Right at that moment.
From the resuscitation area, loud footsteps began approaching.
“Move! Move! Everyone move!”
I turned my head toward the sound. It was the Chief.
“What the fuck is going on! What, what is it! Why did the alarm suddenly go off in B Ward?! Was there a cardiac arrest?!”
Fourth-year resident Lee Minjae shoved past us and approached the patient.
The Chief briefly assessed the patient’s condition, then checked the BiPAP machine’s settings.
“Hmm….”
The Chief stroked his chin in thought for a moment, then pressed the machine’s buttons a few times and adjusted the settings slightly.
“Raise the RR to 16, and let’s bump the FiO2 (*Fraction of Inspired O2, oxygen concentration in the inhaled air) to 30%. The patient should be much more stable at this level.”
The Chief glanced at the ABGA results recorded in the EMR and nodded.
“That’s it. Good initial management.”
With a satisfied expression, the Chief headed back to the resuscitation room to handle the rest of the trauma patient.
‘…I saved him.’
Pretending to head to the supply room, I moved to a corner and quietly opened the system window.
A clear popup appeared in my field of view.
[Successfully managed a patient with acute respiratory failure!]
[Reward: 300 LP awarded.]
My eyes went wide.
…Oh, a full 300.
***
The night was coming to an end.
I was crammed into a corner of the station, utterly exhausted. The seniors who had been fighting for their lives in the resuscitation room also emerged one by one with exhausted faces. The trauma patient had ultimately survived and been taken up to the OR.
“Hyeonjae, aren’t you going home?”
Kim Jihun, who had approached unnoticed, looked down at me with sunken eyes.
He looked absolutely wrecked.
“You go first. I just need to finish up a few more charts.”
“Hey, you’ll kill yourself like that. Let’s just wrap it up roughly. You need to prepare for the conference the day after tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Okay. I’ll head out soon.”
I waved my hand and sent Kim Jihun off first.
Conference my ass. I just wanted to dive into bed.
My fingers tapping the keyboard had no strength left.
Finally, I finished the last patient’s chart and pressed the logout button.
“Doctor, I’ll be heading home first.”
I gave a polite bow to the senior keeping watch at the station.
That’s the Gen MZ way.
“Yeah, get home quickly. You worked hard today.”
Yes yes, understood.
I swallowed my hollow reply internally and turned around.
Should I catch a taxi?
No, I’ll just take the bus.
A taxi at this early hour is a luxury.
‘…But will this open outside the hospital too?’
That thought suddenly crossed my mind.
Is it like Wi-Fi? Until now, I’d never once thought to open the Gallery outside the hospital while commuting.
‘Gallery.’
Ping—
The familiar blue interface appeared.
It works.
I let out a sigh of relief and scanned the Gallery’s main screen.
And I couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh.
Title: But doesn’t HellSlave1<<< seem like his surgical skills are fucking pathetic?
Author: ScalpelGod
I heard about him stitching up a forehead earlier—it was a spectacle. At that level, the patient is just pitiful.
I was momentarily speechless at the bone-bare facts.
These bastards seemed to be monitoring my every move.
I let out a hollow laugh and started writing a post.
Title: You Gallery bastards, I’m off work. Yeah.
Author: HellJoseonSlave1
Don’t look for me.
After I pressed the post button, comment notifications exploded like crazy moments later.
Anonymous (210.94): Hey!!!!!!! Don’t go, fuck!!!!!!!!
BoneFanatic88: You’re going home already? Not a single broken bone came in today! I haven’t seen a single one yet!
PediatricsPhantom77: You son of a bitch!!! You should at least see one pediatric emergency croup (*Croup, acute obstructive laryngitis) patient before you go!!!!
BackInMyDay: Tsk tsk, these brats are so soft. In our day, 48-hour continuous shifts were the norm. This is why kids these days have no spine.
HippocratesDescendant: O living one, thy rest is a right deserved, yet it is deeply regrettable that our amusement must come to an end.
Absolute bullshit.
I can’t drop dead just so you bastards can have your fun.
My scrolling gaze paused at one comment.
Anonymous (118.235): But aren’t you studying? Judging by your level, it looks like you need to go hard.
Straight facts.
One-hundred percent pure facts hitting right at my core.
I faltered.
…Was I?
Come to think of it, yes.
‘The hands belong to the realm of talent. Those who don’t have it, never will.’
One comment had flashed through my mind.
If I don’t have talent, I should at least put in effort.
I can’t rely on this crazy Gallery forever.
After a brief moment of thought, I replied.
ㄴ HellJoseonSlave1: Yeah, I gotta study.
The moment my reply was posted, the atmosphere in the Gallery changed in an instant.
ㄴ RespiratoryGhost: Oh? You’re going to study? Then start with my paper list. I’ve organized a full course from the latest COPD guidelines to ARDS (*Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome) treatment protocols.
ㄴ HemOncIsHell: Hematology-oncology is fucking hard. You can never conquer it alone. I’ll tutor you.
ㄴ BoneFanatic88: If you want to see bones, just say the word anytime!
These crazy workaholic bastards.
I let out a hollow laugh and closed the Gallery window.
***
‘Buy pig skin and practice suturing it at home every day.’
A comment left by one of the ghosts came to mind.
And so, after generously stocking up on pig skin for suturing, I arrived at my officetel holding plastic bags in both hands.
Disinfectant cotton, suture thread, surgical instruments, and crimson pig skin.
Yeah.
Let’s do this.
***
A scene straight from hell was unfolding on top of my officetel kitchen counter.
A standing lamp served as a surgical light, and beneath it lay the pig skin.
A wave of reality crashed over me.
‘You can borrow a brain, but you can’t borrow hands.’
I could fill my head with knowledge through cheating, but the sense in my hands was my own responsibility.
‘…I’ll have to record and upload this.’
There was no point struggling alone.
I needed feedback.
This crazy Gallery let me write posts with just my thoughts and even took pictures.
Then there was no way it couldn’t record video.
‘Start recording my field of vision for one minute, starting now.’
A small REC icon appeared in one corner of my vision.
Okay.
I picked up the needle holder (*Needle Holder, surgical instrument for holding needles) and the forceps (*Forceps, medical forceps).
Huu.
A deep breath.
The first needle went into the pig skin.
Thick.
Ah, fuck.
It went in too deep. The angle was a mess, too.
I tried to pull the needle out, but it wouldn’t come easily. When I tugged at the skin with the forceps, it tore gruesomely.
Instead of a knot, I’d just made the wound nastier.
‘Stop recording.’
I opened the Gallery, attached the one-minute disaster video I’d just recorded, and put up a new post.
Title: [Video] Feedback on pig skin suturing, please.
Author: HellJoseonSlave1
The first comment was, of course, from that bastard.
ScalpelGod: So this is what it feels like to have my eyes rot.
ScalpelGod: If you’re going to do it like that, quit right now. What you’re doing isn’t suturing, it’s butchery. That pig is pitiful.
ORPhantom3: Hey!!!! I turned off the video as soon as I saw it!!!! The needle goes in at 90 degrees, you dumbass! If you gouge it in at 45 degrees, fuck, is that a suture?!
ORWallClock: Look at the state of those forceps. If you crush it with that much force, it’ll all necrose later. Even pig skin has rights, you son of a bitch.
Curses and insults poured in from every direction.
Right. 90 degrees.
90 degrees.
I started recording again. This time, I focused my entire nervous system on the angle.
Perpendicular. I stabbed the needle in at a perfect right angle.
Oh, that worked.
This time, it went in fairly smoothly.
Smiling, I pulled the needle through the other side and tugged the thread. Now I just had to tie it. I attempted a surgeon’s knot (*knot-tying technique) as I’d been taught.
Wrap once, wrap twice.
Huh? My fingers got tangled.
The thread snarled.
‘Stop recording.’
I recorded another one-minute video and attached it as a comment.
ㄴ HellJoseonSlave1: [Video] Got the angle. The knot is shit. What next?
ㄴ FromPlasticSurgery: Ugh, look at those fingers. Don’t you know instrument tie? How long are you going to fumble around with your hands?
ㄴ ScalpelGod: Is it an intelligence problem? How did you graduate with those hands? If you were in front of me, I’d have cut your fingers off with a scalpel. Honestly, that would be better for the patients.
Cursing inwardly, I untangled the thread.
Instrument tie. Tying with instruments.
Right, tying with the tools.
Recording again.
Hold the end of the thread with the needle holder, wrap it round and round the forceps.
Ting—
Ah, fuck. I dropped the thread.
I barely resisted the urge to slam my head against the desk.
Right then, even the internal medicine bastards started butting in.
BackInMyDay: Oh, it’s meaningless. Even if you sew all night like that, it’ll all burst open from infection. HellSlave1. If that pig were a diabetic patient, what would you use for wound dressing? Is it okay to disinfect with Betadine? No? Answer that.
RespiratoryGhost: Ah, fuck, this is boring as shit. I feel two years older. You might as well practice making a pneumothorax by poking a hole in that pig skin and inserting a chest tube. That’d be way more fun.
ORPhantom3: Internal medicine geezers, shut your traps and just watch. Can’t you see we’re witnessing the birth of a sacred surgeon?
HemOncIsHell: Birth my ass. It’s on the verge of a miscarriage.
I did my best to ignore that bullshit and focused on the pig skin again.
Record.
Upload.
Take the abuse.
And record again.
Upload.
Take the double abuse.
Crooked and messy.
The spacing was a disaster, and each knot had its own shape.
Sweat ran down my jaw and dripped onto the table.
But strangely, the more I repeated this crazy act, the sharper the sensation in my fingertips became.
The grip strength of my hand holding the needle holder, the delicacy of grasping tissue with forceps, the tension of pulling thread.
It wasn’t my head working, but my body beginning to remember. On its own.
Around the time I uploaded the eleventh video, the atmosphere of the comments subtly began to change.
FromPlasticSurgery: Huh? You’ve got the tying motion down a bit. Still child’s play, though.
ORWallClock: You’ve got persistence. Seeing your mental state not break after taking this much abuse. Emergency medicine does need tough bastards. Yeah.
And finally, after uploading the fifteenth video.
In the video, my hands no longer trembled.
At fairly regular intervals, I cleanly made five consecutive knots.
ScalpelGod: You’ve gone from utter trash not worth looking at to roughly chicken-bone level. Do it 1000 more times. Then you might be able to mimic a human being.
The highest praise.
I let out a smirk without realizing it.
I closed the Gallery window.
An overwhelming fatigue swept over my entire body. I wanted to collapse right onto the table and fall asleep.
But still, I did it.
Cheers to that.