Surviving as a Rogue Hospital Director - Chapter 8

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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 8.
“What… what do you mean to do?”
At Beom Jun’s words, Jae Gyeong’s eyes widened as if the whites might burst from their sockets. The suggestion to overturn the budget that was already drawn up had him panicking.
But Beom Jun was confident.
To capture the Chairman’s attention, half-measures won’t suffice. Covering the deficit and drawing money to the hospital—that should be enough.
That was precisely the method their rival, Cheon Hee University Hospital, had used.
“We need to create a signature piece for Korean University Hospital.”
Word would probably filter in around this time. Cheon Hee made a documentary. If Korean University prepared to match them, it should work.
After Lee Seo was discharged, Cheon Hee University Hospital rose sharply in Doctor X. Though it was ranked second or third among the nation’s top four hospitals, its revenues suddenly skyrocketed. The documentary was a massive hit.
It was a documentary about a patient from Obstetrics and Gynecology who had undergone a hysterectomy for ovarian cancer. The patient happened to be pregnant and delivered prematurely. Cheon Hee Hospital saved the child born at just five hundred grams.
Even Beom Jun had nearly wept reading the story in the novel—one could only imagine how moving the broadcast would be.
The documentary sent shockwaves through the Medical Community, and women’s health patients flooded to Cheon Hee. The Obstetrics and Gynecology Department, which had been a losing proposition, finally started to shine.
‘And that’s when Korean University Hospital’s overall situation began to deteriorate.’
With total revenues dropping, Korean University Hospital squeezed its professors and trimmed budgets by department. In the process, Thoracic Surgery came under direct pressure, and the conflict between the hospital director and Lim Sung Hyuk began in earnest.
‘But this time, we’ll get the documentary done on our side first.’
If Korean University Hospital produced a video centered on Thoracic Surgery, it would escape being treated as a burden overnight.
More than anything, this itself would be an element to capture the Chairman’s interest. Two birds with one stone, as they say.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. You’re building a brand image, isn’t that right?”
The secretary, trained in business administration, readily grasped Beom Jun’s idea. Companies typically cultivate some image for the public to associate with them. For a university hospital of this scale, there’s really no difference from a large corporation.
“But do you think the hospital would want to do that?”
Jae Gyeong’s concern was well-founded. Korean University Hospital had already established itself in the public perception as number one domestically. They might see a new image as entirely unnecessary.
“We’ll make them do it anyway.”
“I’m not sure it will work. The Chairman seems to be in a foul mood lately.”
Jae Gyeong continued, still uneasy.
“It’s been about four days now. He’s been under a cloud. The atmosphere in the Chairman’s Office has been tense.”
Four days ago was when Lee Seo’s surgery had been decided.
‘The Chairman had ordered to prevent Lim Sung Hyuk from doing the surgery.’
In Doctor X, it was because of the Chairman that the hospital director had stopped Sung Hyuk’s surgery. They were watching closely because it was a department running continuous deficits.
“Is there anything else?”
At his words, the secretary half-opened his mouth and shook his head.
With his chin propped on one hand, Beom Jun gazed into empty space, recalling the contents of Doctor X.
The Chairman was a man who cared about profit. A person who pursued only the interests of Korean University Hospital. He’d backed the Vice Director precisely because it benefited the hospital.
And the proposal Beom Jun was about to make would benefit Korean University Hospital regardless.
“It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”
If he failed the quest, he’d die anyway—this was better than that.
Beom Jun spoke with ease, sleeves rolled halfway up his shirt as he sipped his coffee slowly.
In the complicated situation, he seemed oddly relaxed.
‘Besides, I have something to get approved anyway. Might as well give it a shot.’
Beom Jun’s already sharp eyes narrowed further, tilting upward. With his life on the line, there was nothing he couldn’t do.
* * *
Meanwhile, as time passed, Sung Hyuk had grown accustomed to Min Ho trailing behind him. In the beginning, it had been nothing short of tiresome.
Min Ho talked endlessly. It was only tolerable because it was all about patients—had it been personal, he would have kicked him out on the spot.
“Professor, this patient doesn’t seem to be recovering well. We’ve transfused two units of Red Blood Cells, but the Hemoglobin won’t rise.”
“Professor, this patient’s CK-MB is elevated—is there a reason you’re keeping them under observation?”
“Professor….”
‘When I was a resident, I couldn’t speak a single word to a professor.’
Sometimes it seemed to him that these people thought of a professor as a walking encyclopedia.
“Wow, Professor. The stent went in perfectly. How in the world did you….”
Min Ho, who had somehow managed to follow him all the way to the Cardiac Catheterization Lab, let out an exclamation. He seemed so stunned his mouth hung open.
At least the patient was under general anesthesia—a mercy. Had the patient been awake, he would have boxed his ears.
But Sung Hyuk was certain of one thing: this kid wasn’t flattering him. He was genuinely invested in Thoracic Surgery.
Sung Hyuk glanced at him, then began to elaborate.
“You don’t necessarily have to use the femoral artery for Coronary Artery Bypass Surgery. I mostly use the radial artery.”
Coronary Artery Bypass Surgery is the most common procedure for angina, the stage before myocardial infarction.
The heart pumps blood throughout the body, but without the coronary arteries that feed the heart itself, it’s impossible.
The problem is that coronary arteries are extremely thin and often become blocked. That’s why balloons or mesh are inserted to widen the narrowed vessels—this is called Coronary Artery Bypass Surgery.
It sounds simple, but it’s actually an extraordinarily difficult procedure, as Min Ho’s amazement attested. It requires traveling up to the heart using an artery without making an incision in the skin.
Usually, a needle is inserted into the femoral artery above the pelvis, and ultrasound is used to carefully navigate to the coronary artery.
The radial artery, which begins below the wrist, is thinner than the femoral artery and therefore more difficult, but patient recovery time is significantly reduced.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a radial approach. Now that I think about it, it must be much more comfortable for the patient.”
“I just have to work harder. Besides, it’s not even possible for every patient.”
Min Ho nodded, listening intently. Sung Hyuk smiled beneath his mask at the younger man’s attentiveness, though Min Ho couldn’t tell because of his stern eyes.
After finishing the procedure, Sung Hyuk took him to the Ward rounds. He’d always preferred working alone—he found trailing residents cumbersome.
“What are you doing? Don’t follow.”
Sung Hyuk was taking Min Ho along purely for the resident’s benefit.
“Can I really go? Let’s go now!”
Min Ho was particularly interested in EKG machines, and the patient ward they were about to visit happened to have a patient with an EKG Machine hooked up.
Feeling the presence trailing behind him on his right shoulder, Sung Hyuk walked briskly down the corridor.
But moments later, they arrived at an empty ward.
“Huh? Wasn’t this the patient?”
There was no EKG Machine where it should have been, only the patient lying there. What if the patient suffered sudden cardiac death while admitted?
“Nurse, shouldn’t there be a monitoring order for this patient?”
Min Ho, bewildered, asked the nurse.
“Oh, we only have three EKG Machines in our ward. Yesterday’s on-call doctor and I decided to hold it for now.”
At the nurse’s words, Min Ho fumed.
“Who was on call yesterday? Who just decides to hold it on their own?”
Among the residents, he was senior in terms of years. If he was on call, it would have been his junior.
“Min Ho, wait a moment.”
But Sung Hyuk stopped him before he could work himself up further.
Of course, changing the order without consulting Min Ho was a mistake, but there was another issue at play.
“I’ve said we need at least two more EKG Machines. Haven’t they been approved yet?”
“Huh? Really? The nursing department hasn’t heard anything about it.”
The fact that Thoracic Surgery only has three EKG Machines. This absurd situation is the real problem. Trying to squeeze out something that doesn’t exist has led to this mess.
Sung Hyuk had been requesting from the surgical director three months ago that the equipment needed to be purchased.
Sung Hyuk clenched his teeth with a sigh. The masseter muscles around his jaw contracted, causing his cheeks to go taut.
They should at least provide the minimum necessary equipment, shouldn’t they? How am I supposed to treat patients like this?
“Would you consider using a CPR monitor instead?”
The nurse, sensing the tension, offered an alternative.
CPR machines have a function to monitor heart rhythm, but there’s no proper monitor. Even if an abnormal signal is detected and an alarm sounds, that’s all—the data isn’t recorded.
“No.”
Sung Hyuk replied to the nurse who was treading carefully. This wasn’t her fault. This godsforsaken hospital was to blame.
Then Min Ho, standing nearby, spoke up.
“Um, what if we told the director? He asked before if there was anything we needed.”
Korean University Hospital is a large organization with clear procedures. Reports go up the chain, meetings are held, budgets are allocated—all these tedious steps.
What Min Ho was suggesting was to skip all of that in one fell swoop.
“Tell the director directly?”
“He said to tell him anytime. I can bring it up!”
He said it with a bright face, and
“…Fine, go ahead then.”
Sung Hyuk gave him a light shove.
* * *
Beom Jun listened at length to the full details after taking Min Ho’s call.
“Director, the patient needs continuous monitoring, but there’s no EKG Machine, so we’re improvising. You know it only makes sense if we monitor all day, right? Right?”
And Beom Jun’s answer was remarkably concise.
“Yes.”
As he spoke, Beom Jun felt something he’d been holding in for a long time dissolve. It was something like the resentment that had accumulated when he worked as a professor.
‘My heart feels so light now.’
Beom Jun realized he had become someone who could solve hospital problems simply and directly.
“Really, Director?”
Min Ho’s voice crackled with excitement through the receiver. Beom Jun could practically see him bouncing in his seat.
“You said it’s necessary—then we buy it. How many do we need?”
[Min Ho’s Favorability has increased by 1.]
Beom Jun broke into a grin at the status window that appeared. It felt like buying a present for his nephew.
“Well, um. I think one should be enough…?”
As Beom Jun listened to Min Ho’s uncertain words, he searched for his location.
[Searching for Min Ho’s location.]
A resident wouldn’t have made this call alone.
Even without the department chief’s confirmation, at minimum he would have been given some guidance on what to say and how to say it to the director.
If a resident made a mistake, the criticism would rain down from above in a chain. It couldn’t be helped—that was simply how the medical hierarchy was structured.
[Min Ho’s location confirmed: Professor Lim Sung Hyuk’s Office.]
As expected, Lim Sung Hyuk was beside Min Ho. If they were close enough to visit each other’s offices, they must have become quite familiar.
“Is Lim there with you? Put him on the phone.”

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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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