The Good Healer (8)
I guided the Count, whom I had met in front of the Green Flag camp, into the tent. The space inside was narrow.
“This place is…?”
“It is a space prepared for those whose treatment might be… embarrassing.”
One might think that shame has no place in such a disaster, but privacy is crucial even in these circumstances. Especially for patients who require treatment of their lower bodies. And, though I don’t want to mention it specifically, there are occasionally pieces of trash who take advantage of such chaotic situations to commit sexual atrocities. It is a principle to provide such privacy rooms even in disaster situations.
“Please, have a seat here.”
There was a bed inside the tent. It was a pathetic excuse for a bed—just a blanket spread over wooden planks—but the Count sat on the edge of it. He held his back unnaturally straight.
“Where does it hurt when you lean back?”
“…I’ve been listening to you for a while now, but it’s fascinating. How did you figure that out?”
“Simple observation.” I said, setting up my surgical tools on a wooden crate beside the bed. “You were having trouble leaning back, and there were pauses in your speech. You also reflexively suppressed a cough every time you made a plosive sound.”
Swish, swish. I sprayed disinfectant onto a cotton ball. I prepared the antiseptic swabs and set the needles and tubes in a sterile state.
“I also noticed jugular vein distension on the right side of your neck. It’s evidence that the mediastinum has been pushed to the right. When you breathe, the left thorax barely moves, but the movement of the right thorax is prominent. Your accessory respiratory muscles are also excessively tense.”
“…?”
He looked like he didn’t understand a word I was saying. So, I explained it more simply.
“It’s a pneumothorax. Your lung is torn. You’re holding on because you’re a superhuman, but if you go home like this, you’ll quietly close your eyes tonight.”
“….”
I finished my brief explanation and approached the Count.
“Please take off your top. I’m going to perform a simple surgery… no, treatment.”
“Why would a treatment require a needle? Is it a resection?” The Count said, wary of me. Resections by healers are notorious. They cut out the problematic area and regenerate it. However, this method had the disadvantage of only being possible on limbs. There is no such thing as a resection for the torso. That is why the Count was wary of me. He was likely wondering if I was trying to assassinate him by taking advantage of this situation.
But the treatment I was about to perform was not a resection.
“It’s not a resection. I’m just going to make a small hole in the space where your lung is.”
“What?”
“Originally, there shouldn’t be any air in the thoracic cavity, but if a lung is torn, air can fill it. If the lung is crushed by that air, it becomes difficult to breathe.”
He wouldn’t understand even if I said that. But I didn’t have time to make the Count understand as if he were a student.
“I’ve already saved many people with this.”
I lifted the tent flap slightly. The Red Flag zone was visible outside. There were people there with needles and tubes stuck in their chests. Hemothorax or tension pneumothorax. People who, like the Count, had suffered lung injuries.
“If this were an assassination, how would you explain the people who received this treatment moving to the Yellow zone?”
Pneumothorax is a "kind" condition among super-emergencies, as you can move from the Red zone to the Yellow zone immediately after treatment. You just have to stick a needle in front of the lung. Besides, it only takes 30 seconds at the shortest and 2 minutes at the longest. There was absolutely no reason not to perform the treatment.
“Count. So, please take off your top. The longer you delay, the more dangerous it becomes for those who haven’t received treatment.”
“….”
The Count rolled up his clothes, looking displeased. Before performing the procedure, I checked a few things on his chest. Tapping, auscultating, and feeling the vibrations once more.
‘Tension pneumothorax, indeed.’
I wiped the space between his fifth ribs with an alcohol swab. And then, poke with a 14G needle. It’s that very procedure often shown in medical dramas. The one where patients who couldn’t breathe suddenly start breathing just by inserting a ballpoint pen tip. I just performed that procedure more hygienically.
“Try breathing.”
Hiss. There was a sound of air escaping from the needle. The Count’s expression also became much more comfortable.
“…Incredible.”
“Good.” I said, tidying up my tools. “But, asking late, why did you hide your symptoms?”
“It might be hard for you to understand, but the position of a Count is one where you cannot show weakness.” The Count gave a bitter smile. “If it becomes known that a 3rd-circle superhuman was defeated by a mere troll’s club, people might start questioning my skills.”
Oh, dear. It seems even a Count has his own hardships in many ways. To think he had to hide internal injuries just to avoid revealing a weakness. It is truly lamentable that he has to worry about such things when he should be focusing solely on the magic beasts.
“Then, let’s finish up.”
I inserted a tube where I had poked the needle. Then, I took a pair of surgical rubber gloves out of my bag.
‘Tsk. Still too thick.’
I had asked them to make surgical gloves while they were at it when making condoms. Naturally, I ordered them to be made thin so that the sensitivity of the fingertips could be felt well. So the guild is trying their best to make the condoms as thin as possible and the gloves thin as well. But due to a lack of technology, the gloves were still thick. Every time I saw this, I would find myself missing the ultra-thin(?) latex surgical gloves from the 21st century where I used to live.
‘Well, this is enough for now.’
I cut off the index finger of the glove with scissors. I placed the cut-off rubber finger over the end of the tube stuck in the Count’s chest and tied it tightly with thread. Ta-da. A one-way flutter valve complete. It’s a technique I learned at a disaster site in my previous life.
…I was definitely told this was a safe and rewarding summer medical volunteer trip. That crazy professor took me to an overseas explosion site. He said it was safe because it had already exploded once.
Finally, I pushed the tube under his shirt and adjusted his clothes so it wouldn’t be visible from the outside. From the outside, nothing had changed.
“Normally, I would prefer a water-seal drainage method, but since you don’t want anyone to see it, I did it this way.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“However, if you keep the tube under your clothes, it might become difficult to breathe again, so it would be good to rest alone in a place like a carriage.”
“I understand.”
The Count got off the bed. Meanwhile, I said while tidying up my tools.
“Unfortunately, I would like to cast a heal on you right here, but that seems difficult.”
Patients who can be treated with 21st-century procedures, including pneumothorax, do not receive divine magic. It is for the patients who cannot be saved without the miracle of divine magic.
“I know.” The Count’s answer was also calm. “With my rank, this level of treatment is enough. The miracle of God should go to others who are more desperate than me. On the battlefield, God’s miracles and potions are always in short supply.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
The Count’s pneumothorax will probably improve in a few days. The Count reached for his armor for a moment. But I didn’t allow it.
“Please don’t wear the armor. The tube might get pressed and not function properly.”
“I will keep that in mind.” The Count said, holding his breastplate in one hand.
“Director Shun.” He bowed his head lightly to me. “I pay my respects to your dedication.”
I shook my head.
“Actually, I am the one who is more grateful.”
“Grateful for what?” The Count asked with a puzzled face.
I didn’t answer. My gaze was fixed on the tip of the rubber glove finger I had just cut.
— “I’m fine. Please see the other citizens first.”
In a worn-out, tattered memory. The fellow who was dragged to an explosion site after being deceived by a lying professor was talking to a firefighter.
— “I’m just a bit out of breath from exercising vigorously.”
— “The physical examination results are definitely all normal.”
— “Right? So you can go to the others quickly.”
I, the professor, and that firefighter. Everyone diagnosed him as green. And when everything was over. What greeted us was the coldly cooled corpse of the firefighter.
The cause was Blast Lung Injury. It is a disease where the inside of the lungs is devastated due to the blast pressure. This disease has no symptoms or abnormalities immediately after the explosion, but 24 hours after the explosion, the inside of the lungs suddenly begins to fill with body fluids and blood. In that way, the patient quietly drowns in their own body fluids. At that accident site at the time, there were countless people who closed their eyes quietly like this. However, I remembered that firefighter the most. He smiled at the end, saying he was fine, and I sincerely believed that smile, but that belief only brought tragedy.
Since that day. Both I and that professor began not to trust the patient’s words. To be precise, it’s not that we ignore them. We stopped diagnosing solely based on the patient’s words. Such trivial things that even the patient doesn’t know, and that everyone can overlook. It was probably from then on that I began to obsessively focus on such things.
“…Director?”
I returned to my senses at the Count’s voice.
“Do you not intend to say what you are grateful for?”
“…I meant that I am grateful for the fact that I was able to discover the Count’s condition.”
“Why are you grateful for that?”
“Well. It’s just… when you do this kind of work, there are times when you are grateful for everything.”
I was just grateful. That I had discovered it this time.
The Count looked at me for a long time, then quietly nodded his head.
After finishing the Count’s secret treatment. I returned to the field and began classifying the patients.
“This is a patient with airway obstruction due to tongue retraction caused by jaw destruction. It’s an emergency, so classify as Red. Keep the patient face down until they receive treatment.”
“Shrapnel is embedded in the eyes. Bandage both eyes, students. The patient won’t be able to see, but they must endure it. To save one eye, you must not move both eyes. Let’s classify the flag as Yellow.”
“Patellar fracture due to a fall. The blood vessels and nerves are safe, so classify as Green.”
While tending to the wounded, I checked the time. It wouldn’t have been strange if it were lunchtime, but the hour hand had tilted by only one number. As the sun rose little by little, other attack teams began to return.
Toot—toot-toot!
“Wounded this way!”
“Follow the instructions for everyone, without distinguishing between rescue teams and attack teams!”
People poured into the city gate every time the trumpet sounded. The attack teams that had headed outside the walls a few days ago, and the rescue teams that had left to rescue those who were isolated, were carried in on stretchers. Even at a glance, more than three times as many people as the wounded from dawn were pouring in.
Ayla’s complexion darkened as she watched that scene.
“Di…Director… the wounded keep….”
“It’s as expected.”
At first, it was half attack teams and half rescue teams. Soon, it became one attack team to two rescue teams, then one to three in the next wave, and then one to five. As time passed, the exchange ratio flipped. There were more people returning injured after going to rescue than those being rescued and returning.
The reason was simple. Originally, it takes five people to rescue one person. In that famous movie about saving Private Ryan, didn’t several people get ground up just to save one private? Rescue operations are that miserable in terms of exchange ratios.
Even so, the guild continued to dispatch rescue personnel to the isolated attack teams. This was because the isolated personnel included A-class adventurers, heroes, and people like nobles. Of course, I am a doctor, so I didn’t know the strategic significance of this rescue act well. I didn’t really feel how necessary it was for humanity to grind people up to save them. But I knew the fact that they were continuing the rescue operation, trusting this side.
Therefore, I just focused on treating the wounded who were increasing exponentially.
However….
‘I’m a bit tired.’
“Red. Take them to the surgery tent immediately. Next!”
“My arm… my arm is cut off!”
“Tighten the tourniquet more! Blood is leaking! Yellow. Next!”
Toot—toot—toot-toot!
The trumpet sounded one beat longer. I knew without turning my head. Another group must be pouring into the city gate.
“Director! We must change the criteria! From now on, open fractures must be classified as Black, not Red!”
“Poisoned patients must be changed from Yellow to Red from now on!”
In proportion to the wounded, those who can be saved are gradually pushed to the back of the line. Originally, triage is a classification method with high volatility depending on capacity. If there is enough manpower to handle dozens of cerebral hemorrhage patients, even patients with split heads can be classified as Yellow. But if manpower is lacking, even poisoned patients who only need one antidote can be pushed from Yellow to Red. In the end, reality was always a matter of resources.
“Director….”
Ayla, who was following me, kept trying to say something but closed her mouth. It was because I had classified a patient with a severed arm as Black just a moment ago. Originally, it would be Red, a patient who could be sufficiently saved if treated. But there was a severe lack of personnel. I couldn’t perform a surgery that would take more than an hour.
“…Black.”
This time, it was a cerebral hemorrhage patient. A patient I could treat within 30 minutes if I took a hand in it. But the moment I entered surgery for 30 minutes, 30 patients would be left unattended outside. Therefore, I had to classify this person as Black.
‘It hasn’t even been 2 hours, and it’s like this.’
Within 2 hours of starting to collect the wounded, the damage was growing uncontrollably. The number of wounded and dead recorded on the 314/42 Guild bulletin board kept rising. My chest felt heavy. It wasn’t because I was in despair.
‘Damn it….’
It was because it was regrettable. I knew how to overcome this situation. Originally, the current triage was far from the standard. A triage officer who classifies patients and performs simple treatments. A treatment team leader who focuses only on advanced treatment of classified patients. Emergency triage should divide roles into these two categories. But now, I and the healers belonging to the Merkur Merchant Guild have to perform these two roles simultaneously. Because of this, inefficiency is occurring.
I caught my breath for a moment and turned my head.
“It’s okay. This will make you feel a little better.”
Ayla was casting Refresh on the Black and Red patients. Ayla’s friends had already exhausted their divine power or given up mentally. Even so, Ayla kept casting Refresh. Perhaps thanks to that, the patients’ time was being postponed little by little, and….
“…Tsk.”
I clicked my tongue inside the mask so no one could hear. A student isn’t giving up, yet I’m already thinking of a compromise in my head.
‘What kind of protagonist compromises?’
Since possessing this body, I haven’t compromised even once. And I’m thinking of such things just because it’s a little hard. I guess I still have a long way to go to become a proper protagonist.
“We are rearranging the shift order! We will rearrange the personnel, considering the prayer time of those whose divine power is exhausted!”
It was just when I had steeled my heart like that and shouted that to the healers belonging to the clinic. A commotion arose near the guild entrance.
“Move! Move out of the way!”
“This is the Church Healing Dispatch Team! Open the way!”
The voices rang out in three, four layers. I stopped the classification I was doing and looked up. Several carriages were lined up on the road in front of the guild main gate. White carriages with golden sun emblems engraved on them. It was the Church. The carriage doors opened, and people wearing white vestments jumped out of the carriages. Priests wearing pure white vestments quickly joined the healers belonging to the clinic.
“We apologize for being late!”
And from the crowd that poured out, a priest wearing vestments other than pure white ran into the guild building alone.
“Archbishop Lailic has arrived! Guild Master!”
A man wearing a purple epaulet, the symbol of an Archbishop, pushed through the people and entered. Raymond Lailic. Former Imperial dedicated healer. Current Archbishop of the Imperial Capital Diocese. In 21st-century terms, he was about the position of a public health center director. As soon as he entered the guild, he looked around, found me, and approached with long strides. And he bowed to me.
“I am Raymond Lailic, Director Shun. It took time to deliver the mobilization order to all treatment centers, so I am late to the scene.”
I shook my head.
“No. You did very well.”
It wasn’t empty words. If he had come to the scene immediately, it would have been comfortable in the beginning. But that’s all. The situation would have become difficult again afterward. In such a situation, the most important thing is rear-line treatment. Because even if you classify well at the scene, it is useless if there are no hospitals supporting you from behind. In that sense, the Archbishop’s judgment was appropriate. He mobilized all treatment centers located in the Empire as rear-line hospitals. Besides, it’s an era where communication networks haven’t properly developed. I could understand a hundred times why he was late to the scene.
“On the way, I heard a rough account from other healers. Triage classification, you say. It truly is an excellent classification method.” The Archbishop said, looking around the scene. “By any chance, what is the work I should do here?”
Instead of asking to transfer command, he was a very exemplary reinforcement who immediately inserted himself into the command system. Therefore, I could trust the Archbishop and speak.
“Archbishop.”
“Please speak.”
“If so, could you take command of the field classification from now on?”
“What about you, Director?”
I shook the crow’s beak up and down and said.
“It seems I need to return to my main job.”
It was time to return to the operating room.