Chapter 8 — People Who Live in the Middle of the Process

Within the allowable scope of regulations, bring what can be done to the maximum level. As for the parts that the regulations do not allow — Sorry. You guys have taught me. I will not decide on my own. The surgery lasted four hours. It's morning. When I walked out of the operating room, there was a whole hallway of people waiting outside. Tien Duy Minh's wife, his nephew, and several family members just ran over one by one. There is one person who should not appear here — Luu Duc Thang. Early in the morning, at half past six, the Director of the Institute was present. Wearing a coat, hair a bit messy, obviously woken up by the phone. As soon as he saw me coming out, he was the first to step forward.
“What's wrong?”
"The surgery was successful. The hematoma was removed, intracranial pressure was fully released. Currently transferred to the ICU for monitoring, the prognosis is optimistic."
He let out a long sigh. Then he looked at me, his lips moving. I know what he wants to ask. He wanted to ask — did you deliberately delay the time? Are you taking revenge? Are you betting Tien Duy Minh's life? But he didn't ask out loud. Because he knows the answer. He had already looked through the records on duty — during the surgery, Tieu Chu gave all the notes to the head nurse who had just arrived. The notebook is very clear. Time of each call to family members. Time of each processing step. Mannitol infusion time. Posture adjustment time. CT film review time. All are in accordance with regulations. All on time. There is no such thing as “doing nothing” time. During the forty-six minutes waiting for my family to sign, I did everything I could do that didn't require a signature. What is this called? This is called — Doing it right. Luu Duc Thang stood in front of me, silent for a long time. In the end, he just said one sentence: "It's been hard for you, go home and rest." I nodded, turned and walked away. When passing by Tien Duy Minh's wife, she grabbed my sleeve tightly.
“Doctor Trinh… Thank you… thank you…”
She cried so much that her whole body was shaking. I gently pulled out my sleeve.
"No need to thank me. It's my duty."
Step out of the hospital gate. The morning air was so cold it stung my nose. I stood on the steps and took a deep breath. Pulled out my phone and took a look — eight forty-two minutes past eight. The night shift originally ended at eight o'clock in the morning. The surgery has been completed, the handover has also been completed. I worked forty-two minutes overtime, but still haven't had time to fill out the overtime approval form. Stop it. Today I broke the rule once. Not because I want to oppose regulations. It's just that I'm really tired and don't want to go back and do the procedure again. On the way home, I bought a cup of soy milk and two doughnuts. Sitting at a roadside breakfast restaurant, watching the people rushing by. People go to work, people take their children to school, people exercise in the morning. No one knows that ten minutes ago, a person almost died on the operating table under my hands. No one knows that man three months ago caused me to be suspended and lose three months of salary. No one even knows - during the forty-six minutes of waiting for that signature, what was going through my mind. Actually, I didn't think anything. Or rather — thought a lot, but finally summed it up in just one sentence. I'm a doctor. Are not must be a fairy. Not a saint. It's not the type of person who gets hit on the left cheek and can even show the right cheek for someone to hit. But I'm a doctor. This does not change. That was three months ago. Still the same now. Same later. It's just that the way of working is different. Don't use your life to suffer anymore. Use your brain. Use regulations. Use the net they have woven to wrap themselves tightly around them. Let them see clearly — what this net tastes like. Soy milk is very hot. The dough is very crispy. I ate it all, leaving no crumbs behind. Tien Duy Minh stayed in the ICU for three days, then was transferred to a regular hospital room. The fifth day was sober again. On Saturday we can talk. On the tenth day, I went to the room. It was not my intention to visit him. It's my normal duty schedule, it's my turn to be in charge of that floor. But when passing by the door of his hospital room, a voice echoed from inside.
“Trinh Lam is here.”
It's Tien Duy Minh's voice. Hoarse, weak, but it was him. I stopped walking. The door is still open. He leaned against the head of the bed, his head was still wrapped in gauze, the bruise on his left eye had not yet disappeared, but his mental state was better than expected. His wife was sitting next to him peeling apples. Seeing me, she quickly stood up.
“Doctor Trinh —”
“Hello.” I nodded, with no intention of entering, "The Head of the Pre-Department Department has recovered quite well."
“Trinh Lam.” Tien Duy Minh called me, "Come in here and sit for a while."
I glanced at him. What was in those eyes was no longer the same as before. Before, it was kind of condescending, "I do it because I want it to be good for you." Now… a complication. There's gratitude, there's shame, there's also something I can't describe. Perhaps it was extreme fear after escaping death.