Chapter 208
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 208
Chapter Title: The Patient's Last Wish
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Why would anyone seek out Hwang Sanghun in the dead of night when there was a separate doctor on night duty?
The nurse's voice over the phone sounded anxious.
"Director, Mr. Cheon Gwangseon has come out to the station. He's rolling on the floor and babbling nonsense. What should I do?"
"What are his vitals?"
The nurse recited the vital signs she had already measured: breathing, pulse, blood pressure.
His pulse was fast, as expected from all the commotion, but his life wasn't in immediate danger.
"What exactly is he saying?"
"He thinks it's right in the middle of the Korean War! He says he hears gunfire and he's looking for his wife! He could barely walk, but he was thrashing around in bed and nearly fell, so we brought him to the station because he said the room felt suffocating. Now he's rolling on the floor."
It was markedly different from his usual mild dementia symptoms.
He occasionally asked where he was, but he'd never caused a scene like this—not once.
"Sounds like delirium."
Unlike dementia, which worsens chronically over years, delirium is an acute confusional state that can arise suddenly within hours or days.
Patients become disoriented about who they are, where they are, and what time it is, with reduced attention, hallucinations, delusions, and abnormal behavior.
"Check his blood sugar first. Get an order for DW from Director Jeong. I'll head over right away."
Hwang Sanghun had encountered this a few times even during his internship.
Delirium can stem from various causes, but low blood sugar shock seemed the most likely right now.
He was on diabetes meds, and he'd nearly collapsed before.
To check blood sugar and administer an injection, a doctor's order was needed.
Hwang Sanghun gave the instructions and rushed to the hospital.
It was a stroke of luck that he hadn't returned to Busan the day before and had stayed at his brother's place.
"Hurry, hurry home. My wife's waiting."
"Mr. Cheon, look at me. Do you know who I am?"
"Geumja's home alone. With all this gunfire... Aaaargh!"
"Mr. Cheon!"
His blood sugar had indeed dropped, and the injection had already been given.
But he still hadn't come around.
Delirium patients hallucinate or fixate on specific memories.
He seemed trapped in intense memories from the war.
"I'll call his guardian too."
They'd decided against life-prolonging treatment, but unless his blood pressure quietly dropped leading to cardiac arrest, they might need to transfer him if this persisted.
Hwang Sanghun contacted Cheon Gwangseon's daughter and stayed by the patient's side until exhaustion lulled him to sleep.
Thankfully, Cheon Gwangseon's symptoms calmed within a few hours.
Hwang Sanghun caught two hours of sleep in an empty room before tackling the next day's clinic schedule.
He made rounds, checked on other patients, and visited Cheon Gwangseon.
"Sorry about that."
Post-hypoglycemic shock delirium could recur anytime, so vigilance was key, but he seemed lucid now.
His daughter, Ms. Cheon Jisuk, who lived nearby, had arrived at the hospital.
"What a relief. I thought we were in real trouble."
"I heard from you and the nurses, but I don't remember much. Felt like I was dreaming of the day Geumja died."
"...That must weigh heavily on you."
"Heh! It's been over fifty years—no, Jisuk, how old are you now?"
"Oh, Dad. I'm over seventy. I don't count anymore."
"Right, over seventy years ago, and it's still vivid. Your mom left me and newborn Jisuk behind."
He'd lost his wife in the war.
Some memories never fade, no matter the years. Cheon Gwangseon trembled in his barely functional arm and shed tears.
"Geumja, Geumja... Let's go to Kkotji..."
"Kkotji?"
"Our hometown, Taean."
A place full of memories with his wife. Now that Hwang Sanghun thought about it, the patient's dialect had a subtle Chungcheong twang today.
Cheon Jisuk stroked her father's hand.
Neither she nor Hwang Sanghun could find words of comfort.
"Director, I have a favor to ask."
After a long cry, Cheon Gwangseon spoke to Hwang Sanghun.
"Anything I can do."
"If you treat me hard, can I walk again?"
But Hwang Sanghun couldn't promise that.
He'd encouraged him by citing cases where paralyzed arms regained movement or gaits improved, but it wasn't guaranteed.
They'd treated diligently so far, yet progress had been minimal.
"Honestly, I can't guarantee it."
"I think I can. My legs had no strength before. But today, aren't they moving a bit?"
Cheon Gwangseon twitched his knee slightly. Walking was still far off.
"I'll do my absolute best."
Cheon Gwangseon grinned in response.
"You said a month from now, I'm switching hospitals? Let's work hard till then."
He knew.
Hwang Sanghun nodded quietly.
That evening, Hwang Sanghun reached out to the directors of other Seongsu Clinic branches for help.
He'd done everything possible, but now he needed advice from more experienced doctors.
"Is there anything else I could try?"
Especially Professor Kim Chunsik.
Decades ago, Korean medicine hospitals were full of stroke sequelae patients, so he'd have ample experience.
Hwang Sanghun also consulted professors from his alma mater, his skills a bit rusty from barely completing his internship.
"Try stimulating the nerve capture points—the quadratus, under the clavicle, above the ribs. Dramatic changes can happen sometimes."
"Checked the chart. Switch to Buyanghwanwo-tang. He tolerates strong treatments better; focus on activating blood and unblocking collaterals as much as tonifying qi."
The professors offered various insights after hearing him out.
"From Yanglingquan toward the peroneal nerve, needle slowly at 6cm. You'll feel that 'this is it' in your fingertips."
But where had Han Yeowon seen stroke patients?
Seongsu Clinic had a few, but fewer than ten hemiplegic cases in two years?
"Ughhh!"
Three weeks later.
Cheon Gwangseon grabbed Hwang Sanghun and stood, holding steady.
"My god!"
He'd gotten some tips, but the treatment direction hadn't changed much.
He'd always needled with neurology in mind, using herbs to open orifices.
Was it the cumulative effect of months of treatment surfacing?
Or had Cheon Gwangseon's will reached the heavens?
Seeing real change, Cheon Gwangseon threw himself into rehab even harder.
"Director, thank you. Seeing Dad this happy... it's been years."
On the day Hwang Sanghun was set to leave.
Cheon Gwangseon clung to him and walked from the bed to the door.
Cheon Jisuk had no memories of the war or her mother.
It all happened when she was a newborn.
Her father had raised her without want and never once spoke of her mother.
Not even once.
Now old enough to be called grandma.
Her kids were married off, and her husband had passed.
Her days were simple chores and weekly hospital visits to her dad.
She wanted to care for him at home, but she lacked the strength for his mobility issues.
"Let's discharge. I won't impose long."
But the Korean medicine doctor who cared for him body and soul in that short time changed everything.
He could walk a bit now, with support.
...Both Cheon Gwangseon and Cheon Jisuk sensed this time wouldn't last long.
"Let's go, back home."
Cheon Jisuk took her father to Taean.
He'd never mentioned his wife or hometown, yet he'd carried them in his heart all along?
"Look there. That's where your grandparents' house was. Me and my best friend Byeongcheol played in that empty lot... What? Even here, buildings now."
Once in Taean, her father's stories poured out.
Where the family lived, how he met her mom, welcoming independence—nonstop.
Parking at Kkotji Beach, he gazed outside with deep longing.
"Geumja and I walked this sand hand in hand. When we married... she said after the baby, we'd build sandcastles together."
For a moment, her father's time rewound to long ago.
Tears streaming, he opened the door.
"Let's get up and walk."
Cheon Jisuk rushed to support him.
And slowly, bit by bit, they walked the beach.
"Here."
He pointed to a spot.
They sat, and he smiled at the waves for a long while.
Plop. Pat-pat.
Then he started piling sand.
A crude cylinder, barely a castle.
"Dad, you're so good at this."
"Geumja was the real artist."
Father and daughter burst into hearty laughter.
Until waves toppled the castle and sunset fell.
They sat, unearthing long-buried memories.
His stint with Hwang Jihun ended, and Hwang Sanghun returned to Seongsu Clinic.
"Whoa, after a few months, your eyes look totally different—seasoned."
Just three months at a hospital 90 minutes away, yet he exuded decades of experience.
Post-internship, his confidence had tanked; this was like coming back a senior doc?
Or the breakthrough with that worrisome patient at the end?
"A lot happened."
Hwang Sanghun spoke cryptically.
Usually, patients drift without their main doc for that long, but loyal ones stuck around.
Some even traveled from Changwon for checkups.
As Hwang Sanghun readjusted to clinic life...
"Gotta head to the funeral today."
A bereavement call came.
"Mr. Cheon Gwangseon...?"
"Yeah."
I hadn't seen the patient myself, but I'd followed updates through Hwang Sanghun.
How elated he'd been when he could walk.
"I'll go with you."
He'd passed.
In the murim, I'd seen countless patients die despite treatment. Some got ambushed right after leaving Tang family turf.
But not Hwang Sanghun.
"...Thanks."
At the funeral, the daughter spotted Hwang Sanghun and waved.
"Director, you came."
"Of course."
"Thank you so much. Thanks to you, I fulfilled Dad's last wish."
He'd discharged the day Hwang Sanghun left.
Went to Taean with her.
A week later, he woke up—heart stopped.
"He passed peacefully. Good passing."
Visiting his hometown last was a blessing.
Stepping on beach sand himself—priceless.
"All thanks to you, Director Hwang."
Her words eased Hwang Sanghun's face.
Life and death are heaven's domain, but he'd shone till the end.
'Even knowing he'd die soon after discharge, I'd have treated him the same.'
His efforts weren't in vain.