'd the doctor go and come back from?"
Mom played her enthusiastic supporting role.
"Peek... a... boo! Ack!"
I'd only meant to fake bumping, but I actually smacked my head.
The kid started giggling at me, and the guardian panicked: "Doctor! You okay?"
I played it off, but my head still hurts.
Re: HellJoseonSlave1: Failed the fake bump and actually headbutted the table for real. Saw stars. Hurt like hell, but the kid loved me whining and laughed hysterically. Managed the exam once they stopped crying. Solid.
Re: PediatricGhost77: LMAOOOO Peds docs have to become clowns, confirmed. Congrats. Welcome to the world of pediatric care.
Yeah, to survive here, I'll have to go crazy too.