While they were waiting for the MRI results, Tanaka Kenji went and bought two cans of coffee.
He first pulled open the tab on one can and handed it to Kiryu Kazusuke, then opened one for himself and tipped his head back to take a big gulp.
“Hah—”
He let out a long breath of hot air, as if trying to release all the stifling pressure he had bottled up in the ward earlier.
“That really scared me to death just now.”
“If you and Dr. Imagawa hadn’t spotted the VISI deformity and we’d just put her in a cast and discharged her, I’d have been finished.”
“That Mrs. Ando doesn’t look like someone easy to deal with.”
Although the MRI results were not out yet, since Dr. Imagawa and Kiryu-kun had both said so, there was most likely no suspense left.
Kiryu Kazusuke pulled open the tab and took a gulp.
“Tanaka-senpai, don’t overthink it.”
“At the end of the day, we’re only residents.”
“Our job is simply to be able to answer ‘gyoi’ loudly at any time.”
“The less ability you have, the less responsibility you bear.”
The cheap saccharine taste mixed with the bitterness of caffeine spread through his mouth.
Gyoi meant “as you command.”
When Kiryu Kazusuke had first joined the medical department, Mizutani Mitsumasa’s first piece of advice to him had been that very sentence.
But when Tanaka Kenji heard it, an indescribable expression appeared on his face.
That logic was not wrong.
If things truly ended up in court between doctor and patient, then in the legal sense, the person responsible would indeed be Imagawa Ori, whose signature was on the medical record.
But before that, he would be the one thrown out first to quell the anger of the patient and her family.
Besides…
Hearing those words of comfort from a junior somehow felt awkward no matter how he listened to them.
Tanaka Kenji turned his head and stared at him for a while.
“Kiryu-kun.”
“If I remember correctly, you joined the department a year later than I did, right?”
“You’re clearly my junior, so never mind that you’re more accurate than me when reading films—but how are you even more accurate than Takigawa-san?”
He voiced the question in his heart.
Back in the ward, Kiryu Kazusuke had looked perfectly composed, and had even managed to bluff an old hand like Takigawa Takuhei.
That sense of disparity made Tanaka Kenji feel as though even the coffee in his hand had lost its flavor.
This guy was a junior who had joined the department a year later than him.
They were all clearly residents. They were all clearly standing on the same starting line, and he had even started running a year earlier.
Where was he supposed to go to reason this out?
“Just good luck.”
“I happened to read a similar case in a foreign journal yesterday.”
“It was also a missed diagnosis of lunate dislocation, and in the end they paid a huge amount in compensation.”
“So it left a pretty deep impression.”
Kiryu Kazusuke casually found an excuse. After saying it, he tilted his head back and poured the last bit of coffee from the can into his mouth.
But Tanaka Kenji clearly believed him.
With a look of admiration, he said, “As expected, you really know how to study. Looks like I need to read more too.”
The two chatted idly for a while longer.
The noise in the machine room stopped and started, started and stopped, changing rhythm as it went.
On the screen in front of the console, rows of white progress bars crawled forward slowly.
Finally.
As the last long buzzing sound came to an end, the irritating knocking also stopped.
“All right, the films are being processed. It should take about five minutes.”
The technician stood up from his chair and rubbed his somewhat stiff lower back.
“I’ll go push Mrs. Ando out.”
Tanaka Kenji immediately sprang up, as if there were springs attached to his backside.
……
Under the lights, the brightness of the viewing box had been turned up to maximum.
An MRI film still carrying the faint smell of chemicals was clipped onto the light box. Against the black background, the gray-white bones and soft tissues were clearly layered.
Imagawa Ori extended her slender index finger and tapped one of the T2-weighted fat-suppressed images.
She turned around and looked at Kiryu Kazusuke with a complicated gaze.
“You were right.”
Although she had already had a premonition, when she truly saw the film, she was still astonished by Kiryu Kazusuke’s judgment.
With only an ordinary lateral X-ray, he had caught such a subtle change in bone position and accurately inferred the ligament injury from it.
That insight was no weaker than hers—if anything, it was stronger.
Even she herself had only seen the clue after Kiryu Kazusuke had pointed it out.
“Just luck. Just luck.”
Kiryu Kazusuke bowed slightly and repeated the explanation he had given Tanaka Kenji earlier.
In any case, he would just say he had happened to read about it. No one could actually demand that he produce the article.
But Imagawa Ori did not think so.
Luck?
In the field of medicine, once was luck, twice was coincidence, and three times was ability.
She withdrew her gaze and looked back at the viewing box.
She was not the kind of mediocre doctor who would suppress talent out of jealousy toward a junior.
On the contrary, she was very pragmatic.
Since Kiryu Kazusuke was useful, then she would use him more—like squeezing sugarcane juice, only by wringing him dry would she be making the best use of him.
Takigawa Takuhei wiped the cold sweat from his forehead at the side.
That was close.
That had really been close.
Fortunately, Kiryu-kun had spoken up. Otherwise, if it had really been misdiagnosed, he might have been suspended, sued, or even had his license revoked…
Thinking of this, Takigawa Takuhei’s heart thudded twice.
Last time, Kiryu-kun had saved his surgery. This time, he had saved his career.
Even kneeling in dogeza on the spot to express his gratitude would not have been excessive!
“Kiryu-kun, I owe you one this time.”
Takigawa Takuhei lowered his voice and said softly.
Tanaka Kenji also nodded beside him like a chicken pecking at rice.
Thank goodness it had not turned into a medical accident.
Otherwise, the department might still protect Imagawa Ori, but a resident like him would absolutely be the first one thrown out to take the blame.
When the sky fell, the tall ones would first lift up the short ones.
Such things were far from rare in university hospitals.
“You’re too kind, Takigawa-senpai.”
Kiryu Kazusuke smiled, showing no arrogance at having contributed.
They were all grasshoppers on the same boat. If the boat capsized, none of them could escape.
“Let’s go. We’ll explain it to the patient.”
Imagawa Ori picked up the MRI films and put them into a bag.
Then she led everyone toward the treatment room.
Inside, Mrs. Ando was lying on the treatment bed, her right hand extended flat on the table beside her.
Holding the films, Imagawa Ori began explaining her condition.
At this moment, although Mrs. Ando was still somewhat frightened, what she felt more was the relief of “thank goodness they found it.”
Soon, Takigawa Takuhei had administered the local anesthesia.
The lidocaine took effect, and the pain eased considerably. Mrs. Ando’s brow relaxed slightly.
“Takigawa, you’re in charge of stabilizing the upper arm.”
“Yes.”
“Kiryu, you do the traction.”
“Yes.”
Imagawa Ori put on gloves and stood on the outer side of the patient’s wrist.
Kiryu Kazusuke walked to the foot of the bed and grasped Mrs. Ando’s right thumb with one hand and the other four fingers with the other.
“Bear with it. It may feel a little swollen.”
Imagawa Ori said this to Mrs. Ando, then signaled that they could begin.
Kiryu Kazusuke leaned his body backward, using his body weight to apply sustained counter-traction.
His hands were very steady.
With the support of the skill “Fracture Anatomical Reduction Technique: Perfect,” he could clearly sense the joint space being pulled open little by little under the force of the traction.
The tension of the muscles and the resistance of the ligaments were all transmitted through his fingertips into his brain.
Imagawa Ori extended her thumb and pressed it against the dorsal side of Mrs. Ando’s wrist, at the position of the capitate bone.
Her other hand supported the palmar side of the wrist.
She was searching for the lunate bone that had tilted toward the palm.
Here it is.
Imagawa Ori took a deep breath. Her thumb pressed downward, while her index finger pushed upward.
Using the space created by the traction, she attempted to push the lunate bone back into its original position.
Click!
There was an extremely faint pop.
The sensation in Imagawa Ori’s hand told her that the bone had moved.
But in the next second, that unstable sliding sensation returned.
It was like placing a marble on a smooth glass plate—as soon as the hand loosened, it would immediately slide away.