Chapter 58

Episode 58 The 1-Star Amusement Park (1)

I briefly paused my struggle with the wailing child and headed in the direction the nurse was pointing.

C-8 Bed.

What a cunningly named spot. It sounded just like a curse word.

As I pulled back the curtain, a small child wrapped in a blanket was lying on the bed. Standing beside them was a young couple with expressions that looked ready to crumble at any second.

"Are you the baby's parents?"

At my question, the woman who appeared to be the mother nodded, nearly on the verge of tears.

"Yes, Doctor… The baby is just so limp right now, and his fever is at 40°C… We gave him fever reducer at home, but it won’t drop below 39°C, and he just keeps trying to sleep…. Nothing terrible is going to happen, right, Doctor? Please?"

The guardian's voice was trembling with terror.

The sentence that had just come out of her mouth—that the child was limp. In pediatric emergency medicine, there is no phrase more terrifying than that.

"…."

I observed the child on the bed for a moment without saying a word. The child’s face was flushed bright red as he let out shallow, wheezing breaths. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't completely motionless. As I approached, he faintly furrowed his brow at the sound of my presence.

I turned to the child's parents and began asking questions.

"Um… Mom, when did you give the baby the fever reducer, and what kind was it?"

"An hour ago. We gave him Champ Syrup, matching the dosage for his weight, but…."

"How old is the baby?"

"He just turned two… 24 months."

I nodded, continuing the medical history interview. Was he eating well? Was he urinating normally? Were there any other symptoms like a cough or a runny nose? Though panicked and rambling, the parents did their best to answer my questions.

While conducting the interview, I rubbed my cold hands together to warm them up before carefully placing them on the child’s body.

First, the neck.

I gently examined it to see if it was stiff. This was to check for nuchal rigidity, the most crucial sign of meningitis. Fortunately, the child's neck moved smoothly.

Next was the chest.

I pressed my stethoscope against his small chest. His breathing sound was still a steady, soft wheeze. His heart sounds were regular as well. His abdomen was soft, and when I moved his limbs, there didn't seem to be any particular area causing him pain.

Finally, I decided to try waking the child up a little.

"Hey there, buddy. Can you look at the doctor?"

When I lightly shook his shoulder, the child whimpered and opened his eyes. Catching sight of my unfamiliar face, his mouth pouted as if he were about to burst into tears. Then, he weakly reached his arms out toward his mother.

At that moment, I almost let out a sigh of relief.

I called over the nurse who was standing nearby to assist with the child's treatment.

"Nurse."

"Yes, Dr. Han."

Looking at the new nurse, a relieved smile crept onto my face without me even realizing it.

"He's not limp at all…. Ha, that scared me to death…."

I cleared my throat to compose myself.

"He's just a bit wiped out because his fever is so high. Medically speaking, this isn't lethargy or being limp in a dangerous sense."

Ahem.

I turned back to the parents. A gentle smile was now plastered on my face.

"You must have been so frightened. When a fever hits 40°C, even adults lose all their energy and feel completely wiped out, just like they have the body aches. It’s the same for children. You don't need to worry too much."

I made eye contact with them as I explained slowly.

"Based on my examination, there are currently no signs that suggest anything highly dangerous like meningitis or sepsis. It's most likely just a severe feverish cold."

That was the fact. Based on everything I had seen so far, a feverish cold was the highest probability.

"His fever is incredibly high, and because he hasn't been able to eat properly, dehydration has kicked in. That's why he has absolutely no energy and is having a hard time. Of course, it could become dangerous if this state persists, but that is not the case right now."

At my explanation, the tension on the couple's faces began to thaw.

"For now, we're going to start an IV right away. We'll give him a fever reducer along with IV fluids to replenish his fluids. And to find the cause of the fever, we'll run blood work alongside tests for respiratory viruses like the flu and RSV. We'll monitor his progress here while he gets the fluids until the results come back."

After placing the orders, I asked the nurse to administer the injection and stepped outside the curtain for a moment.

"That really scared me to death…."

Phew.

Limp.

To a doctor, especially one treating children, those words are pure horror. A child being limp is the worst possible signal that their brain and nervous system are losing function due to an infection or shock.

A truly limp child is as flaccid as a doll. If you lift their arm and let go, it drops like a stone, unable to defy gravity. They barely respond to stimuli and can hardly even muster a cry. Their eyes lose focus, staring blankly into the void.

It could be a decline in brain function due to sepsis, or the result of increased intracranial pressure from meningitis. Whatever the cause, the moment a doctor encounters a truly limp child, they intuitively know the patient already has one foot in the river of death.

I felt as though I had just walked right up to the entrance of that river and come back. I was incredibly glad that wasn't the case.

After checking on the child—who had improved a bit after getting the injection—I returned to the pediatric emergency room station with a sense of relief that I had managed to get through at least one crisis.

The surroundings were an absolute madhouse.

The piercing cries of children erupting from everywhere, the anxious voices of parents trying desperately to soothe them, and the warning sounds of monitors ringing without rest.

I looked around to find Lee Minjae, who was covering my back today.

Ah. There he is.

Over in Area C, Bed 3, he was in the middle of checking the pupillary reflex of a child who had just finished having a febrile seizure.

'Why on earth does my shift have to overlap with this person again the moment he gets back from the academic conference? What is wrong with my luck.'

Complaining silently to myself, I waited a moment for Lee Minjae to finish his procedure.

"Doctor."

"Oh, Hyunjae. What's up?"

"The 24-month-old male in Bed C-8 just came in with a chief complaint of a high fever. After the antipyretic injection, his temperature dropped to 38.2°C and his consciousness became clear. Right now, he's playing quietly in his guardian's arms. For now, we're monitoring his progress with IV fluids, and the guardians have calmed down a lot too."

Lee Minjae nodded at my briefing.

"Really? Good job. Kids are getting sick unusually often lately. Is it because of the changing seasons? They said the place was bursting at the seams with RSV patients yesterday, and today it’s a feverish cold party again."

"Are all the beds full right now, Teacher?"

"Yeah. All 10 beds in Area C are full. The second one leaves, the next patient comes right in. It's an infinite loop. Why?"

"No, just… it’s been a while since I was in the pediatric emergency room. I'm having trouble adjusting."

"You'll adjust soon. You tend to get used to hell pretty quickly, after all."

Lee Minjae tapped my shoulder and walked off to see the next patient.

I sat back down in front of the station computer to organize the charts. And as I started organizing them, I simultaneously logged onto the Gallery.

Korean Slave 1 (Male): Pediatric Ghost, those tips you gave me this morning are coming in super handy right now. Thanks.

As if he had been waiting for my expression of gratitude, Pediatric Ghost immediately made his entrance.

Pediatric Ghost77: That’s just who I am. A true doctor who worries about the health of pediatric children even after death.

When I had posted on the Gallery this morning that I was assigned to the pediatric emergency room, Pediatric Ghost had suddenly transformed into a dead-serious, star tutor.

Pediatric Ghost77: So, just like I told you, you didn’t go shoving a stethoscope at the baby right out of the gate, right? Observing the child playing from a distance, their breathing pattern, and their overall condition for at least a minute is the most important part of a pediatrics exam!

Korean Slave 1 (Male): Of course I did that.

Pediatric Ghost77: What about when you looked down their throat? You didn't shove a tongue depressor in there and make the kid throw a fit, did you?

Korean Slave 1 (Male): That’s stuff straight out of the textbook. I showed him an animation sticker, sang a song saying "Let's go ahh~", and he opened his mouth perfectly.

Pediatric Ghost77: Nice. Then what about the final secret technique? The [Doctor's Injury Play] that you use when kids are throwing a tantrum and crying so hard you can't examine them at all?!

At that question, I facepalmed without realizing it.

The secret weapon Pediatric Ghost had shared for my sake was effective beyond imagination, but at the same time, it was painful beyond imagination.

'Kids are scared of doctors. But they aren't scared of something that's stupider and funnier than they are. You play peek-a-boo, and then you purposely slam your head into the corner of a table. Then you pretend to cry, going, "Ouch! Ouch! The doctor hurts!" Then kids usually stop crying and stare at you like, "What is this idiot doing?" That right there is your chance!'

Yeah… it was effective, alright.

"Now, peek-a-boo!"

I had tried my absolute best at peek-a-boo.

"Wow~ Harim, where did the doctor go and where did he come from?"

The mother had played an enthusiastic supporting role.

"Peek-a… boo! Ack!"

I had only intended to pretend to hit it, but I ended up actually slamming my head into the table.

The child started cracking up laughing at the sight of me, while the guardian panicked, asking, "Doctor! Are you okay?"

I did my best to pretend I was fine, but in truth, my head still hurts.

Korean Slave 1 (Male): I failed at just pretending to hit it and literally slammed my head into the table. I saw stars before my eyes. It hurt like hell, but the kid loved it because I was whining about being hurt, so he cracked up. Thanks to that, I managed to examine him the second he stopped crying. Good stuff.

Pediatric Ghost77: LMAO a pediatrician has to become a clown, status quo. Welcome to the world of pediatric medicine.

Yeah. If I want to survive here, I guess I have no choice but to become a crazy bastard myself.