Chapter 166

               

“Good day, Professor Baek Kang-hyuk.”

“Yes, Professor Kang Il-gu.”

Professor Baek Kang-hyuk politely returned the greeting from Professor Kang Il-gu standing before him.

For him, that was a rare occurrence.

He was so rude that one might think every cell in his head except the life-saving ones had died.

‘Professor of Pediatric Thoracic Surgery Kang Il-gu…’

But he couldn’t afford to act brusque with this man from the very first meeting.

He had quietly built up pediatric thoracic surgery, which had been a near-wasteland in the Korean medical world.

He had even obtained a U.S. medical license and completed a two-year fellowship at Stanford School of Medicine before returning.

Rather than hoarding the advanced techniques he learned, he formed a society and devoted himself to training the next generation—a truly admirable person.

Although his department still ran deficits and his standing within the hospital wasn’t stellar.

“I’m sorry to bother you when you’re so busy with patients,” Professor Kang Il-gu said, fiddling with the coffee cup that Jaewon had carelessly handed him with his rough hands that had been used to saving children his whole life.

It was called a coffee cup only because it had coffee in it; in reality it was a urine specimen cup.

When Jang-mi noticed it belatedly, she shook her head.

‘What the—. A professor of that caliber visiting a department that hardly gets any patients, and they hand him coffee in that?’

The reason was that Captain Lee Hyun-jong had been taken out for I/O checks.

At least Park Gyeongwon was there, so it wasn’t completely hopeless.

But he was useless in his own way.

Of course, Baek Kang-hyuk was no prize either.

He still had no idea what was wrong.

“No, it’s fine. Captain Lee Hyun-jong is now in a race against time. If we determine that infection control is complete, we’ll go in for the third surgery then.”

“I see… hm…”

Professor Kang Il-gu seemed hesitant to drink the coffee, so he simply toyed with the cup as if to feel its warmth.

When their conversation paused, Han Yoo-rim, sitting near the middle, let out a hollow laugh.

He was the head of department who would soon be cut loose by the hospital directors—still, for now, he was the head.

“Professor Baek. You heard my call yesterday, right?”

“Yes, I did. About Gore-Tex… the [artificial vascular graft], right?”

[Gore-Tex artificial vascular graft]
(T/N: ‘A synthetic blood vessel graft—made from Gore-Tex materials—used to replace or bypass damaged blood vessels during surgery.’)

Strictly speaking, Gore-Tex is the name of the material, not the company. The company’s name was Gore Medical. But everyone just called it Gore-Tex for some reason no one could explain.

“Yes, yes. That’s caused us a lot of trouble…”

Han Yoo-rim recalled Professor Kang Il-gu rushing in looking pale.

They had scheduled surgery two months out without thinking, only to find there was no stock.

The child was old enough that delaying a bit seemed acceptable, but once that grace period passed, the negative effects of delay would overwhelmingly outweigh any benefits of waiting.

‘He’ll die,’ Baek thought.

Pediatric cardiac surgery was like that.

“Is there any chance negotiations will work out?”

Baek Kang-hyuk asked, recalling an article he’d read in Medical Times not long ago.

According to the article, the Health Insurance Review & Assessment Service had been cutting the price paid for the artificial grafts supplied by Gore Medical since 2012, eventually slashing it by a further 22%.

As a result, a graft that sold for ₩800,000 in the U.S. and ₩1,400,000 in China was being supplied in Korea for less than ₩400,000.

Because these items weren’t used in large volumes, economies of scale were impossible, and the thin margins couldn’t help but work against the company.

“Do you think negotiations will succeed?”

Professor Kang Il-gu, who had also served as president of the Korean Society of Endovascular Surgery and had been wrestling with this issue for a long time, answered in an agitated tone.

“The government has pretty much washed its hands of this. Gore Medical pulling out isn’t something that started this year, is it? It’s been two years.”

“That’s… that’s true.”

They had been surviving on inventory until now.

Every time a graft was used, a life was saved, but the number of available grafts dwindled.

Each depletion of stock meant one future life extinguished.

“We’ve begged the Ministry of Health and the HIRA for two years, but they just blew us off. At first they said it wasn’t their jurisdiction, and later they asked whether this item was truly necessary.”

Professor Kang Il-gu sighed deeply as he spoke.

‘I knew people up on their desks ignored field reports, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad,’ he added.

It was the result of bureaucrats fiddling with paperwork, meddling even in matters that affected human life.

“Then the chance of formal import within two months… is almost nil, right?”

“That’s right. We might leak something to the press to apply pressure, but you know how stingy they are with medical fees.”

“I know better than most.”

Baek Kang-hyuk nodded with a wry smile.

Most people wouldn’t understand what low medical reimbursement meant; the doctors they saw in public seemed to live well. But frontline physicians who dealt with life and death were treated like pariahs. The deficits they generated were covered by other professions—restaurants, funeral homes, and so on.

“Actually… I didn’t call to blame you, Professor Baek.”

Professor Kang Il-gu exhaled something close to a sigh.

“I checked the records; if you hadn’t used the graft back then, that patient would have died. You should be praised, not blamed.”

“Thank you.”

“I just wanted to say that. Don’t feel guilty. I went to see Head Han Yoo-rim last night because I was so frustrated, but after thinking it over all night, it’s not something to blame anyone for.”

Baek looked into Professor Kang Il-gu’s eyes filled with remorse.

Though he said otherwise, he was burning inside. The child who’d entrusted his life to them and died under their care would be visible to him.

None of those present were at fault, yet guilt weighed on them all.

“Then… I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll handle this.”

“Oh, no. No, go check on your patient.”

“Professor Baek, I’ll see Professor Kang out. You stay with the patient.”

“Yes, Head.”

Baek Kang-hyuk saw them off, then turned back to the patient.

Jaewon watched the two leave with a worried expression.

“Will it… be okay? For a pediatric heart case… only Gore has artificial grafts, right?”

If other companies had tried, they would have failed. There wasn’t enough money to justify pouring huge research funds into it. So for now, convincing Gore to change its mind was the only option.

“It won’t be fine,” Baek said.

“Then… will the child die?”

“If we can’t get the graft, yes.”

Baek drained the coffee Kang Il-gu had left behind in one gulp—he felt stifled and needed to do something.

“Professor, do you have any idea?” Jang-mi asked with shining eyes.

It wasn’t unreasonable for her to expect something. Baek Kang-hyuk had repeatedly overcome impossible obstacles with unorthodox methods. He’d even managed to arrange an air ambulance that government bodies had stumbled over.

Compared to that, an artificial graft seemed nothing.

“I’ll look into it.”

Baek didn’t disappoint that kind of expectation.

He wore a sly smile that made others uneasy, but there seemed to be a plan.

“But first, we have to save Captain Lee Hyun-jong.”

Baek Kang-hyuk continued to stare at Captain Lee, who still clung to life with the help of a ventilator.

Gauze soaked with povidone-iodine was stuffed into the gaping wounds in places, but he still looked closer to death than life, despite bold declarations that he wouldn’t die.

“That’s true.”

Jang-mi and the others nodded in agreement.

As much as it pained them, the patient under their hands and into whom they had poured some of their lives was more precious than an unnamed child.

Expanding one’s view and looking elsewhere often led to losing sight of the patient in front of you.

“Speaking of which… how’s the lab (blood work)?”

Kang-hyuk glanced from Captain Lee to Jaewon.

Jaewon recited the numbers without checking the computer.

“I’ll give you only the important ones. White blood cell count is 4,000, ESR 22, CRP 0.6.”

“Oh. When were those drawn?”

Jang-mi answered—she had been largely responsible for drawing blood except for arterial samples.

“At 7:00 a.m.”

It was now 9:00 a.m., so the 7:00 results reflected Captain Lee’s condition well.

‘He must have been here for outpatient care.’

That was probably why Professor Kang Il-gu had hurried off for clinic.

A doctor’s job could feel unbearably heavy in moments like that; they had to hide their burdens because the people they were meeting had no patience for petty feelings—they were truly sick.

“Then… we can do the third surgery today, I think.”

“Uh… so suddenly?”

Jaewon looked surprised.

Though the inflammatory markers were almost normalized, deciding on surgery in an instant like that seemed abrupt.

“What do you mean sudden? Since when have we scheduled surgeries in advance?”

“Well… that’s because emergency patients come into the ER. This patient is already admitted.”

Jaewon had a point—important surgeries were usually evaluated carefully before proceeding.

“We can do it. Senior, we can.”

But what Jaewon hadn’t realized was that the Severe Trauma Center had an anesthesiologist—and for some reason that anesthesiologist tended to trust whatever Kang-hyuk said.

He seemed to have already done a pre-anesthesia evaluation; he held a sheet indicating that chest X-ray, blood work and ECG suggested general anesthesia would be acceptable.

“Good job, Gyeongwon.”

Kang-hyuk gave Gyeongwon a thumbs-up, then put his arm around Jaewon’s neck.

At first glance it might have looked like an arm over the shoulder.

It was a headlock.

“Ugh.”

“Don’t talk back—let’s operate, okay?”

“Ughhh.”

“Not answering, huh?”

“Ugh.”

“Oh right, I should let you go. Almost killed you there.”

Kang-hyuk said the terrible words with a grin and released his arm.

Jaewon, defeated, nodded.

“Let’s do it. Do it.”

He said nothing further about why they were rushing.

He’d just been physically assaulted, after all.

And somehow he understood the reason.

‘If Captain Lee’s issue is resolved… maybe that child can be saved too.’