The Aftermath (3)
Meanwhile, in the Trauma Intensive Care Unit (TICU).
Professor Kang Hyeon-jun of Trauma Surgery stood beside the patient's bed, reviewing the post-operative CT scans on his screen.
"Jun-hyeok," he called out to the fellow standing beside him, Lee Jun-hyeok.
"Yes, Professor?"
"The packing they did in the ER—it's an absolute work of art. They precisely blocked the blood flow to the splenic artery and vein while minimizing damage to the surrounding organs. Thanks to that, our surgery was a breeze. It must have shaved at least thirty minutes off the procedure."
Lee Jun-hyeok could only offer an awkward smile at Professor Kang's high praise.
"But tell me," Professor Kang said, setting down his tablet and stroking his chin. "Does Emergency Medicine have a new, young professor? I've never seen his face before. His skills are easily the best I've ever seen from an EM doctor. Though, he did seem to lack some basic manners."
He recalled the mysterious doctor he had encountered in the ER. He was far too young to be a professor, yet unimaginably rude for a fellow. However, his manual dexterity and clinical judgment surpassed any emergency physician Kang had ever known.
"Pardon?" Lee Jun-hyeok blinked. "Ah. That packing..."
"Yes. The doctor who pulled off that crazy stunt in the ER. Who on earth was it?"
Lee Jun-hyeok hesitated for a moment before speaking with extreme caution.
"Well... I asked the nurses, and..."
"And what?"
"They said he's an EM R1."
"What?" Kang's eyes widened to a size they had never reached in his entire life. "What did you say? An R... what?"
"A first-year resident, sir. In Emergency Medicine."
"What? Hey, make sense, will you?" Professor Kang let out a hollow laugh. He figured Lee Jun-hyeok's pranks had been getting a bit out of hand lately.
"I doubted my own ears, so I asked them three times. Han Hyeon-jae. He is indeed a first-year resident who joined this year."
"..."
Professor Kang was utterly speechless. A first-year resident. A rookie who had just finished their internship and was barely taking their first steps as a doctor. A kid like that performed a complex damage control surgery? And in the chaotic warzone of the ER Resuscitation Room, of all places?
"...Is he insane?" A gasp of pure shock escaped his lips.
"A first-year resident performed the surgery? In the resuscitation room? That defies all common sense. What were the senior doctors doing? I heard there was a fellow and a fourth-year resident there! Did they just stand around and watch?"
"Well..." Lee Jun-hyeok replied with an embarrassed grimace. "Apparently, they didn't even have time to stop him."
"...Unbelievable." Professor Kang stared at the ceiling in sheer disbelief. This was a story that wouldn't even make sense in a medical drama.
"If that's true, I don't even know what to say." Professor Kang massaged his temples, his mind a tangled mess. A single mad genius had ignored every rule and protocol to save a patient. Should he be praised, or should he be made an example of to maintain hospital discipline?
After a long silence, Professor Kang asked the most practical question. "So, is he going to be disciplined?"
The Education and Training Department Conference Room, located on the 14th floor of the East Wing.
Several people sat across the long table. The most prominent figures were Professor Oh Manseok of Neurosurgery, the head of the Education and Training Department, sitting in the center; Professor Lee Cheol-yeong of Gastroenterology, seemingly representing the internal medicine departments, on his right; and on his left, our department chair, Park Ung, who sat with his head deeply bowed, unable to even look in my direction.
My palms were slick with sweat. In the committee members' hands was the incident report I had barely managed to write with the "help" of the God of Scalpel. Would my ridiculous excuse of "superhuman concentration and visualization training" actually work?
Professor Oh Manseok adjusted his thick glasses, looked up from the documents, and fixed his gaze on me.
"Very well. We will now convene the 34th Education and Training Committee meeting," his voice cut through the heavy air of the conference room. "The agenda is the disciplinary action against first-year Emergency Medicine resident Han Hyeon-jae for performing an unauthorized emergency laparotomy in the ER. Is the subject, Han Hyeon-jae, present?"
"...Yes, sir," I croaked, my throat so dry my voice cracked.
"Now, there's no need to be so tense," Professor Oh suddenly offered a gentle smile. "This isn't an official disciplinary committee. We are merely an advisory body convening to discuss whether Dr. Han's actions can be tolerated as part of the residency training process and to pass on our recommendations. If we deem this a matter for severe disciplinary action, it will be referred to the official committee. We don't make any direct decisions here. So don't be too frightened, and just tell us the truth. Exactly as it happened."
Professor Oh tapped my incident report with his finger. "I've read your report. It was written very thoroughly and logically. However, there are things that paper alone cannot convey. That is why we have gathered here today."
He leaned forward. "Dr. Han Hyeon-jae. Let me ask you bluntly. Why did you make the unilateral decision to incise the patient's abdomen in the ER Resuscitation Room without consulting or receiving instructions from a senior physician? Did you not know what consequences your actions could bring?"
Every eye in the room locked onto me. I began to deliver the response I had simulated dozens of times with the God of Scalpel. If I faltered here, it was all over.
"Before I answer, I would like to state that it is an undeniable fact that I violated hospital regulations and procedures, and I have absolutely no excuses for that." I bowed my head first. Old-timers always loved this kind of humility. "However, I would be deeply grateful if you could grant me the opportunity to explain the circumstances at the time that forced me to make such a choice."
Professor Oh nodded. It was a signal to proceed.
"Upon admission, the patient was already in Class IV shock according to ATLS guidelines. His systolic blood pressure had plummeted to the 50s, and his heart rate was measured at over 140 beats per minute. This indicated he was on the absolute brink of irreversible shock, where the body could no longer compensate for the massive volume loss."
Excluding as much emotion as possible, I began to list only the objective medical facts.
"We exhausted every available means to raise his blood pressure, but the patient's condition did not improve. The clinical signs clearly pointed to massive intra-abdominal hemorrhaging; it was like pouring water into a shattered vase. The patient was losing blood far faster than we could pump in fluids and blood products."
The atmosphere in the conference room shifted subtly.
"By my estimation, the patient had barely five minutes left to live. Metabolic acidosis, hypothermia, and coagulopathy had already set in. Left as he was, it was clear the patient would slip into cardiac arrest, unresponsive to any further resuscitation efforts."
I paused to catch my breath.
"Should I follow the regulations and wait for the patient's certain death? Or should I violate the rules and stake everything on his slim chance of survival? I chose the latter."
"And so you picked up the scalpel?" Professor Lee Cheol-yeong, sitting nearby, interjected. "Why did you decide that surgical intervention was the only option? You are not a surgeon, Dr. Han. What gave a first-year Emergency Medicine resident the confidence to make such a monumental decision?"
I recalled what the God of Scalpel had told me.
"I deemed it an emergency procedure under the concept of damage control, not a definitive surgery. It was not an operation meant to cure or treat the patient, but rather the sole means to prolong his life for just a few more minutes until he could be transferred to the operating room."
I recited the exact concepts the God of Scalpel had drilled into me the night before. "I did not attempt to perform a splenectomy or anastomose any vessels. I merely packed the area around the ruptured spleen to temporarily halt the massive bleeding, buying the minimum amount of time required to get the patient to the OR."
As my words trailed off, a heavy silence descended upon the room.
"It was reported that your manual dexterity far exceeded the level of a first-year resident. They say you executed the entire procedure flawlessly, without a single moment of hesitation. How do you explain that?" Professor Oh's sharp question. The moment of truth had arrived.
I decided to unleash the most shameless, preposterous excuse that the God of Scalpel and I had prepared.
"Driven solely by the desperate desire to save the patient, I believe I tapped into a level of superhuman concentration I didn't know I possessed, drawing upon the countless mental simulations and hospital training exercises I had run in my head."
At my response, the faces of both Professor Oh and Professor Lee simultaneously flashed a look that clearly said, Is this punk messing with us right now? Yet, they couldn't refute it. There was simply no other logical explanation.
"My actions were a clear overreach of authority, and something a resident in training should never do. However, even if I were thrown back into that exact moment, I would make the same choice. Because I was taught that no regulation takes precedence over a patient's life."
I finished my speech and bowed deeply. "I will take full responsibility for any consequences."
Only the awkward ticking of the wall clock echoed through the silent room.
Professor Oh Manseok stared at my face. "Sigh... Dr. Han, surely you realize how absurd this sounds? Where on earth did you practice such a technique... No, forget it. It's not like you could have practiced it illegally somewhere anyway." Professor Oh let out a long sigh. "...For now, please step outside and wait while we reach a conclusion."
"Yes, sir." Bowing my head like a condemned criminal, I rose from the creaking chair. As I stepped out into the hallway, the heavy door clicked shut behind me.
I slid down against the wall of the empty corridor, my legs giving out. It was over. I had done everything I possibly could. Now, all that was left was to await the judgment of the old-timers behind that door.
I opened the blue window in my mind. I desperately needed to vent this miserable feeling somewhere.
If my medical career gets ruined because of today, your front-row seats to the living world are gone too. So, if you want to borrow my body in the future, equip some basic social skills. If you pull that crazy stunt of speaking informally to my seniors or professors again, the Possession skill is permanently sealed. Got it?
The moment my self-deprecating post went live, comments began flooding in as if they had been waiting for it.
I chuckled at the comments. The ultimate ultimatum I had issued to the gallery yesterday—"No more possessions if you act like a social misfit"—seemed to have worked wonders. Just thinking about it made me laugh.
Threatened by my warning, the incredibly arrogant God of Scalpel had thrown away his pride. He had posted a desperate apology featuring a crudely drawn stick figure performing a deep, formal grand bow, with a caption he must have found somewhere: "I promise never to act socially inept again, please just let me perform surgery..." His burning desire to hold a scalpel, even in death, had completely crushed his unyielding pride.
See, you should have done this from the start. Now, the other ghosts began crawling out one by one to check on me.
Yes, we were all in the same boat now. If I sank here, their only source of entertainment would go down with me.