Archive of Our Own

Hospital hallways are never short on stories.

More stories on life and death have happened here than any other place in the world. I have seen countless new parents, and grieving families; inevitable flatlines, and triumphant resuscitation. I have heard funny stories, and scandalous gossips; workplace romances, and hospital politics.

What I rarely heard of, as what most people did, is the one who work here in silence.

Like this small thing who’s currently dashing in between beds, checking on the patient’s condition with her long white coat trailing behind her as she walks. Like a sly fox, she moves fast and without sound. Admittedly, I wouldn’t even notice her if she’s not one of the people who most often roams the hospital halls.

I watch her as she enters the GS department lounge, leaving her notes on the desk and opening the top cabinet swiftly. She grabs two cups of instant noodle, pour hot water to both, and close the lids with her blue and red pen to let it brew. After she stretch out her arms and legs, she sits down and turns towards the computer and starts typing.  

For a moment there’s no sound except for her typing fingers. She’s enveloped in this muted lull, until the door screech opens.

“Oh, Gyeoulah! Here you are.” A professor waltzes into the room. She stands up to greet him, but he waves his hand dismissively, asking her to sit down.  

“How’s my liver transplant patient condition?” He asks as he peeks into the computer screen in front of her.

She scans the monitor before answering, “There’s no bleeding, and his vitals are stable. I think we can move him to the ward tomorrow, gyosunim.”

The professor reads silently for a second, before nodding with satisfaction. “Arasseo, great. I’ll check up on him before I get off. Gomawo, Jang Gyeoul. See you tomorrow.”

“Ne, gyosunim.” She gives him a nod, and he replies with a wink before closing the door behind him.

She sits back down to type in the rest of her patient condition. On her left, her cup noodles remain uneaten. I’m dying to remind her to eat before the noodles become soggy. 

Knock, knock.

Her head quickly shoots up and turns toward the door, where an older doctor peeks from behind it. From where she’s sitting, his round face seems detached from his body outside of the room.

“Jang Gyeoul, you didn’t forget to make the presentation for the colorectal surgery tomorrow morning, did you?”

For a second Gyeoul can only stare at him with mouth agape, like she’s trying to remember something. Once it hits her, she grimaces apologetically to the professor. “Ah, sorry, gyosunim. I will do it once I finish with these charts.”

The professor cocks his lips to one side, as if trying to hide a frown. A look of disappointment flashes through his face. “Hm, okay... send me the draft before 8 PM today, arasseo? I want to check.”

“Ne, gyosunim.” She answers while bowing to this professor. In return, he just arches his eyebrows before closing the door with a slight thud. 

Gyeoul lets out a sigh, her mouth forms a little pout. Her face looks dejected as she pins up her hair with her black pen, and afterward grabs one of her cup noodles. She buried herself in it like she hasn’t eaten for the whole day. Well, come to think of it, I think she really hasn’t eaten for the whole day.

The noodle wasn’t halfway finished when the door is opened for the third time.

“Ah, Jang Gyeoul seonsaengnim!” An old professor with graying hair comes to the room, clapping his hands together when he spots her. Gyeoul quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before standing up to greet him.

The old professor scratches his nape before he speaks, “Umm, can you scrub in on my mastectomy surgery tomorrow evening?” He looks at her with cautious eyes. When Gyeoul didn’t respond, he continues with an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, I know that you’re not supposed to be on call, but the doctor said I still cannot stand up for too long.”

Gyeoul blinks several times. She purses her lips together before she nods. “Ne, gyosunim. I’ll do it.”

“Gamsahamnida, Jang Gyeoul. See you tomorrow.” The professor gives her the widest grin.

“Ne, gyosunim.” She gives him a curt bow before sitting back on her seat. For a moment she sits there in silence, staring into her lap like she’s thinking. Then she lets out the longest sigh, before pressing ‘call’ to a contact on her phone.

When the other end picks up, she starts to speak while fidgeting with her hand.

“Eomma? Listen… I don’t think I can make it to tomorrow’s dinner. Eo… I know that my birthday is tomorrow, not the weekend… but can we please reschedule it to Sunday?”

Do you know what’s the scariest thing that could happen to someone living alone?

When you can’t move your body.

The last thing I remember was the bone-chilling cold the night before. Reasonable, given I was living inside of a half-built construction building. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I was dead tired. Before I could think twice, I was already asleep.

The next morning, my left leg was throbbing with pain. I asked for help, but nobody answered. Maybe it’s the weekend? I don’t know. It makes no different to someone without a job.

For all I know, I could have stayed in that position for days. I was tortured with hunger, which soon turned into starvation. After it reached some point, though, I no longer feel the hunger. It was pale in comparison to the pain that I felt.

As time goes by, my leg started to feel numb—as did my consciousness. The line between my reality and subconsciousness slowly blurred into a murky puddle. Or was I really sitting in a puddle? I don’t know. I don’t even know whether I was still alive or not.  

Likewise, I thought I was already in heaven when I feel a blinding light shone on me. The light directly emanated from above, forcing my eyes to flutter open.

But is heaven supposed to be filled with beeping sound?

And is there even any nurse in there?

Because I’m sure that it’s a nurse who’s now ripping the bottom half of my pants. She’s a petite lady with a short bob haircut, her eyebrows knitted together as she concentrates fully on pulling down my pants. After a while she gives up and decides to just cut it with a scissor.

“Ah!!!”

What follows the ripping sound of my pants is her shriek. She instinctively takes few steps back and her face turns pale. I think something in my leg scares her.

“Omo… is that…?” A fringed doctor comes over and takes a look. Her curious expression quickly shifts to horror once she inspects my leg closely.

“Eottoke… what should we do?” The nurse asks to this doctor helplessly. I want to answer her by saying, “Save me, perhaps?” But even staying awake is an arduous task, let alone saying anything comprehensible.

The female doctor gulps before looking at my leg with a determined look. “Let’s… let’s call Dr. Bong.”

Dr. Bong?

He’s probably a doctor who specializes in legs. Or in cold. I think he’s someone very competent, as the nurse nods enthusiastically at the suggestion.

The female doctor walks away to make the call, so I couldn’t catch what she’s saying to this Dr. Bong. Did she walk away because she’s disgusted with my leg, just as the nurse? I wonder what’s going on down there.

The nurse and doctor stand by my side as they helplessly wait for this Dr. Bong. With the silence, I can hear a vomiting sound made by another nurse passing by. Is my leg that appalling? If that’s the case, why don’t any of them do something about it?

“Oh, you’re here!”

Both the nurse and doctor’s heads shoot up when someone approaches from my far left.

I narrow my eyes to make out the figure… she’s a small thing cladded in blue scrub; her hair tied in a short ponytail.

Wait… is she Dr. Bong?

She doesn’t look competent, though. What’s so great about her?

But before this Dr. Bong could perform anything, the doctor with a fringe speaks up first, “He got injured at the construction site. The skin started rotting due to frostbite. It’s infested with maggots now…”

Wait—maggots?

“…I’ve never seen so many maggots. We have to remove them to be able to disinfect the skin. Where’s the suction unit?” The female doctor turns to ask the nurse with the bob cut.

So my leg is currently being eaten by maggots and nobody has done anything to stop it?

I want to lurch myself forward and take care of this myself, but when I tried to as little as lifting my fingers, pain overtakes me. I want to scream but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is inconceivable gargle.

Help me, I want to say.

Dr. Bong, help me.

I tried to look at this Dr. Bong in the eyes, but I find her already looking. She stares at me with her big curious eyes like she’s trying to read my mind. Then she scoots closer, like she’s about to check on my body, and I shut my eyes close to anticipate the pain that will surge from the contact.

One, two, three…

Nothing?

I open my eyes to find her already crouching besides my infested leg, her face deadpan. With her gloved hand, she picks up something from my leg. Then again… and again… and again.

Ah... She’s picking up the maggots.

I let out a relieved sigh. I don’t know whether she will hear it or not, but this is the least I can do to tell her that I’m grateful for what she did.

A spectacled male doctor suddenly approaches from far left, and behind him, another broad-shouldered one is trailing. “Dr. Bae, let’s use tweezer…” The spectacled one starts talking, but stops himself when he realizes that Dr. Bong is already handling my leg. His surprised face then transforms to a proud smirk; while the other doctor behind him is still trapped in a daze, his eyes not leaving Dr. Bong’s face.

Now these two look more competent. Maybe one of them is the real Dr. Bong.  

But ah, I don’t care about them.

I like my current Dr. Bong. She’s the only one who looked at me in the eye.

“Ah. She is quite something.” The spectacled one said.

I smile silently to myself. I really wish I could say something. If I could, I would’ve already answered him back.  

“Yes,” I would say to him, “Yes, she is.”

I love her, but I’m also jealous of her.

Not because we like the same person… well, we do like the same group of 7 people—but so does million other ARMY in the world, so there’s no point of being jealous over that.

What I’m jealous of is her metabolism. She never has to think twice before she eats. Regardless of how many eggdrops she consumed, her waistline did not even increase an inch. It’s like she’s a robot with a discharging hole where food comes out fully intact.

But that’s not what’s important. What I’m most jealous of is her tenacity.

Like right now, when she’s still reading a patient chart when she could have been sleeping. It’s one hour to the start of our shift, but instead of sleeping on the bottom bunk bed, I can hear her still flipping on her note.

“Gyeoulah, why are you still awake? You won’t get to sleep for another 24 hours.” I said while staring at the ceiling above me.

“I want to learn about this thoracoscopic procedure first.” She said from the bottom bunk bed.

I let out a sigh. I plop my head on the edge of the bed and take a look at her from above. “You could read that when you’re on shift later, you know.”

She looks up to me with a cheeky grin. “I want to be a great doctor.”

“Yeah right…” I roll my eyes. “Do you know what you have to be, before you become a great doctor?”

She stops reading to frowns at me. “What?”

“An alive doctor.”

This prompts her to scoff. “Minha-ya… I won’t die if I don’t sleep for an hour. You sleep first.”

I shrug and turn my body away from her. “Fine, your loss then.”

I close my eyes, trying to drift myself to dreamland. I roll around several times to find a comfortable position to sleep. But I was still pretty much awake, and pretty much hearing the sound of flapping papers below me.

Clap, clap. Clap, clap.

I can’t do this.

“Gyeoulah.”

The sound of flapping paper suddenly stops. “I thought you’re asleep?”

“I’m curious,” I cross my arms on my chest, “How did you do all that?”

“Do what?”

“Residency. Alone. For 13 professors.”

She went silent before responding to my question. “I… just do it.”

“Pfft…” I roll my eyes, although I’m sure that she can’t see it. “Are you Nike or something?”

“What?”

“No, never mind.” I wave my hand in the air.

We’re engulfed in silence for a while; I, staring at the ceiling, while she, writing down on her note. I want to go back to sleep but whenever I close my eyes, the question haunts me.

How can she work tirelessly without uttering a single complain? I mean, when that sly OB-GYN resident didn’t show up for just as much as three days, I was already plotting to burn her house down.

Kidding, of course. I’m kidding.

But what I’m serious about is knowing how Gyeoul really functions. Maybe from her I could learn one thing or two… like how not to kill the other residents who burden you with their work.

Again, just kidding.

“I mean…” I start again, speaking more softly this time. “Have you ever been tired? Suffered? Frustrated?”

When she didn’t answer, I thought she didn’t hear me. I peek to inspect her from above. I can see that she’s now staring absentmindedly at the wall.  

“I have.”

I rest my chin by the edge of my bed. “And? What did you do?”

She tilts her head to meet me in the eyes. “I sleep. When I wake up, I feel better.”

That’s it? God, she’s definitely a robot.

I make an incredulous expression. “That’s it?”

“Yes.” She nods resolutely, “What more do you expect?”

“I don’t know? Protest, maybe? Or put up a strike until they hire new GS resident? They will follow through, I’m sure… the department would collapse without you.”

She cocks her head to the side, like she’s seriously considering my suggestion. After a while, she nods to herself. “Hmm… you’re right.”

Really? Am I going to see the high and mighty Gyeoul making a scene?

“Whoa you’re really gonna do something about it?” I said as I sit up excitedly on my bed.

“No.”

What the hell?

“But you just said I’m right!”

“You’re right that the department would collapse without me… That’s why I’m not doing anything.”

What?

But before I could protest, her phone rings, signaling an oncoming call. She picks it up, and at the other line, a professor is instructing her to come down for a round. She hangs up the call after saying “ne” repeatedly to her phone.

“Minha-ya, I think I have to go first. See you around.” She stands up from her bed while pursing me a slight smile.

I let out a sigh as I watch her walking towards the door. I didn’t learn anything from her today. I can’t believe that all she needs to destress is a sleep. And she doesn’t even get much sleep, as shown just now. Why hasn’t she run around mad, or complain; or just as little as badmouth her professors behind their backs?

I give in. Maybe we just cope with stress differently. I can’t get on with her simplistic way, and for sure she can’t plot murder like I did (still kidding). But as different as our personalities are, and as different as the effect of one eggdrop to our bodies; I decide that just as it does to me, a cheer of support would also affect her positively.

Before she steps her foot outside the room, I can hear myself cheering from behind.

“Fighting, Jang Gyeoul seonsaengnim!”

She turns around and see me raising one fist up in the air. The sight prompts her to bursts into a chuckle. I know that my fist is not really useful for her to face the long hours, but at least it makes her laugh.

“Gomawo.” She mutters softly before closing the door with a thud.

I was so out of it, and my husband is not helping.

I wish he would have been here and listened to the doctor himself. The doctors have even explained the procedure to me twice; if he were here, he would be able to interrogate those doctors, instead of me. What do I know about choledochal cyst—or whatever that is—anyway?

Is it really a sin that I was panicking before our son’s first surgery and zoned out the whole day? No, I don’t think so. Is it also my fault that my husband has this baseless mistrust for the medical profession, so he has to know everything about the procedure in order to be convinced? No, it’s entirely on him.

As annoyed as I was, I guess he succeeded on brainwashing me, because now I’m breaking down in front of the PICU. I’m worried about Jaewon, despite the doctor saying that his surgery was a success. They cut out a piece of him today, what if he needs it back? What if this surgery causes pain that he didn’t previously have?

I was ready to storm in, if not for one minor problem… the PICU door won’t even open.

I jump up and down, trying to see through the transparent top half of the PICU door. I cannot really see anything, but I hope someone from inside sees me. Someone must be in there, right? The nurse, or that female doctor with glasses, perhaps?

Speak of the devil, I thought—just a second later this female doctor is already standing before me.

“You can come and see Jaewon.” She says while gesturing me to come inside the PICU.

I’d love to see him, but he’s still asleep; I couldn’t decipher anything from his current state. I need to know what they did and whether it was really success. I explained this to the doctor, and she nods. She leads me to the station desk inside the PICU.

Before I could request her to explain everything in layman’s term, she already fishes out a paper and pen from her pocket, and starts sketching.

“Look. This is what the common bile duct normally looks like.” She draws something that looks like a Y letter carrying a sack. I think it’s the liver. Or is it the gallbladder?

“As we explained before the surgery, this part of Jaewon’s common bile duct was stretched out,” She draws another similar figure, except this one has an additional, bigger, sack. I guess this is what she means by stretched out.

Okay, I think I’m starting to get it. But what did they do about it?

As if she could read my mind, she already starts to draw another figure depicting the procedure, “First, we cut out the stretched out part.” She makes a line to separate the sack from the top part of the Y, so the bigger sack, along with the vertical part of the Y is cut out.

But didn’t they need to be reattached back?

“Then to create a new passageway for his bile to travel, we connected this to his small intestine.” She draws another figure, and this time, it’s only the top part of the Y and one horizontal line.

Oh, I guess they directly attach what’s left on the Y to his intestine… but it’s normal, isn’t it? Jaewon would be okay, right?

“The surgery went well.” She answers even before I can even ask the question out loud. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes look sincere.   

“It’s only been a while, so Jaewon seems to be in a bit of pain. But there’s no bleeding, and the urine output is good as well. The vitals are very stable too.” I think the anxiety is evident on my face, because now she starts to purse me a reassuring smile.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Her head bobs as she nods enthusiastically, “We should be able to send Jaewon back to the ward tomorrow.”

Relief washes all over my body as I hear the good news. I can feel the strong façade that I previously put up is starting to crumble, and I hold my hand to my face as if it could put it back together. 

“Omo… gamsahamnida, seonsaengnim… gamsahamnida…” I can feel my eyes turn glassy as I utter this to her.

She smiles at me quizzically, but before she could string any words, I already pull her into a hug. She must be surprised because for a while she just stands still, her arms dangling mid-air. But then I feel her hugging me back, and I close my eyes as I feel her hand pats the small of my back.

“I did not do much, actually… it’s mostly Ahn gyosunim.” She speaks shyly to my left ear.

“No…” I pull away from the embrace to catch her gaze. “You were there. You assisted him. And you explained it to me so well…”

I look down to search my hand, but it’s empty. I want to show her how grateful I am, but sadly I don’t bring anything with me. Forgive me, dear doctor… but this time, I can only offer you my word. I hope my word is enough.

“You’re going to be a great doctor, seonsaengnim.” I say wholeheartedly while looking at her in the eyes. At first, she only blinks for several times, probably not sure how to answer; but then I can see a gratitude flashes through her face.

Then I know that my words are enough, because her eyes shine brightly when she says this, “Gamsahamnida.”

I thought that she would be the one who learn from me, but instead it’s mostly the other way around.

Like how I thought that I had taught her bedside manner, to only later found out that she actually taught me not to judge people too quickly. That day it was not only the maggot who was eating—as gross as it sounds—but also the feeling of guilt that was eating my inside. I judged her too quickly and I judged her wrong, and what’s worse is that I was too prideful to immediately fix that.

At least, that’s what I initially thought.

I thought it was pride that prevented me from saying “Good job!” or even just as simple as “Thank you.” I was usually an appreciative person but whenever I was about to say that to her, my tongue held itself back. While the other GS professors were praising her and showering her with foods, I zipped my mouth shut even though I know that she more than deserved that.   

Like how she run after that abusive father throughout the hospital and I couldn’t even spare another “Jalhaesseoyo” for her, even after I easily said that to Dr. Bae. I remember her waiting eyes and hopeful smile but instead I only instructed her with another task. I thought that work was the only thing that’s important, but when her shoulder slumped when she heard my instruction, I realized that so did compliment.

I had been giving her too much stick without even once offering her a carrot.

So I tried to change myself for the better, and I have to admit, it wasn’t always easy. At first, when I thought word was daunting, I tried to show it through action. Like when I slid her two chocopies because I realized that’s the only snack she’s eating throughout the meeting. I was initially disappointed that she didn’t say anything; but I guess that’s fair, because I didn’t dare to say anything either.

I continued with the no-word dance and I thought I could get away with it for as long as I deemed comfortable; that is, until one of my friends showed me how it should be done.

She was panting and perspiring when she arrived at the OR with a cool box in her embrace. Just like the abuser chase, I thought it’s because she just liked to run even if it wasn’t necessary, but it turned out she had to run up the flight of stairs because the elevator was broken.

I misjudged her again and I felt guilty, but at that time I didn’t want to think about it because a body is already opened up in front of me. I thought I didn’t have the time to say, “Thank you” or “Good job”, and I thought she would have understood. I didn’t realize how wrong I was until Ikjun on the sideline said the word that she wanted to hear the most:

“Ya, Jang Gyeoul. Jinjja jalhaesseo.”

Even when half her face is covered in mask, it’s evident that those words made her smile. My heart sank at how easy those words were said, and how profound they had affected her.

So, ever since, that scene had filled me with guilt. I had believed that it was guilt that made me care about her. It was guilt that prompted me to run up the stairs just as she did, but on my case, it was to check on her in the ER. But unfortunately, just as words had daunted me, so did crossing those ER doors. I didn’t dare so say the words physically, so I relayed them through text. I thought it’s because my pride was too much, while my guilt was too little.

At least, that’s what I initially believed.

I only found out later that it wasn’t the case.

My belief started to crumble from the moment I refused her dinner offer. And then more, when seeing a guy picked her up filled me with unexplainable uneasiness. I was afraid to face it and I didn’t dare to label it, so I just let the feeling rest. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t real, right? It’s only me who know what I feel.

That is, until for the second time, Ikjun articulated it to me.  

“You like Jang Gyeoul, don’t you?”

My heart stopped but I tried to brush him off. What he didn’t know, though, is that internally, I had already said yes. It’s funny how it only took seconds for my mind to confirm what I had been trying to suppress for months.

Then when he started to praise her, something that I never did—I realized that I had poorly used my feeling as an excuse to treat her differently, however horrible that is. I realized that my inability to be honest and say, “I like you” had prevented me from simply saying “Thank you”. Then somewhere along the lines, I had forgotten that first and foremost I was her mentor, and my response, however it’s clouded by my feeling, is bound to shape her as a mentee.

From that point onwards, I decided to give her what she truly deserved.

Like how I gave her with her first solo surgery.

When I offered her, she was more surprised than excited. Maybe because the offer came from me, the professor she least expected. I felt guilty that she thought that way, but I deserved it, I guess. After all, that is exactly why I decided to redeem myself.

As Ikjun said, during the surgery, she did great; there’s no surprise in that. What surprised her is what I said.

“Jalhaesseoyo,” I said this to her in the OR.

Then, because I liked her reaction, I decided to say it again. And again, and again, and again. In the garden I said, “Your incision was good,” and “You did well on your sutures.” I also said “It’s your first time, but you finish under 30 minutes. That’s good.” It made her smile, and so did I. I guess it’s true what people said: when happiness is shared, it multiplies.

I thought that she would be the one who learn from me, but instead it’s mostly the other way around. From her I learned not to judge people to quickly, just as I poorly did to her. From her I learned how to be a good mentor; and to be one means complimenting her when she did something good, just as much as correcting her when she did something wrong.

I thought that was the end of her lessons, but I turned out to be wrong. Because tonight, from her, I learned something that I thought I never had to learn.

From her I learn how to love.

And it turned out to be so, so easy.

I wished that I had learned it sooner. Then I might be the one who taught her, instead of the other way around.

But it’s okay, I guess. There are still many things that I can teach her.

Like how to keep a promise, for example.

As I hugged her inside my office this Christmas night, I told her that I would do just that. I want to fulfill a promise I made a month ago inside the OR.

“I haven’t fulfilled my promise to take you out to dinner,” I whispered to the crook of her neck, “Do you want to go now?”

This led her to shyly nod and smile, while still unable to look at me in the eye.

Then it led to us, now; standing outside of the ER door, watching the snow falls as we wait for a taxi to come.

She is standing on my right with her arm stretched out, ready to catch the falling snow. When the snow hits her naked hand, she smiles. A ‘winter’ embracing winter... I have never seen a more poetic sight.

Oh, wait.

I haven’t told you who I am, have I?

But I think by now you already know.

I am the hospital where she works, I am the homeless man with the frostbitten leg. I am the OB-GYN resident who happens to be her best friend, and the parent whose child have cystic dilatation. I am the 40-year-old pediatric surgeon who has learned to be a good mentor.  

I am everything and everyone that Jang Gyeoul has given her heart to.

As I see a yellow taxi is slowly approaching the lobby, I look back to the hospital building with an apologetic smile.

I’m sorry. Tonight, I’m going to take her away.

But don’t worry, I promise that I will treat her well.

And after all, there’s still tomorrow, right?

The other me can wait.

“Kaja!”