Dr. Taesoo Choi - C1

Seoul Yeonseong University Hospital.
Around noon, a man’s loud shout echoed through the hospital corridor.
“Move!”
A frantic cry.
Then, a stretcher cart raced down the hallway.
Drrrrrk!
The medical staff, including doctors and nurses, grabbed the stretcher from all sides and ran wildly, their faces filled with urgency.
The patient lay on the stretcher.
“Throat… throat…”
Strange sounds came from the patient’s neck as blood started to flow down.
The blood flowed from the mouth, spreading across the face and eventually soaking the sheet.
A nurse, running from behind, shouted.
“Doctor! Bleeding!”
“Faster!”
Tap tap!
Despite the patient bleeding, they didn’t stop.
In fact, they increased their speed.
To save the patient, the best course was to head straight to the operating room rather than stopping for emergency treatment. Every second counted.
As they sped down the hallway, a doctor shouted from behind.
“Turn!”
At the command, a young doctor in front, who had been running, pulled the front right side of the stretcher toward himself.
The centrifugal force caused the stretcher to make a sharp turn to the right.
The hallway opened up again.
And the wild sprint continued. A large sign flew by in the corridor.

The place that treats the five internal organs and six viscera.
The hospital’s pride, directly related to life and death.
Maybe that’s why?
The cardiothoracic surgery hallway was as crowded as ever.
A doctor who had checked the patient’s condition from behind shouted to the doctor in his late 20s running ahead.
“Choi Tae-su! Clear the way!”
“Sorry!”
Tae-su responded reflexively, his voice slightly trembling.
The name embroidered in blue on his white gown appeared.

• Choi Tae-su.

Choi Tae-su, who had obtained his medical license earlier this year.
He was tall, with thick eyebrows and a strong gaze full of youthful confidence. But, after continuous internship, his youthful face had become marked with fatigue.
Still, knowing how critical the patient’s condition was, he yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Emergency! Clear the way!”
At Tae-su’s cry, the people in the corridor automatically turned their gaze toward the stretcher.
“Oh my!”
“What are you doing? Move quickly!”
People who saw the patient’s condition on the stretcher stepped back in fear, their urgency overwhelming any thoughts of admiration.
Tae-su, while running, quickly assessed the situation.
The operating room entrance was just ahead.
Only a little further.
That thought seemed to slightly ease the tension in his mind.
His eyes stung.
Sweat, which had soaked his forehead, began to drip into his eyes.
But there was no time to wipe it away.
The patient was in a life-or-death situation.
They had to get him to the operating room as fast as possible. Every second counted.
The team shared the same thought as they raced through the corridor.
The time was not long.
Soon, they reached the operating room entrance, where nurses dressed in surgical scrubs rushed to meet them.
At the same time, a resident running behind shouted.
“Tae-su, out!”
Tap!
Tae-su, reflexively, stepped away from the stretcher, ignoring the pain in his legs.
A nurse dressed in surgical scrubs took over and pushed the stretcher into the operating room.
Thud!
As the door to the operating room closed, Tae-su leaned against the hospital wall, trying to steady his labored breathing.
“Ha… ha…”
His breathing wouldn’t settle.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Tae-su reflexively turned his head.
It was the face of the resident who had been running with him.
His name, embroidered on his chest, was Lee Pil-young.
A third-year resident, commonly called “Vice” (Vice-chief).
With his sharp appearance, he was known for his cold demeanor.
Lee Pil-young spoke first.
“I told you to speed up!”
“Sorry.”
“How many seconds passed?”
He asked about the time it took from the patient’s room to the operating room.
Tae-su reflexively glanced at his wristwatch and answered.
“83 seconds.”
“I told you it had to be under 70 seconds. In those 13 seconds you delayed, the bleeding you just stopped came back!”
“Sorry.”
Tae-su apologized, but Lee Pil-young’s face didn’t soften.
“Did you think you’d be going off today?”
“No.”

“That patient will be your responsibility if they die.”
Lee Pil-young growled, but a playful voice interrupted from behind.
“Hey, hey, take it easy. Don’t make it impossible for the guy heading off to his day off to get any sleep.”
At that, Tae-su turned around and saw a man in surgical scrubs approaching.
Chief Park Seong-min.
He was known for his skill with words, often using humor before suddenly delivering sharp, cutting remarks, earning him a reputation for ruthless verbal “killing.”
Upon hearing Chief Park Seong-min’s words, Lee Pil-young slightly furrowed his brows.
“Chief, but still…”
“What’s an intern supposed to know? Sometimes I wonder if you’ve forgotten what it was like when you were an intern.”
“Still, I didn’t take this long.”
Lee Pil-young tried to hold in his frustration, but Chief Park Seong-min simply flashed a friendly smile and brushed it off.
“People tend to get lazy as they get used to comfort over time.”
“Save the philosophy for later, shouldn’t you be heading in now?”
At Lee Pil-young’s words, Chief Park Seong-min’s face instantly turned serious.
“Oh, damn. Why am I stopping to argue with you? I’ll see you later. And Tae-su, you better disappear. I’m off.”
Tap tap!
Chief Park Seong-min, reminding them of the urgency of the surgery, rushed into the operating room.
Finally, Tae-su thought he might be able to breathe a sigh of relief, but Lee Pil-young’s criticism wasn’t over yet.
“Dr. Choi.”
“Yes?”
“What’s the diagnosis for that patient?”
It was a question designed to put him on the spot.
Tae-su knew the answer, but still, he had to respond first.
“Gastric perforation. It looks like it progressed acutely, with active bleeding.”
“Looks like? Who told you to make a judgment?”
“….”
Despite Tae-su’s silence, Lee Pil-young didn’t stop his reprimand.
“Don’t make any judgments. Especially not you, an intern.”
“Yes.”
“Alright, now get out of here.”
With one last growl, Lee Pil-young turned and walked away.
But Tae-su couldn’t say anything in return.
Intern.
It was the sadness that came with his position.
An intern is a doctor, no doubt.
An officially licensed physician, but within the system of a general hospital, there’s very little an intern can do on their own.
In fact, they aren’t allowed to do much.
The hospital is responsible for all decisions.
The vast knowledge of medicine that he had stored in his mind had to be set aside for now.
It would take much more time to bring that knowledge to life.
Tae-su understood that fact.
Lee Pil-young’s criticism was because he was 13 seconds late compared to the estimated time of arrival.
In those 13 seconds, the severe bleeding that had been controlled came back.
Just 13 seconds.
And yet, the entire blame fell on Tae-su.
Tae-su knew that in a life-or-death situation, 13 seconds could feel like an eternity.
He did his best, but the price was sharp questioning.
With a bitter expression, Tae-su turned and walked away.
Maybe it was because the tense time had passed?
Tae-su felt a slight dizziness.
“Stamina…”
He muttered, filled with frustration.
This was the result of four days of nonstop running around before his day off. Yet, during his internship in thoracic surgery, there was no denying that his stamina had taken a hit.
He felt like he needed to start exercising, even just a little.

After his intense shift, Tae-su took a shower, changed clothes, and finally left the hospital.
He walked for a while before stopping and looking back at the hospital building.

• Yeonseong University Hospital.

Yeonseong University was one of the top universities in Seoul, and its hospital had a high standard of medical care.
It was a stroke of luck for Tae-su, who graduated from a provincial medical school, to be interning here.
Of course, he had sacrificed the romantic ideals of university life and had thrown himself into medicine.
“The building is impressive,” he thought.
The massive scale of the hospital, which was one of the top three in the country, made him smile.