A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 343

Chapter 66: Adaptation (3)

“Oriental Cure?”

Malik repeated Jun-hoo’s words like a parrot, his face blank.

It could be interpreted as an Eastern treatment method.

Seeing it firsthand was amazing.

Just a few pokes to the shoulder with a finger, and the bleeding stopped.

Come to think of it, in movies…….

Easterners would stick needles into people’s bodies to heal them, and Jun-hoo’s treatment seemed to follow a similar method.

“I’m going to gather the equipment needed for surgery now. You find out the patient’s blood type.”

“Why the blood type…….”

“To supply blood, of course. We need to replenish the blood he’s lost.”

Jun-hoo said his piece and left the operating table.

In Jun-hoo’s hands was already the handle of the dressing cart.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Standing in front of the storage cabinet, Jun-hoo began to take out surgical instruments and supplies at an incredible speed, placing them on the dressing cart.

What he would use them for.

Malik had no idea.

But he could clearly understand one thing.

Despite being in Max’s office for the first time today, Jun-hoo had instantly memorized the location of the surgical tools and instruments.

Even for a doctor, wouldn’t this level of memory be special?

“Hey, Michael, what’s your blood type? What? I can’t hear you, speak up!”

While Malik was distracted by Jun-hoo, his brother Jamal lightly shook Michael’s shoulder and asked for his blood type.

Malik snapped back to attention at Jamal’s urgent voice.

“What’s Michael’s blood type?”

Malik asked Jamal.

Jamal had his ear close to Michael’s mouth.

Jamal’s face looked awful as he raised his head.

“Damn it! He doesn’t know! We’re just incredibly unlucky.”

Jamal said, biting his lip.

However, it wasn’t uncommon for someone from the Harlem neighborhood to live without knowing their blood type.

“What do we do now? How can we know if he doesn’t know himself?”

“Do you know Janet’s phone number?”

“I do. But why Janet all of a sudden?”

“Let’s ask Janet. Quick, give me the number.”

Malik said urgently, taking out his phone from his pocket.

Janet was Michael’s mother. A mother might know her child’s blood type, right?

Malik called Janet with the phone number Jamal gave him. The finger pressing the numbers trembled faintly because the situation was so urgent.

-Malik. How’s our Michael doing?

Janet connected the call before the second ring even finished.

Her voice was full of anxiety.

Janet had injured her leg a while ago and couldn’t come to this treatment room.

“It looks like we can treat him somehow. Anyway, do you know Michael’s blood type?”

-Michael’s blood type? I don’t really…… know? Why? Is that important right now?

“He needs a blood transfusion, so we need to know his blood type.”

-…….

“Think carefully. Michael’s life is at stake! Wouldn’t it be unfair if your only son died because we don’t know his blood type?”

Malik harshly pressed Janet without realizing it.

He didn’t know for sure, but…….

Michael’s condition seemed to be getting worse. His lips, which were red just a moment ago, were turning purple.

-I’m sorry…… I have no idea.

Janet replied in a tearful voice.

It couldn’t be helped with Janet either. In the United States, even if a child is born, the hospital doesn’t inform the parents of the child’s blood type.

If you want to know your child’s blood type, you have to pay $40-100 for a separate blood type test.

People in Harlem usually didn’t get a separate blood type test because they thought the money was too precious.

In fact, Malik and Jamal didn’t know their own blood types either.

“Goddamn it. Why is our life always like this, in the gutter!”

Malik was about to throw the phone in his hand to the ground, but he was suddenly stopped.

Jun-hoo, who had returned to the operating table, was holding Malik’s wrist.

“I roughly heard the situation. You don’t know the patient’s blood type, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Do the patient’s parents know their blood types, by any chance?”

Jun-hoo asked calmly.

It was amazing that he could be so calm even though the situation was a mess.

“They probably don’t know.”

“Still, ask just in case.”

Malik felt like he would despair even more if he asked, but he held back and put the phone to his ear.

“Janet. Do you know your blood type and your husband Cold’s blood type?”

-I know that. Cold and I are both O type.

Malik clicked his tongue at Janet’s immediate answer.

What’s going on?

They don’t know their son’s blood type, but the parents themselves know their blood types?

“How do you two know your blood types?”

-We donated blood when we were dating a long time ago. That’s when we found out.

“Okay. We’ll do our best here, so pray to whatever god you believe in. Although I don’t know if there really is a god.”

Malik hung up and told Jun-hoo that Janet and Cold were O type.

“But, you know.”

“What are you curious about?”

“Is there a relationship between the parents’ blood type and the child’s blood type?”

Jun-hoo blinked incessantly as if surprised by Malik’s question.

* * *

The more Jun-hoo learned about the American medical system and the medical knowledge of Americans, the more he admired it in a bad way.

(Of course, it might be a generalization.)

Not knowing their own blood type.

Not knowing how blood types are inherited.

“I’ll explain in detail after the treatment is over. Bring the blood pack labeled O and the Hartmann’s solution [a sterile solution of electrolytes in water] from the refrigerator.”

After giving the instructions, Jun-hoo pulled the dressing cart with the surgical supplies closer to his body.

If both parents are O type, there was a high probability that the patient was also O type.

There was a rare case called Bombay O type [a rare blood type where individuals lack the H antigen].

There were rare cases where someone was A or B type but appeared as O type in tests, but the probability was low.

In an emergency, you had to exclude what needed to be excluded.

“Here it is!”

Jamal brought the IV fluid and blood pack and rushed back to the operating table.

Jun-hoo disinfected the patient’s forearm and started the IV line.

The IV insertion was done in a flash.

It was over in the blink of an eye.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Hartmann’s solution and the blood in the blood pack vigorously dripped into the drip chamber.

Because the emergency treatment was quick.

It seemed that hypovolemic shock [a life-threatening condition caused by significant blood or fluid loss] during surgery could be prevented.

“Is there anything else we can help with?”

Jun-hoo shook his head instead of answering.

There was no way a layman could be helpful in surgery.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

With the scissors in his hand, Jun-hoo cut the bandage wrapped around the patient’s shoulder.

“Ugh…….”

Jamal and Malik next to him simultaneously groaned.

They grimaced.

There was a clear trace of a bullet having penetrated between the patient’s shoulder and armpit.

There was a finger-sized hole, and the skin around the hole was charred black. Already dried blood was thickly attached around the wound.

Jun-hoo slightly turned the patient’s upper body to the side and narrowed his brow.

He bit his lip tightly.

There was no wound on the back of the shoulder.

This meant that the bullet had not penetrated the shoulder and was lodged in the body.

It would have been better if it had cleanly penetrated…….

It seemed that the surgery would be much more difficult and longer than expected.

“By the way, what’s your specialty? I heard doctors have specialties?”

Jamal asked.

“Neurosurgery. I usually deal with the head or back.”

“Then you shouldn’t be doing shoulder surgery, right?”

“Shoulder surgery is done in a place called orthopedics, but there’s no other choice. I’m the only one who can do the surgery right now.”

Jun-hoo was nervous because it was his first time doing shoulder gunshot surgery.

But now was not the time to be picky.

Saving the patient was the best thing to do.

-The foundation of surgery is resection [surgical removal of tissue] and suture [stitching]. If you are good at resection and suture, you can easily adapt to other surgical procedures.

That was what his teacher Jae-hyun had once told Jun-hoo. After hearing those words, Jun-hoo dreamed of becoming a Hexa (6) neurosurgeon.

He never dreamed that he would be doing shoulder surgery like this.

Cut out what’s unnecessary.

Connect what’s needed.

Let’s think as simply as possible.

Jun-hoo, who had made up his mind, asked Jamal.

“I looked in the storage cabinet, but there was no anesthetic. Do you know where the anesthetic is?”

“Anesthetic? I don’t think I’ve seen anything like that? What about you, hyung [older brother]?”

Jamal asked Malik as if passing the baton.

“I know about that.”

Malik suddenly bent down under the operating table.

After making some clattering noises under the operating table, he raised his body with a vial [a small glass bottle containing liquid] in his hand.

The identity of the vial was none other than Fentanyl [a powerful synthetic opioid pain reliever].

It wasn’t exactly the anesthetic Jun-hoo preferred, but there was no choice in this situation.

Snap!

Jun-hoo broke off the head of the vial and filled a 3cc syringe with the liquid.

Then he inserted the needle into the muscle slightly away from the patient’s wound.

The patient’s groans and moans gradually subsided.

The real game starts now.

Jun-hoo lightly tilted his neck from side to side, recharging his morale.

The patient was ‘unfairly’ shot in a gang fight and was ‘unfairly’ unable to receive treatment due to poverty.

The only person who could resolve that resentment was Jun-hoo.

Splash! Splash! Splash!

Jun-hoo, who had put on surgical gloves, immediately poured saline solution onto the patient’s wound.

It was a task to wash away foreign substances attached to the skin.

After wiping the saline solution with gauze.

Jun-hoo inserted a number 10 blade into the Scalpel (knife handle).

When the handle and blade fit together, a cheerful click echoed.

Jun-hoo made an incision in the shape of a cross on the patient’s round gunshot wound.

Swish.

The skin split like paper, and blood gushed out.

Without paying attention to it, Jun-hoo made deeper incisions into the muscle tissue and subcutaneous fat.

Then Jamal and Malik turned their heads to the side, as if they couldn’t watch anymore.

“Come to think of it, it seems like you two have something to do.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a back scratcher there, no, something shaped like a hook, that’s a senn (manual retractor) [a surgical instrument used to hold an incision open]. You’ll have to open the wound with that.”

“I can’t watch because it’s horrible?”

“You don’t have to watch if you can’t. You can bow your head or turn away. There’s no time. Hurry!”

At Jun-hoo’s urging, Jamal and Malik each held a retractor in their hands and opened the incision.

Thanks to them, the surgical view became as wide as an open plain.

Cheee.

When the blood pooled like a well in the incision was sucked in with a suction device, the surgical view became perfect.

The first object that came into view was…….

Of course, it was the bullet.

The black, soot-covered bullet was deeply embedded in the muscle layer just below the subclavian artery [a major artery in the shoulder].

The damage to the bone was not as severe as he had feared.

The end of the humerus [upper arm bone] was faintly crumbling.

Whether heaven helped or not, the bullet had avoided all the dangerous vital spots.

Judging from the fact that the bullet did not penetrate the shoulder, it seemed that the force had been greatly reduced after being reflected somewhere.

Of course, even so…….

It wasn’t that the patient wasn’t in danger.

The bullet had to be removed.

The soot-contaminated bone had to be scraped off.

Since the effect of pinpoint hemostasis [stopping blood flow] was about to wear off, the bleeding blood vessels had to be found and anastomosed [surgically connected] or cauterized [burned to seal].

‘First, I need to get rid of the eyesore.’

Jun-hoo tried to grab the bullet with forceps and pull it out.

But the bullet’s resistance was not easy.

The muscle twisted by the bullet’s rotational force was holding the bullet tightly and not letting go.

There was also the problem that the forceps could not properly grip the bullet and kept slipping.

Since Jamal and Malik were turning their heads, Jun-hoo decided to use martial arts.

Dragon Claw Hand (龍爪手) [a martial arts technique]!

Jun-hoo’s thumb and index finger were bent as hard as a dragon’s claws.

Ssaeeeeek!

Jun-hoo’s arm stretched out towards the bullet like an eagle snatching its prey and soaring, then lifted back up to the ceiling.

Between Jun-hoo’s thumb and index finger.

The bullet, already covered in blood and bone fragments, was held.