A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 326

Chapter 63. Method (1)

When Sungmin returned to the trauma center, he found a gaunt man with a sharp jawline sitting at the station.

The man’s eyes, fixed on the monitor, were as sharp as an eagle’s.

“Professor, what are you doing?” Sungmin asked as he approached the man.

The man’s name was Shin Ilseop, an associate professor at the trauma center.

“Just working on something. It’s proving to be more of a headache than I thought.”

“Huh? You’re working on Excel?” Standing next to Ilseop, Sungmin tilted his head, surprised as he looked at the monitor.

When he said work, Sungmin naturally assumed it would be on a paper.

But Shin Ilseop was balancing the trauma center’s departmental expenses for the month.

“This isn’t something you should be doing, Professor. I’ll finish it by this afternoon.”

“We’re already short-staffed to death. There’s no such thing as ‘my job’ or ‘your job.’ If we start splitting hairs like that, we won’t have a tomorrow,” Ilseop chuckled and joked.

Sungmin’s heart warmed at the sight of Ilseop doing odd jobs.

The reason why the trauma surgery department, which was the most understaffed in the hospital and desperate for any extra hands, was able to persevere, Sungmin thought, might be because Ilseop was steadfastly holding the center together.

But despite the touching sentiment, Ilseop’s progress was slow.

He would look at a receipt, then at the monitor, then at the keyboard, working like a turtle.

And that wasn’t all. Ilseop couldn’t use even a sliver of Excel’s various functions.

“Professor, why don’t you let me handle the departmental expense settlement and do something else?”

“Why? Do I look frustrating?”

“Hahaha.” Sungmin laughed awkwardly.

Was his laughter answer enough? Ilseop, also embarrassed by his own skills, scratched the back of his head and got up from his seat. Sungmin sat down in his place.

“By the way, your surgery finished quite early. I’m talking about the hiker patient this morning. He even had a hematocele [a collection of blood] in his abdominal cavity.”

“……”

“I thought it would take at least until 3 PM to finish, considering the helicopter transfer time, I mean,” Ilseop said, looking at the wall clock. The current time was 1 PM.

“With a normal schedule, I would have been doing a hematocele removal at this time.”

“That’s what I’m saying. So, what happened?”

“There’s a second-year resident in neurosurgery named Seo Junhoo. That guy is quite something.” Sungmin went on and on, praising Junhoo in great detail. He was just like a proud parent gushing about their own child.

It couldn’t be helped. Junhoo’s performance had left such a strong impression on Sungmin’s heart.

Throughout the story, Ilseop just nodded absentmindedly. There was no particular response or question.

“Do I sound like I’m exaggerating? I didn’t add even a bit of exaggeration.” Sungmin asked in a slightly disappointed voice because Ilseop wasn’t focused on the conversation.

“No. It’s actually because it’s true that I’m feeling troubled. He’s too good of a talent to let go.”

“……”

“You know we don’t have anyone from neurosurgery in our trauma center, right?”

“Yes. So, we have to rely on neurosurgery for every traumatic brain injury patient.”

The trauma center could only be staffed by surgeons who had obtained their specialist qualifications. In the case of Daejeon Shinwon University Hospital, most specialists were from gastroenterological surgery, followed by orthopedic surgery.

“That friend Junhoo… it would be perfect if we could pick him up for our department when he finishes his neurosurgery residency. What do you think?”

“That would be fantastic. I would feel incredibly supported.”

“I’ll start working on it slowly from now on.”

“Are you saying that yourself, Professor?” Sungmin’s eyes widened.

This was the first time Ilseop had volunteered to be a scout.

“Stealing things is always a crime, but stealing people is sometimes not a crime.” Ilseop lightly patted Sungmin’s shoulder and disappeared somewhere.

* * *

Neurosurgical Intensive Care Unit.

Cheolwoo, who was lying in the hospital room, reached for his head, which was wrapped in bandages, but stopped midway.

His crown was itchy. He remembered that the doctor had told him not to touch it.

It had already been ten days since he had tried to take his own life by stabbing himself in the stomach with a knife and falling off a cliff.

But Cheolwoo had miraculously survived.

Cheolwoo found it amazing that he could survive even after losing nearly a whole basin of blood from his abdomen and having his head smashed.

“How are you feeling?” While he was lost in thought, someone stood next to his bed and spoke to him.

The young man, who looked like an actor, was his attending physician, Junhoo.

When Cheolwoo regained consciousness, the nurses had all said the same thing: that Junhoo was the benefactor who had saved his life.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I was asking about your physical condition?”

“You can never give enough thanks. As for my condition, it’s much better. I still can’t move around on my own… but my head feels clear.”

“That’s good. The cranioplasty [surgical repair of the skull] is also progressing very well. Let’s slowly move you to a general ward.”

“Can’t I stay in the intensive care unit a little longer?” Cheolwoo asked with pleading eyes.

“Are you still not ready to meet your family?” Cheolwoo avoided Junhoo’s gaze and nodded.

His family was in the waiting room for guardians located outside the intensive care unit. They were people he missed.

And they were the people who had been a beacon of light when Cheolwoo was on the verge of death.

But now, for some reason, he was reluctant to see his family.

Whether it was because he was ashamed of making such an extreme choice, or because he felt sorry, or because he felt guilty, there were so many reasons why he couldn’t face his family that he couldn’t pinpoint just one.

“I understand how you feel, but you can’t stay in the intensive care unit for the rest of your life, can you?”

“Well… that’s true.”

“Your wife and daughter are eagerly waiting for you. You need to find the courage now.” Junhoo’s gaze, looking down at Cheolwoo, was firm.

Perhaps Junhoo was right. What he needed most in his remaining life might be courage: the courage to live, the courage to face his enormous debt, the courage not to avoid his own weakness.

Was it possible that the courage he thought was dead had a little bit of life left in it?

Cheolwoo no longer avoided Junhoo’s gaze. He looked straight up at Junhoo.

“I’ll go to the general ward.”

“That’s a good decision. Let’s go right now.”

“Already?”

“Actually, I’ve already applied for a transfer room.”

He felt like he had been tricked, but there was nothing he could do. The water had already been spilled.

Junhoo pulled the bed out of the intensive care unit and into the hallway. Lying on the bed, Cheolwoo looked around at the people around him.

Even among dozens of people, Cheolwoo’s eyes easily found one person: a woman whose eyes were hollow and dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days; a woman who had tied her long hair back and was staring blankly at the ceiling; a strong-willed woman who had scolded him for buying something so unnecessarily expensive when he had proposed with a gold ring.

My wife.

His wife found Cheolwoo and jumped up from her seat, running towards him. Then Junhoo stopped the bed to give them time to reunite.

“……”

“……”

Their eyes met for a long time. Although neither of them spoke, countless complex conversations took place.

Cheolwoo shed hot tears first.

“I’m sorry. Honey… I’m so sorry.”

“You idiot. You fool. You should have said something if you were having a hard time. Why are you always suffering alone?”

“……”

“There are people who live well and succeed even with debt. Why……” His wife also scolded Cheolwoo before bursting into tears. She sobbed and held Cheolwoo’s hand tightly.

As the couple reunited in tears, gazes poured in from all around. But neither of them cared. They were in their own special space.

But because they had so much to say to each other, the conversation couldn’t continue any further. Then Junhoo stepped in.

“It would be better to share your stories in the hospital room. Let’s go to the ward for now.”

They both nodded at the same time. Shortly after, they took the elevator and arrived at the neurosurgery ward.

Junhoo took Cheolwoo to a window seat in a six-person room. Cheolwoo’s wife had left in the middle to go to the bathroom. She was probably crying her eyes out in front of the sink right now.

Meanwhile, Cheolwoo was wiping away tears with the sleeve of his patient gown. He kept sniffling.

Watching him, Junhoo also felt a strange tingling in his nose. Reunions always had a strange power to make people’s hearts swell.

Perhaps the driving force that kept him going with his residency, Junhoo thought, might be here: the desire to connect people with people.

I’m glad I didn’t give up. Both me and the patient, Junhoo muttered to himself.

The scenes of him struggling to save Cheolwoo flashed through his mind like a movie. Those times were never in vain.

“You’ve met your wife. You’ll see Hyeein and Gaeul soon too.”

“How did you know that, Doctor……”

“I unintentionally saw the suicide note in your pocket.”

Cheolwoo’s face turned red as if he were drunk at the mention of the suicide note.

“Do you still have it?”

“Should I dispose of it?”

“No. I was hoping you could return it if you have it.” Cheolwoo’s answer was unexpected.

Junhoo naturally thought that Cheolwoo would ask him to get rid of the suicide note. The suicide note was Cheolwoo’s deep wound, and no one in the world wanted to face their wounds.

“Can I ask why?”

“I want to come to my senses. I’m going to look at the suicide note whenever I have a hard time in the future. If I live with the determination to die, won’t things work out somehow?” There was strength in Cheolwoo’s voice.

He was preparing for a psychiatric consultation, but it didn’t seem necessary. Junhoo nodded and took out the suicide note he had put in his gown pocket and handed it to Cheolwoo.

Cheolwoo stared intently at the suicide note he had received. Junhoo couldn’t know what Cheolwoo was thinking.

“Do you happen to have two daughters?” Junhoo changed the subject.

“No. I only have one daughter.”

“Ah, then Gaeul was a boy.”

“Gaeul isn’t a boy?” Junhoo was puzzled by Cheolwoo’s answer. He wondered if there was a gender in the world that was neither male nor female.

Reading Junhoo’s expression, Cheolwoo chuckled.

“Are you curious about who Gaeul is?”

“Yes.”

“Actually, Gaeul is… our pet dog. We brought her home in the fall, so we named her Gaeul [Gaeul means Autumn in Korean].”

Hearing Cheolwoo’s answer, Junhoo also laughed in vain. Since he wasn’t a dog lover, he didn’t expect a dog’s name to appear in the suicide note, so he naturally thought Gaeul was a person.

He felt like he had been hit in the back of the head.

Just then, Cheolwoo’s wife returned from the bathroom. Unlike before, her eyes were swollen.

“Then I’ll be on my way. Have a good talk, and if you feel uncomfortable, please let me know at any time.”

“Yes. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Thank you.”

Junhoo left the hospital room, receiving greetings from Cheolwoo and his wife. Returning to the on-call room, his quirky second-year colleague, Seojin, was staring at his cell phone with a serious expression.

“Hey, what are you doing?”