24ES | Chapter 8.3

“Ah… yeah. Long time no see, Professor Cha, Chief Kim.”

Mortified, Yesung carefully ignored the weight of the stare from his right, knowing full well it belonged to Jung Hageon. He took a seat beside Professor Jin, strategically far from Jung Hageon’s corner.

Even so, he couldn’t feel at ease.

That piercing gaze on the back of his head—it was impossible to ignore.

For God’s sake, Jung Hageon, can’t you stop staring at me?

It wasn’t the act of staring itself that was the problem. The issue was how blatantly obvious and intense it was. If others noticed, then what?

Please, stop. Just stop.

Feeling like his head might literally burn from the intensity of it, Yesung sighed inwardly. Beside him, Professor Jin leaned in with a concerned look.

“Doctor Han, are you alright? Your forehead’s redder than I expected. Did you actually hit your head while rushing over? If so, you shouldn’t be here—you should be getting a CT or MRI done.”

“Ah, no, Professor. It’s not that. It’s just… a minor thing. Really, I’m fine.”

Unlike the radiology chief, who’d turned his red forehead into a joke, Professor Jin’s concern seemed genuine. Yesung hurriedly waved his hands in reassurance.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, really. I’m fine.”

Seeing Yesung’s earnest smile, Professor Jin finally seemed convinced.

“Alright, if you say so.”

“Alright, since everyone’s here, let’s begin.”

As the meeting started, Yesung shifted his attention to the front. Though Jung Hageon’s gaze still bored into him, he forced himself to focus.

Professor Cha from thoracic surgery stepped forward to the podium, and Yesung took out his notebook.

“Thank you all for coming despite your busy schedules. I’m Cha Youngjun, a thoracic surgery professor.”

The lights dimmed, and a photo appeared on the screen. It was of a smiling young boy.

“A few days ago, the Korean Missionary Association reached out to our hospital for assistance.”

Pressing the remote, Professor Cha shone a red laser pointer on the screen.

“Tanzanian nationality. A 5-year-old boy complaining of chest pain. X-rays from a local hospital revealed…”

The screen switched to an X-ray image.

“…this lodged in his chest.”

The room fell silent as everyone stared at the image of a foreign object lodged in the trachea. Chief Kim from radiology gasped.

“What is that?”

“A metal fragment.”

“A metal fragment?”

While Chief Kim looked horrified, Professor Cha remained composed as he continued.

“The fragment perforated the esophagus and is now lodged in the bronchus.”

The case was far more severe than Yesung had anticipated. Chief Kim let out a low whistle.

“…How on earth did that end up there?”

“Apparently, the boy swallowed it while playing alone.”

“My God…”

“Well, kids can naturally do that. At that age—or even older—most of us probably got scolded for eating dirt at a playground, right? This case just lacked careful attention and observation from the guardian.”

When Professor Park from Pediatrics sharply pointed this out, Professor Kim from Radiology wiped the incredulous look off his face and shut his mouth. Amidst the growing silence, Professor Cha spoke up.

“Because the situation was so severe, they were sent to Korea immediately. After detailed examinations at our hospital, we found a metal shard that pierced the esophagus and is positioned in a spot that could potentially rupture the aorta.”

As Professor Cha pointed at the screen, he lowered his hand.

“Also, the shard has been lodged there for a while, causing severe inflammation around it. Surgery is urgently needed, which is why we’ve gathered all of you here for this consultation.”

In short, it was a case that required a large-scale collaboration of the gathered departments. As soon as Professor Cha finished speaking, Professor Jin from Pediatric Surgery raised his hand.

“How big is the shard?”

In response to his question, Professor Cha signaled to the side of the podium. A resident standing at the computer desk manipulated the mouse, and the screen changed. Professor Cha pointed a laser at the screen.

“Currently, it appears to be the size of a 100-won coin. What you’re seeing now is a 3D reconstruction of the CT results.”

Shin Yesuh, the Chief Resident of Pediatrics, raised her hand.

“From what I see, it’s not just the location of the shard but also the severe inflammation around it. We need to manage the inflammation first and schedule the surgery as soon as possible.”

“The location is really dangerous… the aorta, of all places….”

Professor Kim from Radiology expressed his concern.

“Plus, the inflammation has caused severe adhesion around the shard. If it’s handled carelessly, the aorta could rupture. How would we handle the bleeding then?”

That was when Professor Jin, who had been quietly asking necessary questions beside Yesung, interjected.

“Professor Kim, you always do this. Why do you keep assuming the worst-case scenario? It sounds like you don’t trust the surgeons performing the operation.”

His sarcastic tone echoed in the room.

“What? Always? And what’s wrong with considering worst-case scenarios? It’s how we prepare thoroughly to ensure a successful surgery.” Professor Kim retorted angrily.

“Preparing thoroughly is good. But what you’re saying—like, ‘What if there’s bleeding, can you handle it?’—sounds like you’re doubting Professor Cha’s skills, who’ll most likely be leading the surgery.”

“Professor Jin! How could you twist my words like that?”

“Why? Isn’t that what you implied?”

“Of course not!”

“How can I trust that?”

The escalating argument quickly devolved into a childish spat. The conference room, where serious discussions should have been happening, turned into utter chaos.

Doctors, by nature, are trained to prepare for every possible variable in a case. So, as Professor Kim from Radiology suggested, they often had to discuss the worst-case scenarios to be ready for any situation. However, constantly bringing up extreme hypotheticals could also be seen as an insult to the surgeons performing the operation.

In short, it was a situation where neither side was entirely right or wrong. And with both being professors, the juniors couldn’t easily intervene. The other professors, who could have stepped in to mediate, remained silent, merely exchanging exasperated glances as if to say, Here we go again.

Typically, disputes between professors should be settled by other professors, but since no one stepped up, the bickering dragged on.

“Should I open my head to prove it to you?”

“Ha! If you’re so confident, go ahead!”

“Professors, please….”

“Do you think I won’t?”

“By all means, try it!”

As the saying goes, when whales fight, the shrimp gets crushed. In this case, the “shrimp” were the residents and fellows directly under the professors. Yesung felt like he had just experienced a week’s worth of stress all at once. His stomach churned with the mounting tension, and he clutched his aching abdomen.

Just as Yesung was about to intervene, a calm yet assertive voice broke through the chaos.

“Professors.” Sitting apart from everyone else, isolated like an island, was Jung Hageon. He was addressing Professor Cha from Cardiothoracic Surgery.

“Yes, Dr. Jung? What is it?”

Professor Cha tilted his head curiously, clearly surprised that Jung Hageon, of all people, had spoken up. The room fell silent as everyone turned to him, their gazes heavy with expectation. Yet, Jung Hageon seemed utterly unfazed, even casually glancing at his watch before speaking.

“Approximately one hour and 17 minutes from now, there’s a scheduled heart valve replacement surgery for a 53-year-old patient, Lee Jinsung. I thought I’d remind you in case you forgot.”

“What? That’s….”

Professor Cha blinked slowly. A surgery? Today? His expression was blank, as if he had no recollection of such a schedule. Jung Hageon raised an eyebrow, and realization dawned on Professor Cha.

“Oh, right! That’s correct. I nearly forgot. It was a last-minute addition right before this meeting. Thank you, Dr. Jung.”

Professor Cha’s subtle smile carried a hint of intrigue. Given Jung Hageon’s usual reserved demeanor, his unexpected intervention was surprising.

Looking at the two bickering professors, Professor Cha addressed them diplomatically.

“Professor Jin, Professor Kim, since we’re on a tight schedule, may we proceed with the meeting? I’m sure the others here are just as pressed for time.”

It was a polite way of telling them to save their argument for later. Reluctantly, Professor Kim sat down first, followed by Professor Jin, who clicked his tongue but complied. With the situation finally under control, Yesung felt the tension in his stomach ease.

As the radiology resident hesitated, looking confused about where they had left off, Professor Gong Minseob from Anesthesiology chimed in.

“I’ll pick up from here. I didn’t get to say my piece because of the earlier… incident.”

Being from Anesthesiology, he was uniquely positioned to make a critical observation. His pointed remark elicited awkward coughs from both bickering professors.

“Let me be clear: even if the worst-case scenario happens and we see aortic rupture, Anesthesiology can manage it—for a time. But if it drags on, even we won’t be able to keep up.”

It was both a reassurance and a reminder to act swiftly if complications arose. Professor Cha nodded in acknowledgment.

“Understood. During surgery, we’ll take utmost care around the aorta while removing the shard and prepare for all potential scenarios.”

Professor Jin, now calm, raised his hand.

“Given the location and adhesions, I suspect this won’t be resolved in one operation. What are the chances of it being fully addressed in one surgery, Professor Cha?”

“Less than 40%. It’s not impossible, but the odds aren’t great.”

“40% is pretty low—not even halfway.”

After a brief pause, Professor Cha agreed.

“Yes, it’s a difficult surgery. But the child is already struggling with breathing and can’t swallow properly. While we’re prepared for a second operation if needed, removing the shard safely should help stabilize them enough to plan the next steps.”

“We’ll do our best with what we can,” Professor Cha concluded, looking around the room.

Professor Jin let out a faint chuckle.