Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 40

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 40.
The Neurosurgery Department’s on-call room.
A narrow space with a bunk bed pressed against the wall, and in the center sat a round table.
Scattered across it were half-finished energy drinks and coffee with all the ice melted,
and Neurosurgery residents who had shoved these aside were clustered in small groups, transfusing coffee into their veins.
“Why do we have to create hospital protocols?”
“Right? I’d accept it if we were getting more patients from the North.”
They had plenty to complain about lately. It was because of the checklist for unidentified patients that Thoracic Surgery had sent over.
Since it was created based on a single patient case, it had plenty of holes for general use.
Their current workload was already overwhelming, so naturally they resented the additional tasks.
“Shin must have done this to look good upstairs, right? Didn’t she overextend herself taking on the Ri Mu-seong case?”
“I ran into her in the hallway the other day, and she was heading to the director’s office with coffee.”
The resentment was directed at Professor Shin So-jeong. Truth be told, they’d worried since she first took on Ri Mu-seong’s case—worried about all the complications, about when they’d get hit with blowback or stray sparks.
Those under the powerless Professor Shin had learned to yield on many fronts whenever their team intersected with others.
The only reason they’d stuck with her was that Shin So-jeong led by example; otherwise they’d have switched long ago.
“Ugh.”
“Siiigh. Phew.”
The Neurosurgery on-call room was always filled with the sound of sighs.
“How’s that going to work? Our professor isn’t even Seong-gol.”
Seong-gol was slang for doctors who graduated from the hospital’s own medical school. At Korean University Hospital, that meant graduates of Korea Medical School; at Cheon-hui University Hospital, graduates of Cheon-hui Medical School.
To the unspoken question of why someone who must have been well-treated at Cheon-hui University Hospital would come here to suffer, Shin So-jeong answered through her actions.
Through her development of treatments for intractable diseases and through her research on rare conditions.
Honestly, in terms of research environment alone, Korean University Hospital was overwhelmingly superior among the top five hospitals in the country.
There had to be quite a few residents—probably all of them—who followed her because her research seemed impressive.
“Hey, but I heard the director doesn’t look at where someone graduated from. Professor Im Seong-hyeok came from a provincial medical school, didn’t he?”
The residents who’d been sighing perked up at this intriguing gossip and leaned forward.
Talk of Professor Im Seong-hyeok was interesting. Lately, everyone knew how close he’d become to the director.
“No way, Professor Im said the director was his senior. He definitely graduated from Korea Medical School.”
“He’s provincial either way. It’s just that they’re both in Thoracic Surgery. Was it Kyungwon Medical School or something?”
The residents’ interest focused on the specific information. Could it be true?
“How do you know all this?”
At that, Park Tae-gyeong, a third-year resident, pushed his glasses up against his nose and answered.
“A colleague of mine in Thoracic Surgery told me.”
Through his same-year colleague, he’d learned about recent happenings in Thoracic Surgery—that the director participated fairly regularly in Professor Im Seong-hyeok’s rounds.
The director even conducted follow-ups on some of Professor Im’s patients. It wasn’t just casual friendliness; he was actively lending substantial support.
“It’s our turn now. Haven’t you seen the director dangling the rope down? We absolutely have to grab it.”
Tae-gyeong pushed his glasses up again, speaking with grim determination.
“Come on, what rope! The director’s too busy looking after Professor Im; we’re just left in the dust.”
“Exactly! That’s why we need to shine now, right? We’ve got to outperform even the attendings, not just keep up.”
While he and the other residents were debating back and forth, the on-call room door suddenly swung open.
Since they’d been talking about professors and the director, their mouths snapped shut. They held their breath and checked the face of whoever had entered.
“Ah, you scared us!”
“Geez, you startled me.”
It was Geon-tae, the Neurosurgery fellow who’d talked back to the director.
Having taken the entrance exam three times before entering medical school, he was on the older side even among the fellows, and had been serving as a mediator between professors and residents.
“What is it? What were you all talking about?”
His juniors gathered around Geon-tae and relayed what they’d just been discussing.
As Geon-tae listened to their words, he recalled the recent meeting.
‘That’s right, didn’t the director look after our professor when the commander came?’
“There’s no other doctor besides Professor Shin So-jeong who could see to Ri Mu-seong’s case.”
When the director handled the commander, Professor Shin played her part as dealer perfectly.
“Can you take responsibility for what you just said?!”
“Of course. I’ll stake my medical license on it. What can you stake, Commander?”
At the time, he’d thought the professor looked cool, but the director had been setting up the game board for her.
And on the way out, Geon-tae had seen Beom-jun and Shin So-jeong having a private conversation.
“Good work, Professor Shin. Let’s talk more about the Ri Mu-seong case as time goes on.”
“Yes, I’ll visit you soon.”
Professor Shin wasn’t flattering the director unilaterally. He’d taken her seriously enough to call her in directly.
And the fact that someone now recognized Professor Shin’s efforts was a significant development.
In truth, Neurosurgery was constantly being called around the hospital because they could do anything.
Trauma patients in the Emergency Room were almost entirely Neurosurgery’s responsibility, and Neurology just dumped all their patients anyway.
Recently, oversight of ICU patients had also been transferred to Neurosurgery. A while back, they’d even been asked to read CT scans because Radiology was running late.
People asked if surgery might be necessary, and requests to take a look even when it’s not an emergency are endless.
‘That damned “what if” is going to kill us!!’
They couldn’t refuse because it all came from concern for patients, but work done this way never gets visibility. Once you finish work that straddles the boundary, the credit always goes to the other department.
With some clout, they could finally push back on those boundary-straddling tasks.
That alone would reduce their workload considerably.
And they could finally receive proper recognition for their hard work.
With these various hopes, the Neurosurgery staff’s hearts raced.
‘Perfect!!! We’ll perform way better than the attendings, seriously!’
Watching Geon-tae burn with determination, Tae-gyeong nodded as well.
* * *
After a brief clash with the parliament, Beom-jun went to find the Ward Room where Professor Shin So-jeong would be with Ri Mu-seong’s case.
She had stepped away for a moment.
“The director has come by. You must be terribly busy morning and night, sir.”
The Ri Mu-seong patient, upon spotting Beom-jun, showed signs of being pleased to see him.
After blocking the commander’s intrusion, Ri Mu-seong had treated Beom-jun warmly.
But having reviewed the chart, Beom-jun felt a heavy sadness. He knew the man was writhing in agony.
– (S) ‘Let me die without further interference. The patient reports severe pain.’
Recalling the medical record, Beom-jun scanned Ri Mu-seong’s condition.
Demerol diluted in IV fluid was running through his arm—a narcotic analgesic different from a Patient-Controlled Analgesia Device.
“Is this being administered on a PRN basis?”
Beom-jun asked the nurse to confirm the order—whether the drug was prescribed only when the patient requested it.
“No, Demerol is scheduled QID—four times daily.”
The nurse said she was administering the analgesic regularly.
‘The PCA isn’t controlling the pain. The PCA would be Fentanyl 1000 micrograms.’
That’s already two bottles. The patient endures because he’s Ri Mu-seong, but at this level of ongoing pain, most people wouldn’t be mentally intact. If the mind breaks, trauma treatment would have to follow.
The one small mercy was that surgery was tomorrow.
Rather than the first operation removing the bullet and closing the wound, comprehensive treatment would take place. The pain would ease considerably.
“Since surgery is tomorrow, just get through today, will you?”
“A revolutionary soldier asks for nothing.”
At Beom-jun’s worried words, the Ri Mu-seong patient pretended to be fine. Even though yesterday he’d asked to be killed.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hospital gown was soaked. Beom-jun recognized that Mu-seong had crossed the threshold of his limits.
Beom-jun prayed for his safety. It would be hard, but if he just endured this one night, it would be over.
“Oh, director, you’ve come? So it’s already surgery tomorrow.”
Then Shin So-jeong entered the room. Ah, she’d come to register talent. He’d almost forgotten about Ri Mu-seong’s case.
At the sight of her, a status window appeared.
[Register Shin So-jeong as a talent? Yes / No]
Beom-jun pressed Yes without hesitation.
[Through the registration effect, the talent’s knowledge will be absorbed.]
Then vast knowledge comparable to Im Seong-hyeok’s flooded into his mind. The central nervous system including the brain and spinal cord was divided by region, each section’s function appearing before him like a diagram.
The twelve cranial nerves branching from the brain and spinal nerves extending from spinal segments to the limbs,
the three layers of meninges enveloping them beneath the skull and the cerebrospinal fluid filling the cranial vault all became vivid and clear as if he’d always known them.
This time Beom-jun didn’t have a severe headache. He’d taken Acetaminophen beforehand.
This was already his fourth talent registration—after Professor Im Seong-hyeok, resident Lee Min-ho, and secretary director Kim Jae-gyeong.
‘Good call taking Tylenol. I’ve got the experience now.’
Beom-jun smoothly completed the talent registration and reviewed Shin So-jeong’s stats. With her, Neurosurgery now had talent to match Thoracic Surgery.
His influence at Korean University Hospital had broadened accordingly.
But they say crisis comes when one lets down their guard.
– Brring, brring, brring.
Something felt off. The ringtone of his cell phone struck Beom-jun as strange. The caller was Min-ho.
“Beom-jun!! Professor Im has collapsed! What do I do? He’s in the Emergency Room right now!!”
At the words pouring from the phone, Shin So-jeong’s eyes widened.
“Just now, so, how long has it been. He just got admitted.”
“Calm down and tell me slowly what happened.”
Beom-jun squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth at the notification—it had no substance, only emotion. This kid still had a long way to go.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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