Chapter 113
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: Chemotherapy's Toll
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Song Jong-man was the real deal—a man who had toughed it out at one of Korea's top conglomerates all the way to retirement.
He had lived his life with steady diligence, and even after retiring, he hadn't caused any trouble.
He sold their Seoul home to fund his children's weddings, then moved back to his hometown of Busan to start the second act of his life.
He traveled abroad with his wife, picked up new hobbies, and spent his days pleasantly enough—moderately enjoyable, moderately boring.
Then came the health checkup results.
"Stage 3 colon cancer. You should head to a university hospital."
The doctor delivered the cancer diagnosis.
Hmm, in dramas, patients in scenes like this refuse to believe the doctor, or even lash out in anger.
They weep, demanding how this could happen, plunging into shock.
But Song Jong-man took it surprisingly in stride.
'So it finally came.'
That was the extent of his reaction.
Song Jong-man had always figured that if he died, it'd be from cancer or a car accident.
He'd made it to nearly seventy without a traffic accident, so maybe cancer was just right on schedule?
With his family history and his careless health habits in his youth, there was no reason it should spare him.
Did that mean he was ready to die?
No, not at all.
Stage 3 colon cancer had a survival rate of 50-75%, so he vaguely believed he'd be one of the survivors.
What's the big deal? Just get treatment.
"Do you have a preferred hospital for full care?"
Where to get the cancer treatment?
Did he even need to think about it?
"I'd like to go to Korea University Hospital."
Of course he'd get the best treatment at the country's top hospital.
A short time later.
At Korea University Hospital, the doctor laid out a chemotherapy plan.
"We recommend XELOX therapy as adjuvant chemo after surgery."
XELOX combined Xeloda and oxaliplatin, a common regimen for digestive cancers like colon and stomach cancer. It was on the milder side among chemotherapies, with fewer side effects.
"You'll get one oxaliplatin IV drip, then take Xeloda pills for 14 days—that's cycle one. Then a week off, followed by another drip to start cycle two. Eight cycles total, every three weeks, and the regimen ends."
There were a few other options mentioned, but Song Jong-man said he'd follow the doctor's recommendation.
This was a professor at Korea University Hospital—surely they'd provide top-tier care.
Like the knowledgeable intellectual he was, he understood the explanation without any melodramatic nonsense or unreasonable demands to bother the doctor.
'It's systematic, alright. Just follow along.'
Surgery was scheduled soon after.
"Oh dear... it'll be okay, right? No, you're the one having surgery—I'm sorry for making you anxious. It'll go fine, so don't worry. I'll be praying here."
"They'll take good care of it. Don't stay at the hospital for no reason—rest comfortably at the hotel."
His wife wept and wailed.
Before surgery, she was anxious; after, relieved beyond words.
But Song Jong-man underwent it all with calm composure.
A little while later, the promised chemo began.
Psychologically, it felt less burdensome than surgery. Just an IV drip every three weeks and some pills, right?
A bit inconvenient, sure, and the needle stings, but that's nothing to fight cancer.
That was the level of hassle he expected.
But just three hours after the drip...
Song Jong-man couldn't bear the dizziness and tore at his hair.
"Ugh... ah... uwaa!"
"Honey! Are you okay?"
How could a short IV drip do this?
It felt like poison surging through him.
"Ugh, be quiet... ugh..."
"Oh no, what do we do? Nurse! My husband is suffering so much!"
They got a prescription for something shortly after, but the dizziness didn't improve at all.
His vision spun wildly; his hands and feet went numb.
His senses felt off. Were these really his limbs?
"Urk, urgh!"
He kept feeling like he'd vomit, but only bile came up.
It was as if some liquid that didn't belong in his body was churning through him.
'It's chemo, so no helping it. To kill the cancer cells...'
Intellectually, he got it.
Chemo was supposed to be like this. It killed healthy cells too, so of course the body suffered.
'Seven more of these? I'd rather die!'
But his heart wasn't on board.
And it wasn't just the IV that hurt.
"Uwaaaagh!"
The pills brought a nauseating surge that drove him mad.
"Urgh, ueeech!"
He'd dealt with migraines and indigestion his whole life, popping various meds, but nothing had ever been this horrific.
Normal meds eased pain within 30 minutes to an hour, but chemo brought a terrifying agony.
"Honey, try eating something. I made your favorite seaweed soup."
"I can't..."
"You still need to eat to take your meds and endure this."
He picked up the spoon for his tearful wife's sake, but he didn't have the strength to swallow even the soup.
Cycle two began, plunging him back into IV hell.
Followed by pill torture time.
Stagger...
Song Jong-man collapsed on his way to the bathroom.
"Kyaaaaak!"
His wife found him sprawled in the hallway after returning from her own trip to the toilet.
He hadn't lost consciousness.
He just lacked the strength to get up.
Why bother getting up? He couldn't even answer that.
"I can't take it anymore. The dizziness is too severe."
He told the doctor before cycle three.
"Classic XELOX side effect. This is common—hang in there a bit longer. You're already a quarter done."
"..."
"If you need side effect management, get it at a Busan university hospital. We'll refer you."
The rational response: everyone endures this.
Then one day, the side effects hit extra hard.
The world spun relentlessly.
He couldn't walk.
"Honey, stay strong. There are so many countries we haven't seen. Northern Europe, the aurora..."
Leaning on his wife, Song Jong-man went to the hospital Korea University had directed him to.
He probably needed admission—or at least more meds.
But the hospital gave an unexpected reply.
"Side effect management for chemo must be handled by the hospital administering the therapy. We can't do standalone care."
"Pardon? But Korea University told us to come here."
"...They designated us without coordinating with us."
"My husband can barely walk right now. Can't you just take a look?"
"Not unless it's an emergency. Sorry, it's policy."
They were turned away at the door.
Go back to Korea University right now? In this state?
His wife called Korea University to inquire.
Local hospitals were refusing care—could they be seen immediately in Seoul? They'd admit if needed.
"No beds available. We're always booked. Handle side effects at the referred hospital."
Forget admission; no prior appointment meant no professor consult.
Korea University sends them to the provinces, provinces send them back—what now?
"Honey..."
"Hold on. I have a friend who's a med school professor."
One person came to mind.
His high school classmate, Lee Joo-hyuk.
The guy who had worked at that very hospital until retirement.
He could've retired comfortably but chose to keep working at another hospital—a peculiar fellow.
- What? Colon cancer? You have a friend in hematology-oncology and only now mention it?
Chided by his friend, Song Jong-man clamped his mouth shut.
He had nothing to say, even with ten mouths.
Of course Lee Joo-hyuk had crossed his mind right after diagnosis, but he'd deliberately avoided him.
Their high school circumstances were similar.
Poor times; they studied hard despite hardships.
Song Jong-man was top 10 in humanities; Lee Joo-hyuk, sciences.
But Song became an ordinary salaryman; Lee, a doctor.
...Yeah, he was jealous. Lee would live lavishly, worlds apart.
And he looked down: you're just a provincial prof; I'm at Korea's top company.
So he'd sought the best university for surgery and treatment—deliberately Korea University.
But now, with things this dire, his friend's connections were vital.
Retired or not, he had juniors who might take him as a favor.
"Sorry, Joo-hyuk. Any... way you can help? I don't even know what's going on."
- Ugh, Korea U hem-onc. Those money-grubbing bastards! Still at it. What else? They hog the profitable chemo, take all comers, then dump side effect care on local hospitals without capacity!
Lee Joo-hyuk exploded in rage.
"...Is that how it is?"
- Of all places, you go there! Fine, come to my hospital. I'll check you and prescribe something. How bad is it?
Nothing beat an old friend.
Elated, Song Jong-man listed his symptoms.
Dizziness, loss of appetite, lethargy, peripheral neuropathy, chills and headaches, etc...
But after listening awhile, Lee Joo-hyuk spoke up.
- Ever thought about trying Korean herbal medicine?
"Herbal medicine?"
- Patients I've consulted for similar symptoms saw huge improvements with it. You could try Western meds first, but personally, combining them works best.
"Korea U said not to... Is it safe?"
- Those jerks always say no to everything first, then blame it if you don't improve.
Lee Joo-hyuk clearly had a grudge against Korea U.
Anyway, he was the only doctor who could help Song Jong-man now, and Song was ready for any treatment he recommended.
Jealousy-begrudged friend or herbs—whatever.
"Alright, I'll try it. Any clinic you recommend?"
- Yeah. Hang on. Seongsu Clinic... where is it? Come with me tomorrow.
"With you? Necessary?"
- Figured I'd meet the director while I'm at it.
"Got it. See you in the morning."
If it could stop this dizziness, he'd sell his soul to the devil.
Professor Lee Joo-hyuk summarized Song Jong-man's story, lacing it with curses.
The gist: Korea U hem-onc lacked basic doctor credentials.
"If they're not gonna manage side effects, why take patients? Chemo's just following guidelines—stick in the IV, hand out pills. Real doctor skill is in side effect control."
"Yeah... that's something."
As a Korea U alum myself, I'd heard bits here and there. Not many good stories about Western hospitals.
I thought they just clashed with Korean medicine hospitals, but bullying every regional university hospital too?
Strange folks all around.
But it was silly for me, who didn't know much, to join in the bashing.
I just nodded along.
Professor Lee Joo-hyuk—calm and shrewd over the phone, but in person, surprisingly hot-blooded.
Makes sense; that's why he works vigorously into his years.
Anyway.
Focus on the patient.
Dizziness, loss of appetite, lethargy, numb extremities, depression from side effects.
All plummeting his quality of life.
I could reduce the dizziness.
Boost his energy somewhat.
But beyond that, he'd need to steel his mind, force down food, and push through.
"I can't promise a 100% cure, but many folks Professor Lee has referred have improved to some degree. I'll do my utmost—and so will the professor—to help you endure the chemo, Mr. Song."
I took Song Jong-man's hand and said.
"You've made it this far. You can keep going."
Song Jong-man's eyes wavered.
"I thought I was strong and rational, but now... I don't know. Anyway, I hate dying, so I'll treat."
"It's okay to be scared. Even if you fall, your family and friends will hold your hand and lift you. The precious people you've protected by living strong—they're ready to stand with you anytime."
He closed his eyes briefly.
Thinking of those people? Or past memories flashing by?
"Yes. Let's do this."
When he opened them again, a sharp glint shone in his gaze.
Lee Joo-hyuk said he'd been losing will to treat, but I didn't see it.
For himself or his wife, Song Jong-man could rise again and again.
"Then, a few questions for the prescription."
I began the patient interview.