Steroids: Traditional Doctors Can't Prescribe Them!
Three days had passed since those retired veterans started their protests. Even accounting for it being a Monday morning, the number of visitors had dropped to less than half—and I couldn't believe it even seeing it with my own eyes.
"Hazel, any appointments today?"
"……Afternoon laser lifting and facial liposuction patients, plus filler and Botox ones."
"Just four total?"
"Yes……."
"……."
When I'd seen the video Ollie sent, I'd pegged them as stubborn old folks with a dim view of newfangled things.
'From the territory office to the Black Moon Church, potion co-op, magic towers, and now even an official notice from the Sky Tower…… We've weathered every damn hardship, and we're gonna fold to some denture-hunting retired adventurers?'
Letting these retired adventurers' antics in the central plaza slide was clearly a no-go. I headed straight down to the first floor to find Walter.
"Director……."
"Walter, we're going to the central plaza right now."
"Yes, sir. I'll prep the carriage."
Walter brought up my personal magic carriage from the basement level one, and I hopped in to head straight for the plaza.
And shortly after.
When we arrived at the central plaza, the situation was worse than I'd imagined. Elderly men with headbands tied on were actively protesting.
"People without a scrap of mana! How dare they practice magic healing! Healing has always been the mage's domain since ancient times!"
""Mages must do it! They must!""
"Listen up, you young adventurer pups! Back in my day, broken bones got cut off! Poisoned? Cut it off! Inflammation? Chopped! Why? Because that's real treatment! And look at me and my cohorts—still spry past seventy!"
Leading them all was the one-legged old man from Ollie's video.
"The sick die, the strong live—that's life's truth! Forcing someone else's blood into a rotting corpse to prolong it? Doing filthy black mage tricks and insulting time-honored treatment?!"
He pressed on, veins bulging in his neck despite the still-chilly winds.
"If siphoning blood and transfusing someone else's extends life like that Beauty Tower claims! Then why do patients die in magic tower hospitals doing the same?! It's all a blatant lie! That's what I'm saying!"
""Blatant! Lie! Lie!""
My vitals stayed calm watching the spectacle, but my head started throbbing.
"Advanced modern techniques are fine! But even popular treatments from the East Continent must follow medical basics, right?! Don't forget—the foundation of healing is?!"
"Amputation!"
""Healing is amputation! Amputation!""
"Right!"
"True…… amputation's reliable."
The nonsense was so absurd I doubted my own ears.
'Crazy…… Healing means amputation? Is my hearing okay?'
The content was bad enough, but people reacting to it was the real issue. We couldn't let this retired hero keep talking.
"Tradition is tradition for good reasons—"
"Hello, I'm Baron Miner Gold, director of the Beauty Tower. Heard some entertaining talk in the plaza and came over."
"……."
Titles were indeed the ultimate trump card. The thirty or so retired veterans who'd been badmouthing the Beauty Tower and me just moments ago went dead silent like they'd swallowed honey.
All but one.
"Ahem! Baron Gold, was it? I'm the head of the Retired Veterans Association here—"
"Huh? Sir! When did your face start like that?"
"Ahem! My name is—"
"Oh, man!"
I rarely lose my temper. But interfering with business…… no, treatment was an exception.
"Quiet down over there! Sir! Your face is paralyzed on one side, right? How long's it been?"
"Thwee dayth……."
"Three days? Today's the third? You said that okay?"
"Ughgh……."
"Walter, get this patient to the hospital now! Needs immediate treatment."
"Yes, Baron."
The old man I'd asked Walter to carriage out had one eye red and bulging, unable to close properly, drool spilling from his slack, twisted mouth.
'Thank god it's only day three.'
The golden hour for facial paralysis—also called nerve paralysis—was three days. Some say two or three weeks is fine, but when symptoms hit, rush to the hospital ASAP. Salaried worker? Take leave now. Student? Leave school early. Soldier? AWOL if you have to. That's facial paralysis treatment.
"Hold on! Halt! Who's taking anyone to the hospital on their own say-so? That guy's healthy! If he needs treatment, we'll take him to the magic tower right there for magic and tradition—no need to worry—"
"Are you kidding me?!"
"Wh-what?"
At first, when I'd arrived here, I'd planned to gently persuade them since my methods differed so much from their "traditional" ways. But blocking urgent care? No respect for elders with that level of bullshit.
"Listen up, everyone here! Late February—still cold out! Winds like these days can twist your mouth like this patient's!"
"If the mouth twists, it twists—"
"Don't spout off when it's not your face! Especially when you know nothing."
I ditched elder respect for the nonstop nonsense and glared fiercely.
"Know what pisses me off most in my doctor life? Incurable diseases? No—perfectly treatable ones where clueless folks say 'don't bother'!"
I swallowed the fireball of curses rising from my chest, got in the carriage with the patient. Visitor numbers halved, but visible patients came first.
Slam—
Before the carriage pulled out, I opened the window. Couldn't ignore the elders exposed to harsh winds.
"Where I'm from, they say too much cold wind twists your mouth. Protest all you want, but bundle up warmer—especially neck, ears, face. Walter, let's go."
"Yes."
I'd warned the veterans about cold winds, but they weren't the direct cause of facial paralysis.
'Stats-wise, more summer cases than winter.'
Causes vary, but over 70% from viral infections.
'Even in this isekai, dealing with facial paralysis.'
Facial paralysis—tough or easy aside, I personally hate it. Most cases are Bell's palsy, after Scottish surgeon Charles Bell, or guanwasa in traditional medicine.
And that's why I hate it. Like ENT vs internal med fighting over rhinitis patients, facial paralysis sparks turf wars: neurology, ENT, and even traditional docs.
"Patient, can you hear me?"
"Ughgh……."
"Say by some miracle you end up in Korea, this isekai! Get facial paralysis? Skip everything—straight to neurology."
"Nyurology?"
"Yep, we're here. Careful getting off. Easy does it."
Other ills I might defer, but for facial paralysis? Always!Please! ER first for high-dose steroids!
Nearby neurology? Go there.
'Acupuncture? Herbs? Love me some Heo Jun. But traditional docs can't prescribe steroids per pharmacy law!'
Without early steroids, Wallerian degeneration hits peripheral nerves post-damage, spiking chronic facial issues.
Of course, 60-70% recover in 2-3 months naturally—roll those dice if you want. Steroids aren't magic, but slash sequelae odds.
I push neurology because they distinguish Bell's palsy/guanwasa from central stroke symptoms.
"Stella, facial paralysis patient—run imaging. Follow the nurse ahead, sir."
"Ughgh……."
While Stella did MRI and CT, I grabbed high-dose steroids from the second-floor pharmacy. Up to third floor—internal med, ENT, neurology—and Stella hurried over.
"Viral."
"Nerve conduction?"
"Here."
"Hmm…… Imaging good too. Lucky."
Over 80% nerve damage risks sequelae; 90%+ needs decompression surgery to ease bone pressure. This guy's steroids alone would suffice.
"Patient, swallow with water now."
"Ughgh……."
The old man gulped the steroid pill despite drooling from his slack side.
Steroids don't fix instantly. But I had healers.
"Cast healing magic."
"Huh? Now?"
"Yes, full body. Then PT, massage, recheck, meds—repeat."
"Ah! Got it! Sir, healing magic coming— this way."
After rounds of PT, massage, steroids, healing magic, the old man's drooping mouth returned to normal.
"Whoa me! No, damn it! Thought I'd die with a twisted mouth! Ah, young…… er, Baron, right? You're something!"
"……No big deal."
No sequelae, but chatty guy. Bell's palsy, guanwasa—steroids first, always.