Ghostwritten Abstract
Chirp, chirp. Chirp, chirp.
Shut the hell up.
The sun was shining bright, and the birds outside the window were singing their hearts out since early morning, as if they had any reason to be happy. Meanwhile, I was in a taxi, heading to the hospital.
How long had we been driving? In the distance, the familiar yet dreadful silhouette of a building began to appear.
Cheongjin University Medical Center Busan Hospital
And beneath it, the hospital's slogan, plastered like a monument to hypocrisy:
"Sharing our patients' pain, endlessly researching and dedicating ourselves to tomorrow's health."
I let out a hollow laugh at those words. Why aren't they sharing my pain? Because of that damn "endless research," my own tomorrow's health is going down the drain.
Before I knew it, the taxi pulled up to the entrance of the Emergency Medical Center. As I stepped out, the familiar scent of antiseptic washed over me.
Zzzzt—
The ER in the morning was surprisingly quiet. A few night-shift nurses looked completely drained from working all night, and a couple of others who had just clocked in stood around looking dazed. In the middle of it all, a young-looking nurse sitting at the triage desk spotted me.
“Yes. Where does it hurt? What brings you in?”
“My heart hurts...”
“Pardon?”
The nurse's eyes went wide at my nonsense. Just then, a veteran nurse who was working on the computer next to her looked up.
“Oh, Dr. Han? What's going on? Weren't you off today?”
I scratched the back of my head, offering an awkward smile.
“...Just... yeah... I have some research to do...”
At my pathetic excuse, a look of complete understanding flashed across the nurse's face. Leaving her pitying gaze behind, I pulled my ID card from my pocket.
Beep—
[The door has opened.]
As I entered the ER, my co-resident Kim Ji-hoon, who was just leaving after finishing his night shift, spotted me. His eyes went wide, as if he had just seen a ghost.
“Han Hyeon-jae? Aren't you off today? Are you insane? Why are you here?”
Without a word, I patted Ji-hoon on the shoulder and walked past him. My destination was a computer where I could log into the Electronic Medical Record (EMR) system. I walked toward an empty terminal.
Right, pull the patient data... First, I need to go through the proper procedures... Oh, wait. Patient information. To present this at a conference, I obviously need the hospital's permission. The IRB—Institutional Review Board.
...Damn it. I completely forgot about that.
To get IRB approval, I have to write a research proposal, apply for review, wait for the committee to meet... But I only have two days. What on earth was Professor Cheon thinking?
I am completely, utterly screwed.
As I stood frozen in the middle of the hallway like a stone statue, a familiar silhouette appeared in the distance. Professor Cheon Eun-jung. A savior. Or perhaps the Grim Reaper.
Clutching at straws, I ran toward her.
“Professor!”
At my urgent call, Professor Cheon stopped and looked at me.
“What? Did you finish writing the paper?”
Do you really think I finished it, lady...?
Wailing inwardly, I put on the most polite, pitiful expression I could muster.
“Well, Professor... This is actually my first time writing a case report.”
“Oh, really?”
“So, um... I wasn't sure what to do with the patient data... and I have no idea how to handle personal information or the IRB, so I wanted to ask...”
“Ah~ This is just a simple case report, so it doesn't need a formal review. You just need to apply for an exemption. We're going to strip out all patient-identifying information anyway. Don't worry about the administrative stuff for now—just write the abstract and submit it quickly! I'll handle the IRB paperwork later!”
...She knows this stuff surprisingly well. No, I suppose it's only natural for a professor to be well-versed in these administrative procedures.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It contained the list of reference papers I had compiled with the help of the ghosts.
“Professor, if you have a moment, this is the list of reference papers I gathered overnight. Could you take a quick look to see if I'm heading in the right direction?”
At my words, Professor Cheon's eyes sparkled with interest.
“Already? Let's see.”
She began to slowly scan down the list.
“Hmm... let's see... 'Atypical Presentation of ACS: A Systematic Review'... 'The American Journal of...' Oh... hm... wait?”
Her eyes grew wider, and a faint frown creased her brow.
“Hey. You... you found these incredibly well? Review papers, classic papers explaining the mechanism, and even the latest case reports. The structure is perfect. Did you bust your ass looking for these?”
I just smiled awkwardly, answering as humbly as possible.
“Thank you. I think I just got lucky.”
“The direction is excellent. Just keep going like this. Fighting!”
With that, Professor Cheon turned and went on her way.
I took a seat in front of a dusty computer. I typed in the patient's name and hit search, and the records from the past few days filled the screen.
“Hmm.”
The first thing that caught my eye was the record from when he was admitted. His vital signs were stable, but the pain intensity the patient complained of was quite severe. Too severe to be dismissed as a simple sore throat.
“Aha, I see.”
Next was the progression of the EKG.
“First, there was a change like this, and the vessel that was ultimately blocked was this one...”
I opened the coronary angiography report. RCA mid 99% stenosis. A reading indicating that the middle section of the right coronary artery was 99% blocked. It was the exact moment that old geezer, the God of Scalpel's prediction was proven perfectly correct.
I opened a word processor, organized the collected data one by one, and began to outline the abstract.
About ten minutes passed. I hit my first wall. The sentences looked incredibly childish and unprofessional.
'Sore throat is a very rare symptom of MI.'
What even is this? It looks like an elementary schooler's essay.
I edited the sentence exactly as he told me.
Oh. Holy crap. The quality of the writing transformed in an instant. The sentence suddenly looked incredibly sophisticated.
The case presentation part was easy. All I had to do was objectively list the collected data.
But the final discussion section was the problem. I had to logically weave the fifteen papers I found last night into this short paragraph.
Following the advice HemOncIsHell gave me last night, I began to structure the paragraphs in order of prevalence, mechanism, and prognosis.
'...According to previous studies, approximately 15% of patients with acute coronary syndrome present with atypical symptoms rather than chest pain, and cases presenting solely with a sore throat are reported to be extremely rare...'
The more I wrote, the more I felt like I was borrowing the brains of ghosts rather than using my own. Without a single Google search, whenever I got stuck, I threw a question to the gallery, and answers poured in in real-time.
I had never seen Descendant of Hippocrates fly off the handle like that before. I obediently typed out the sentences he provided.
With the real-time proofreading and guidance of the ghosts, I completed the abstract at a blistering speed.
Before the clock in the residents' office could even make half a rotation, my fingers stopped over the enter key.
I reviewed the completed abstract from beginning to end.
It was perfect.
A flawless logic from introduction to conclusion. Precise data. And... English so elegant and professional that I couldn't believe I had written it myself.
I checked the clock. Exactly 26 minutes had passed since I started pulling the EMR data.
“...Insane.”
A hollow laugh escaped my lips. I saved the completed file, emailed it, and decided to go find Professor Cheon.
“Professor.”
“Oh, what is it now? Did another issue come up with the IRB?”
Professor Cheon turned to look at me, her brow furrowing slightly in annoyance.
I showed her the 'Email Sent' screen on my phone.
“No, Professor. Um...”
I spoke in the calmest voice I could muster.
“I'm done.”
...Silence fell.
Professor Cheon Eun-jung's eyes dilated. Her mouth fell slightly open.
“...Already?”
“Yes.”