우당탕탕 첫 학회 (1)

After those few violent storms that shook my medical career to its core finally passed, time in the emergency room returned to its usual frantic pace.

The ambulance sirens wailed dozens of times a day. Naturally, I dashed out at the sound, conditioned like one of Pavlov's dogs.

"Aaaargh! My fingers! My fingers!" I heard the agonizing screams of a young laborer whose hand had been crushed in a factory press machine.

"Ma'am, can you hear me? Did you eat breakfast this morning?" I checked the blood sugar of a diabetic patient who had collapsed unconscious right after taking her morning insulin shot, her arm hanging limp and lifeless.

And of course, my crazy ghostly tutors didn't leave me alone for even a single second.

Of course, sometimes they threw me a bone in the form of actual praise.

"His blood pressure is normal, and there's nothing unusual on his EKG either."

I stared intently at the patient's electrocardiogram. Everything looked perfectly normal, but I noticed that the interval between heartbeats was just a fraction too long.

First-degree atrioventricular block. Normally, it was a finding of little to no clinical significance. However, I recalled the knowledge that the ghosts had forcefully drilled into my head just a few days ago.

Yes, I was growing. Even if the method of my growth was incredibly twisted.

Time flowed on. Countless patients passed through my hands, and my head was filled with endless streams of verbal abuse mixed with a tiny, precious trickle of praise. Then, one day, an email arrived.

I stared blankly at the email. I had actually done it. Well, honestly, it would have been stranger if it hadn't been accepted. There was no way a paper crafted by the collective minds of so many medical geniuses would get rejected. With that thought, a strange sense of pride washed over me as I closed the browser window.

And so, the morning of the conference dawned. I barely managed to drag my eyes open at the hellish sound of my early morning alarm. Goddammit... I don't want to go. I really, really don't want to go. Grumbling internally, I boarded the bus bound for Seoul, wearing an awkward suit I had never expected to wear in my entire life.

I stared out the window in a half-dazed state as the vehicle sped toward Seoul. The familiar scenery of Busan flashed past. Somewhere beyond that horizon lay my tiny studio apartment, and inside it, my soft, cozy bed. I should have been fast asleep right about now, completely dead to the world. Where on earth did my life start going wrong? Was it the moment I acquired the possession skill? The moment I gained access to the gallery? Or was it the very moment I decided to go to medical school?

After a grueling four-and-a-half-hour journey, I finally set foot in Seoul. The venue was an insanely massive hotel. The moment I stepped through the revolving doors and into the lobby, my breath caught in my throat. "Whoa... holy crap..." The lobby was the size of a soccer field. The marble floor looked like it cost more than the security deposit on my apartment. Absolutely insane.

"What are you doing? Let's go!" Unlike me, Lee Min-jae looked completely at home in these surroundings as he shoved my back. He strode confidently across the lobby toward the registration desk as if he owned the place. I followed closely behind him, desperately trying not to look like a clueless country bumpkin. Soon, we received our name tags and thick conference program books. Hanging the name tag around my neck, which bore my name and affiliation, gave me a bizarre sensation.

Is this what a sense of belonging feels like? But I hate this hospital.

In any case, once registration was complete, Lee Min-jae dragged me to a quiet corner of the venue. His expression had done a complete 180-degree turn, looking incredibly solemn and serious. "Hyeon-jae."

"Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠senior?"

"Listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. This is extremely important." Lee Min-jae's voice dropped to a low whisper. I swallowed hard, tension gripping my chest. Is it finally starting? I braced myself for some near-impossible mission for a first-year resident, like 'Go introduce yourself to Professor Kim from Seoul National University Hospital over there,' or 'Ask a sharp, insightful question during the panel discussion later to boost our hospital's reputation.' Well, whatever it was, I was a first-year resident who had been called a genius! I just had to face it head-on.

"Yes! What is it? Just say the word!"

Lee Min-jae scanned our surroundings once before grabbing my shoulders tightly and whispering, "Once registration is over... you must go around to the booths."

...Excuse me? The booths? Did he mean the promotional booths where pharmaceutical and medical device companies advertised their products?

"What should I do there? Learn about the latest clinical insights or—"

"No!" Lee Min-jae cut me off flatly. "Throw the latest clinical insights to the dogs. You won't remember them anyway even if you listen. That's not what's truly important." He glanced around once more, then leaned in to whisper the most profound secret of the conference into my ear. "I mean you need to sweep up every single piece of free... free merchandise they have!"

...What?

"Pens! The three-color ballpoint pens with the pharmaceutical company logos! You know how incredibly smooth they write, right? Grab at least ten of those! And Post-it notes! The ones in cute shapes! USB drives! If you're lucky, you might even score a sixteen-gigabyte one! And tote bags! The tote bags with the conference logo are insanely useful when you go to the local supermarket later! Wet wipes! Band-aids! Heck, even grab an extra bottle of water!" Lee Min-jae's speech was filled with fiery passion. He was preaching with his entire being that the true essence of an academic conference was not the exchange of knowledge, but the plundering of free merchandise.

"This is your first and most crucial mission. Outmaneuver all those competitors over there and secure the most practical, high-value goods. Understood?!"

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Was I at a medical conference or the free sample corner of a wholesale supermarket? Looking highly satisfied, Lee Min-jae gave my shoulder another firm pat. "Well then, I shall go mingle with some of our distinguished scholars," he said, before vanishing into the crowd.

Distinguished scholars, my foot. You're just a resident too. And so, I was left entirely alone in the middle of the massive venue. In my hands was the thick program book, and on my shoulders rested the heavy, absurd duty of plundering free merchandise.

Pushing aside Lee Min-jae's ridiculous command for a moment, I wandered around the vast exhibition hall. The place was packed with doctors clad in awkward suits just like mine. The affiliations printed on their name tags varied wildly, ranging from Seoul's Big Five hospitals to regional national university hospitals. They gathered in small groups, sipping coffee while engaging in heated discussions or bowing politely to famous professors. I stood there, unable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to fit into any of those circles.

"Hyeon-jae!"

At the familiar voice, I turned around to see Professor Cheon Eun-jung walking toward me. "There you are. Have you seen where your poster is set up?"

"No, ma'am. Not yet."

"Is that so? Make sure to check it out. Later, at two o'clock, you and Ji-hoon just need to stand very awkwardly next to your posters in Crystal Ballroom Hall 2 over there. Got it?" Professor Cheon placed particular emphasis on the words "very awkwardly."

"Yes, ma'am. Understood! Two o'clock, Crystal Ballroom..." I desperately engraved the location and time into my brain.

"You remember your number, right? One hundred and seventeen."

"Of course! How could I forget?"

"Good. See you then." Having delivered her brief instructions, Professor Cheon turned and walked away.

Left to my own devices, I flipped open the thick conference program in my hands. Let's see... the densely printed text made my eyes spin. I decided to skim through it page by page. In the morning, there were training courses for each subspecialty; after lunch, the Plenary Lecture; and in the afternoon, the Oral Presentations and Poster Sessions. Plenary Lecture? A general assembly lecture. Oh... who was the speaker? A renowned scholar. The topic: 'Recent Advances in the Treatment of Septic Shock.' Just reading the title made me feel drowsy.

I flipped to the page for the Oral Presentation sessions.

...Yeah, that was enough. I closed my eyes for a second. It was written in plain Korean, so why did it feel like a foreign language? That was a realm far beyond what an ordinary mortal like me could comprehend. I quietly turned the page.

Finally, I reached the list of poster presentations. The pages were packed with hundreds of titles, looking like tiny ants. I scanned the list, searching for my number. There it was.

My name. My hospital. And the title I had written. It was just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a tiny, single line nestled within this dense directory. Just a few words printed in black ink, yet a strange lump formed in my throat. Why did this feel so significant? It felt as though all the sheer madness and suffering I had endured were finally being vindicated by this single line ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of text.

I glanced at the other topics listed near my name.