Is This the End?
Conversing with animals came with plenty of upsides, but there were still a few things I hadn't quite adjusted to.
'A turtle... putting me on the same level as a turtle... Haha. This guy's something else.'
Normally, that meant blurting out rude remarks without a second thought, even to strangers—but there were limits.
Comparing me, who'd studied his brains out, to some shaman turtle? That was hard to let slide.
No, from the tone, it even sounded like this shaman turtle was supposed to be better than me.
'Patience. No point picking a fight with a turtle.'
Over the past year, talking to animals had been great, but we'd clashed on everything from morals and ethics to social manners.
Animals leaned more toward the logic of fists than reason (or at least Ssal-i did).
I stopped myself from launching into a logical breakdown of why my veterinary knowledge far outstripped that of some turtle named Splinter.
'Sigh...'
I let out a quiet internal sigh, steadied my breath, and continued.
"If you're off your food and feeling bloated, it looks like urolithiasis to me."
—Urolithiasis? I never ate anything like that.
"Uroliths form inside your body. It's not the name of some food you ate."
—Hmm? Inside my body?
I wheeled Donatello into the X-ray room as I explained.
"Turtles and tortoises get protein from their food. As it's digested and absorbed, the final metabolic byproduct forms—and that's uric acid."
Uric acid is normally a watery substance.
But if it's not excreted due to poor health or living conditions, it hardens inside the body like a stone. That's a urolith.
"Depending on the case, if it gets too big, you can't eat properly, leading to anorexia."
And uroliths don't just cause loss of appetite—they can lead to complete refusal of food, even death.
I knew it wasn't ideal as a vet to jump straight to a diagnosis.
But after being weighed against Splinter, I wanted to show at least a little that we weren't on the same level.
Uroliths were common enough in turtles that warning him early couldn't hurt.
—Hmm...
Maybe it was too serious without warning.
Donatello stretched out his neck in surprise, tilting his long head quizzically.
"Feel free to ask if you have questions. What don't you get?"
—No, it's not that. Splinter never said anything like that.
"Ah..."
Getting compared repeatedly to a shaman turtle—not even a fellow vet—was grating.
And that look in his eyes, convinced Splinter knew better? It twisted something inside me.
"Just curious. What did Splinter say was wrong with you?"
—Hehe. Knew you'd ask. Don't freak out.
Forcing a smile, I prompted him, and Donatello blinked his beady eyes, his tone turning solemn.
—Splinter said it sounds like I'm pregnant.
"Pregnant? You?"
—Yeah.
...A female? Couldn't tell from the voice at all.'
Turtles typically lay eggs by digging holes in riverside mud from May to July, so pregnancy at the end of June wasn't odd.
But eggs shouldn't tilt the body like that, right?
Was there some turtle habit I didn't know about?
Was the future of animal medicine really with turtles?
—But it's kinda weird.
"How so?"
Asking with bated breath, Donatello's black eyes gleamed as he replied firmly.
—He said turtles' males can get pregnant too. What do you think, Doc?
"...You're telling me you're a male?"
—Yeah, that's right. Hey, what? Why do you keep flipping me over?
Checking Donatello's cloaca (under the tail), it was pointier than a female's, farther from the genital opening.
Twisting his green carapace this way and that confirmed it.
...This guy really is?'
No doubt about it—anyone could see he was male.
I hadn't expected turtles to have their own version of faith healers over actual hospitals.
No point wasting energy debating medicine with one who couldn't even tell males from females.
I stated the facts bluntly.
"Males can't get pregnant."
—...For real?
"For real."
—...Weird. Splinter's never been wrong before.
"......"
Not never wrong—just never caught being wrong.
I wanted to say it, but no need to stir trouble among the turtles. Enlightenment wasn't my job.
"Anyway, let's do the X-ray."
—How does that find what's wrong? What's the principle?
"It's an imaging machine. The principle is..."
His stubborn eyes, arched like inverted V's, full of innate defiance—I had no desire to explain politely.
"It just shows if you're sick or not. Stay still for the shot."
In the US or Europe, they'd sedate animals or use protective gear like goggles, lead gloves, collars, and aprons—except under anesthesia.
In Korea, most just wore aprons, exposing faces, hands, and arms. But my animal communication made me freer there.
"Shooting now. One step left from there..."
—Like this?
"No, too far. Half step right... There."
—Can't move now?
"Yeah. Stay put. Three, two, one..."
Click!
With Donatello's smooth cooperation, I got side and front shots.
...What the hell?'
The printed results made me doubt my eyes.
"No way, your gut's full of..."
—What? Babies? So I am pregnant?
My furrowed brow scanned the impossible image, no matter how many times I checked.
Donatello hadn't grasped the gravity yet.
"No, not pregnant since you're male... But there's something massive in there."
—Massive? What is it?
Heavy, round objects on the X-ray.
Perfect spheres, flat on top and bottom. They were...
"You swallowed a ton of coins?"
* * *
Fountains or ponds with small indents or targets often became coin graveyards.
But those coins helped aquatic plants zero percent.
Corroded by water, they polluted it. Worse, aquatic life absorbed the toxins.
In Thailand, a sea turtle in a tourist pond swallowed 915 coins tossed for luck.
"Anesthetizing now. You won't feel pain during surgery, so no worries. I'll make sure it doesn't hurt."
—Sigh... Thanks.
Short chat with Donatello over, I called in Kim Mi-so.
"Mi-so, let's start."
"Yes, Director."
Once anesthesia clouded his eyelids, I flipped him so his belly shell faced up.
Scrape—scrape-scrape—
Marking the coin-heavy area from the X-ray,
"Surgical drapes in place."
"Drill."
"Here."
Vrrrreeee—!
Softshell turtle—soft shell compared to hard shells, but not squishy enough to dent by hand.
To open the plastron, drill halfway high-speed, then...
Grrrind—slice—scrape—
Manually, stitch by stitch, carefully separate and lift.
Clunk—
"...Incision complete. Focus now."
"Yes."
Opening the fully drilled plastron interior,
Thump-thump—
A bright red heart pulsed wildly inside.
'Here we go.'
A few deep breaths to calm, then I extracted the swallowed coins one by one.
One, two, three, four, five... thirty-two.
Thirty-two coins in a space just over a handspan—not a small number.
Good thing it was a surgery I was confident in. A month, even weeks later, and Donatello might not have made it.
"Closing the incision. Focus."
After suturing, sealing the plastron lid watertight with wax,
Ssss—hiss—
Filling gaps with resin, finishing waterproof with fiberglass and urethane.
"Good work. Mi-so, go rest. I'll talk to the patient."
"Whew... You too, Director. You've totally bought into the concept now, huh? Be right back."
"Yeah. Coffee break—won't take long."
Chuckling, I sent Kim Mi-so out. Moments later,
—...Nngh.
Donatello stirred with a faint groan.
"You awake? How's the body feel?"
—All done?
Still groggy from anesthesia, his speech was sluggish.
"Surgery went great. One thing: the waterproof sealant on your plastron needs to dry fully—no water for that time. You'll stay at Hanmaum Animal Hospital. About one to two weeks."
—Ugh... Glad it went well. So the shell's good as new in two weeks? Like before?
"No. Takes much longer for full bonding."
—What? How long? Three weeks? Four?
Human skin sutures heal in ten days to two weeks.
Turtle shells? Way longer.
I raised my ink-stained index finger.
—A month? No way...
Shaking my head again, Donatello's beady eyes widened in horror.
"One year for complete healing. So safe swimming till then—no bumping rocks or hard spots. Anyway, treatment's done. Gonna call the film crew. Wait here."
As I stood, leaving the stunned Donatello,
—W-wait! Is this it?
He called urgently. This guy— not a penny for treatment, and is this it??
"From what I hear... Hey, that's too much. Not just treatment—I cleaned all the algae off your shell and body. And this is it?"
—Whoa, Doc, calm down. Hear me out.
"Calm? You ungrateful turtle..."
—No, I mean, aren't you treating the others? We shared those coins.
"...What?"
Donatello said four other turtles had shared the coins.