A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 261

Chapter 50: Crossing the Line (1)

“Are you the neurosurgery resident?”

The professor standing before the operating table stared at Junhoo.

His voice and gaze were stern.

Though small in stature, his presence was formidable.

“Yes, Professor. My name is Seo Junhoo.”

“I’m Professor Sung Gyusik from the Department of Hand Surgery. I appreciate you coming to help, but if your skills aren’t up to par, I’ll send you packing. Keep that in mind.”

Sung Gyusik stated firmly.

Even though he requested support due to a shortage of personnel, he would dismiss Junhoo if he wasn’t satisfied….

Gyusik’s spirit was extraordinary.

It was more than enough to get a glimpse of his usual personality.

“Then, if my skills are adequate, can I assist you until the end, Professor?”

“Of course. I don’t care if it’s a cat instead of a doctor.”

Gyusik continued calmly.

“I’ll ask you just one basic question about finger reattachment surgery. What is the surgical procedure?”

“If you’re asking about the order of suturing, it’s bone, tendon, artery, nerve, vein, and then skin.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s best to suture from the larger structures to the smaller ones, following the circulatory and nervous system flow.”

Junhoo’s answer was precise.

During scrubbing.

Hadn’t he perfectly recalled the finger reattachment surgery he had assisted with in the past?

Junhoo was now a walking encyclopedia.

“Fortunately, you know the basics. I heard Shin recommended you; I guess you’re not a complete idiot.”

Gyusik nodded slowly.

Junhoo was pleased that he could earn points with Gyusik.

Because the trust between the chief surgeon and the staff, or the lack thereof, greatly affects the outcome of the surgery.

After the light conversation, Junhoo took his place opposite Gyusik.

A plastic bag containing the patient’s finger was placed on the dressing cart.

Perhaps because he was a factory worker.

Black grease was smeared on the severed surface of the finger. It seemed they were rushing the surgery because of the contamination.

Also, the finger was pointing at Junhoo.

As if to say, you just need to assist well.

Junhoo’s gaze shifted to the patient.

He knew from looking at the chart.

That the patient was a man in his late 20s from the Philippines.

The patient was trembling.

His fear was transmitted through the air, reaching Junhoo.

“You must be very scared and nervous, right?”

Junhoo asked the patient in English.

Back in his third year of high school.

Junhoo had taken private English conversation lessons from a friend.

Why?

To prepare for going to an overseas hospital for training later!

Junhoo’s English speaking and listening skills had not yet rusted.

“Do you speak English well?”

“Enough to communicate.”

“You’re the first person to ask about my feelings. I’m touched.”

The patient’s expression, looking at Junhoo, became much more relaxed and natural.

“I was distracted for a moment while working, and my finger got cut off. I’m so scared. I’m afraid I won’t be able to use my hand properly in the future.”

“I would feel the same if I were you.”

Junhoo deeply sympathized with the patient and nodded.

Back when he was active in the Murim world [a world of martial arts heroes and chivalry, often used in Korean fantasy stories].

He had witnessed countless fellow martial artists losing fingers, arms, or legs in the desperate battles with the Demonic Sect.

Blood droplets spreading like watercolor in the air.

Arms and legs being severed like paper.

Blood pouring out like a river.

Screams and wails so horrifying they raised goosebumps.

Colleagues who became disabled due to frustration and disappointment after the amputation.

The trauma he felt then was hidden deep within Junhoo’s heart.

Ready to pop out anytime, anywhere, and torment Junhoo.

The reason Junhoo wanted to master hand surgery might have been to overcome his old trauma.

I’m not the same as before.

I’m no longer powerless.

Because I am not a martial artist, but a surgeon.

Junhoo looked straight at the patient’s severed right index finger and said.

“But don’t worry too much. The professor and I will do our best for you.”

“Thank you. I trust you, Doctor.”

The patient’s conversation ended briefly. Gyusik, who had been staring intently at Junhoo, asked a question.

“You speak some English, I see?”

“Yes. To some extent….”

“Good. From what I heard, you seem to be reassuring the patient. Try to talk to the patient often during the surgery.”

“…….”

“Oh, and there’s something else important I need to say.”

“What is it….”

“Did you go to the bathroom? If your lower abdomen feels heavy, go to the bathroom, even if it’s a hassle.”

Gyusik continued calmly.

“Because today’s reattachment surgery will take at least 8 hours.”

* * *

The life of a surgeon was arduous.

The most crucial surgery was extremely burdensome.

The surgery time stretched like a rubber band from a minimum of 1 hour to a maximum of 12 hours.

Holding in urine during surgery led to bladder infections, and skipping meals was commonplace.

A hunched back and neck.

Musculoskeletal or nerve pain from the wrist was carried like fate.

Not a single moment of mistake or carelessness was allowed during surgery.

A single moment of mistake or carelessness led to a major disaster. The patient suffered significant aftereffects or passed away.

Success in surgery was just breaking even.

If it failed, you could be cursed by the guardians or, in the worst case, face a medical lawsuit.

But even in that harsh life.

Junhoo could not give up his dream of becoming a neurosurgeon.

At least, Junhoo did.

He thought it was better for him to suffer than to watch someone else in pain and suffering.

Then and now.

There was not even a fingernail’s worth of change in his values.

Flap!

Junhoo unfolded a blue surgical drape and covered the area around the patient’s finger.

The patient’s hand fit perfectly into the round hole in the center of the surgical drape.

“Nurse, can I have the patient’s finger?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The scrub nurse handed over the plastic bag containing the finger.

Junhoo unwrapped the plastic that was doubly wrapping the finger.

Whirr, whirr, whirr!

He poured ice and saline into a basin and placed the finger on the operating table.

The finger was cold and smooth.

It looked pale like wax, perhaps because of the surgical light.

“You have quite the nerve. You look very calm even while handling a severed finger.”

Gyusik asked with a surprised voice.

“I’ve seen much more gruesome sights. This is nothing. And….”

“And?”

“If I, as a doctor, am scared, how much more anxious would the patient be?”

“That’s right. To become a surgeon, one must have twice the guts of an ordinary person.”

“…….”

“I’m going to clean up the contaminated area and perform a debridement [surgical removal of dead, damaged, or infected tissue]. Would you like to do it yourself?”

Gyusik’s sharp eyes turned to Junhoo.

Junhoo knew.

That the debridement was a kind of test to check Junhoo’s skills.

If his score was below par.

If his score was terrible, Junhoo would be kicked out immediately.

“Yes, I’m confident.”

“Try it alone first. Tell me if you need help.”

“Understood. Doctor, please give me a curved basin to support the finger.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Junhoo first filled a 500cc syringe with saline.

Swaaaa!

A powerful stream of water was ejected from the syringe.

The stream of water washed away the black grease that was on the nerves, blood vessels, muscles, and bones of the severed finger.

The saline that flowed into the curved basin looked like dirty water.

It sloshed like a wave.

The same treatment was repeated on the patient’s hand.

After the high-pressure saline wash, the patient’s hand and finger became much cleaner. The grease was completely removed.

‘Next is the most important debridement….’

Junhoo opened his eyes wide and carefully examined the patient’s finger.

Debridement is….

A procedure to remove tissue that is at risk of inflammation or necrosis [tissue death].

The key was to cleanly remove only the abnormal tissue without damaging the normal tissue.

In Junhoo’s view.

It seemed that only the microvessels near the tendon sheath (the membrane surrounding the tendon) and the artery needed to be removed.

Black necrosis had occurred in the tendon sheath.

And petechiae [small, pinpoint hemorrhages] were spreading in the microvessels.

It was evidence that vasculitis [inflammation of blood vessels] had occurred.

“Professor. I’m going to excise the tendon sheath and microvessels in this area.”

Junhoo notified Gyusik in advance of the area to be excised with forceps.

“That’s a good choice. Go ahead and do it.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Click!

Junhoo fitted a #15 blade onto the scalpel handle.

The #15 blade was a blade often used to excise small areas.

It was mainly used in plastic surgery.

“You’re going to use #15 instead of #10? Are you sure?”

Gyusik frowned.

There was a subtle dissatisfaction in his voice.

“With #15, you have to control your strength well because it’s sharp, you know?”

“Doctor. I think it’s better to use #10 stably.”

Even the scrub nurse, who had been silent, dissuaded him from using #15.

But Junhoo was full of confidence.

Wasn’t he once a swordsman who had made a name for himself throughout the Murim world?

Junhoo knew better than anyone the subtle differences in control that occurred when handling #10 and #15.

And to be honest….

When it came to procedures using a scalpel, Junhoo was confident that he was not inferior to his teacher, Park Jaehyun.

Junhoo was a sword-living sword-dying [someone completely dedicated to swordsmanship].

Literally, he had lived and died by the sword.

“I hope you’re not being reckless.”

“Leave it to me.”

“You sure answer well.”

Gyusik brought his eyes close to the microscope. It was to watch Junhoo’s debridement closely.

He was constantly worried that Junhoo had chosen the #15 blade.

It felt like entrusting a real knife, not a toy knife, to a child.

He was extremely anxious.

He wanted to take away the #15 blade right away, but Gyusik held back.

The reason was simple.

What if Junhoo could handle the #15 blade?

If he succeeded in the debridement?

He felt like he could trust Junhoo that much more and proceed with the finger reattachment surgery.

Well, you have to be able to use the #15 blade skillfully to be called an assistant for reattachment surgery.

Even if Junhoo makes a mistake, it’s within the range that I can fully handle.

With half expectation and half worry.

Junhoo’s scalpel confidently headed for the severed finger.

There was no tremor in his hand.

The tip of the scalpel steadily aimed at the left side of the finger.

The first excision site seemed to be the tendon sheath, the membrane surrounding the tendon.

Whirr.

Junhoo’s wrist moved 360 degrees, drawing a smooth circle.

It was truly an amazing excision.

Originally, tendon sheath excision should be performed by placing the scalpel on the outer surface of the tendon sheath and slowly excising it as if drawing along the lines.

Junhoo succeeded in excising it at once using only his wrist snap.

Thud!

The black, dead tendon sheath tissue was cut off by the scalpel and fell into the curved basin.

Amazing.

He cut only the tendon sheath accurately.

The tendon inside the tendon sheath is not damaged even by a speck of dust?

How can a 2-year resident do such an excision….

After checking the excision site with a microscope, Gyusik was horrified.

Because he did not know that the principle of the 10th form of the Blue Breeze Sword Technique, Wind Grinding Rain Washing, was embedded in Junhoo’s excision.

Squeak!

The second excision was just as shocking.

The scalpel drew a Möbius strip (∞).

It accurately cut out only the inflamed microvessels, avoiding major nerves and blood vessels.

Gyusik clicked his tongue at the delicacy and the unimaginable trajectory of the scalpel.

Again, because he did not know that the principle of the 6th form of the Blue Breeze Sword Technique, Riding the Wind Breaking the Waves, was contained in Junhoo’s excision.

However, Gyusik also vaguely felt it.

That Junhoo’s scalpel was as free as the wind.

At least when it came to the scalpel.

He might even have to give way to Junhoo.

“Shin Teacher.”

“Ah. Yes, Professor.”

The scrub nurse was startled by Gyusik’s call.

It seemed that the scrub nurse was also mesmerized by Junhoo’s divine scalpel skills.

“Help Seo Doctor stop the bleeding.”

“Understood.”

Gyusik narrowed his eyes and brought his eyes close to the microscope again.

In Junhoo’s debridement.

He tried to find fault in any way he could.

But it was in vain.

Only his eyes were dry and stinging.