NOVEL NEXT C13
Tae-Soo tried to think about something else. If he kept thinking about Caprene, his head would reach the breaking point.
There were just a little over two weeks left in his internship.
Now, he had to carefully consider which department to apply for in the residency program.
With so many medical specialties to choose from, it was difficult to make a decision, especially since it would be his lifelong career.
One reason he applied for thoracic surgery was to escape the complexity and burdens.
He had been busy for nearly two months, and his mental energy was exhausted.
But that was now in the past.
It was time to make a decision.
Tae-Soo decided to simplify his thinking.
What if it was true that Caprene’s memories had been transferred to him?
If that were the case, there would be no reason to apply to another specialty.
Why go through the trouble of pursuing a different department when he had the knowledge of a world-renowned doctor?
It would be a waste of time. And if he became a famous surgeon in the future, making money wouldn’t be hard either.
Time continued to pass, but Tae-Soo still spent nearly 20 hours a day with Im Taek-Jin, his patient.
In fact, Tae-Soo preferred it this way.
He was able to test various care methods through Im Taek-Jin.
Though the methods were different from the usual ones, he was somewhat confident they would cause less burden on the patient.
“Did my memory really transfer?”
As a doctor, he had to remain realistic and rational, but at this moment, that boundary felt a little blurred.
At that moment, Nurse Park Eun-Jeong approached and handed him a drink and a piece of bread.
“Eat this quickly.”
“Did Dr. Kim go somewhere again?”
“Yeah. He’ll probably be back after having a smoke outside. By the way, you don’t like Dr. Kim, do you?”
Nurse Park Eun-Jeong asked with a frown, but Tae-Soo shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“Even though the chief had him do the night shift in SICU, it’s too much.”
“Thoracic surgery is especially tough.”
“Still, he shouldn’t take it out on others. It must be hard, but hang in there.”
Tae-Soo then looked down at the bread and drink she had left behind.
He had heard from other nurses that he had a younger brother who was around the same age as the other interns.
That’s probably why she took care of the interns a little more.
Though the SICU life had seemed harsh and cold, Nurse Park Eun-Jeong brought a little bit of liveliness to it.
“Better than my classmates,” Tae-Soo thought.
His fellow interns were too busy to even show their faces in SICU.
A few more days passed.
Tae-Soo was now on the tenth day of taking care of Im Taek-Jin.
In that time, Im Taek-Jin’s oxygen saturation had returned to normal, and his urine and other vital signs had stabilized.
Looking at the patient, Tae-Soo spoke aloud.
“Based on the numbers, it looks like we’ll be able to remove the respirator soon.”
“….”
Im Taek-Jin, who was asleep with his eyes closed, couldn’t respond, especially since he was still on a respirator.
Even if Tae-Soo was just muttering to himself, he spoke to the patient again.
“If you start breathing on your own, doing some stretching on your own will help with recovery. The heart needs to be challenged to do its job well.”
It was another mumbled remark, but Tae-Soo smiled gently.
During the ten days of intensive care for Im Taek-Jin, he had spoken to him continuously.
He had never received a reply, but he didn’t get tired of talking.
The reason was simple: it was an effective treatment method, whether the patient was conscious or unconscious, to encourage some sort of response.
It was important not to offer formal care, but to make the patient feel that they were being noticed.
This, too, was part of the new knowledge he was learning. Although its effectiveness was not yet proven, Tae-Soo didn’t hesitate.
With nothing else to say, he spoke to the patient, finding solace in it himself.
While Tae-Soo had free time, the doctors and nurses in SICU were busy preparing for rounds.
Rounds were an event that involved everyone from the chief of thoracic surgery to first-year residents.
Of course, the chief just casually listened and walked around, but for those preparing, time was always tight.
Tap, tap!
The sound of keyboards clacking echoed through the usually quiet SICU.
The residents, including Kim Seok-Dong, were finishing up writing up the charts that had piled up.
Just as the charting was about to finish, the SICU door opened, and a line of doctors in white coats entered.
From the chief of thoracic surgery to associate professors, assistant professors, chiefs, and other residents.
The group was well over ten people.
They started from the first patient in SICU and soon reached Im Taek-Jin’s bed.
When the chief of thoracic surgery arrived, Tae-Soo hurriedly moved away from the bed and greeted him.
“Hello.”
“Ah, you’re Dr. Choi, right? How’s your SICU experience?”
Tae-Soo looked at the chief of thoracic surgery as he asked this.
In his late 40s, he had a warm impression and tone, making him quite popular within the hospital.
I Choo-Myung was a leading authority in Korean thoracic surgery and a well-known surgeon worldwide.
Though Tae-Soo was just an intern, it seemed the chief remembered his name since they saw each other every day.
It was rare for a senior doctor of his rank to ask such a question directly.
However, Tae-Soo wasn’t overly moved and responded calmly.
“It’s chaotic, but I’m learning a lot.”
“I’ve told you before, but a hospital with such excellent doctors as we have here is rare in Korea. Make sure to learn as much as you can.”
“Thank you.”
After a brief exchange, the chief’s attention shifted to the patient.
At that moment, Kim Seok-Dong, who had been waiting, began reading from the chart that he had received.
“Im Taek-Jin, 43 years old, male. Hospitalized for myocardial infarction…”
Doctors at the chief level often didn’t remember every patient, so they were given a brief summary of the patient’s condition from the moment of admission to the current status.
After Kim Seok-Dong finished the report, the chief asked,
“When do you plan to remove the respirator?”
This time, the attending doctor, Kang Hyun-Phil, spoke up.
“Based on what we’ve seen so far, I think we can remove it today. He occasionally wakes up from the sedation and shows signs of communication with his eyes.”
“What’s the possibility of spontaneous respiration?”
“There seems to be no significant issues with the lungs, so we believe it’s over 90% likely.”
Upon hearing Kang Hyun-Phil’s answer, the chief turned his attention to the patient.
At that moment, Im Taek-Jin was awake.
Though his eyes were unfocused, his pupils were moving, indicating some awareness of his surroundings.
The chief briefly observed him, then asked,
“Im Taek-Jin, is that you?”
Im Taek-Jin’s eyes slowly moved, and he locked eyes with the chief.