Chapter 9 — People Who Live in the Middle of the Process

It could also be something else. I walked in, didn't sit down. Stand at the end of the bed.
“Is there something wrong?”
"That evening..." He opened his mouth, his voice trembling slightly, "I heard Tieu Chu tell me about it. The whole process."
"Yes."
“You've been waiting for forty-six minutes.”
"Wait for the family member to sign. This is the request process."
He closed his eyes. His throat moved slightly.
“Trinh Lam… I know what you are thinking.”
"Head of Money Department, I don't think anything. I just work according to the rules."
Silence. A very long silence. His wife stood next to him, the peeling knife in her hand had stopped, her eyes were red. She probably knows a little bit about the origin of the story. Tien Duy Minh opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.
“Three months ago… that penalty document…”
“It is a procedural penalty decision.” I continued, my tone calm.
"Correct." He nodded, "Follows the procedure."
Silence again for a few seconds.
“But I know… that's not fair to you.”
This was the first time I heard these four words from his mouth. Not fair. Three months ago, I waited for these four words for a long time. Can't wait forever. Now I can wait. But the strange thing is — I don't feel anything anymore. No more hatred. I also don't feel satisfied. There aren't any emotions. Just… emptiness.
“Head of Money Department.” I spoke up, “I'm going to say something you might not like to hear.”
“You say it.”
“If you died that day, it wouldn't be my fault.”
His body trembled slightly.
"But you don't die. It's not because I'm noble."
“It's because my technique is good — plus, your wife picked up the phone.”
“That's all.”
He looked at me. The corners of the eyes turned red. A man in his fifties, the corners of his eyes were red. I didn't wait for him to say the next sentence. Turn around and walk out. As I walked up to the door —
“Trinh Lam.”
"Yes."
“Sorry.”
Three words. Very light. So light that it was almost drowned out by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. But I heard it. I didn't turn back.
“Convalesce well.”
Then leave. Leaving the hospital room, outside the window at the end of the hallway was the winter sunlight. The pale white kind. I stood in front of the window, watching the cars passing by in the parking lot. He said sorry. Then what? Three months' salary cannot be recovered. Three months of lost sleep cannot be made up for. The nights of waking up in the middle of the night, asking yourself "what did I do wrong", cannot be made up for. But — Leave it. Not forgiveness. But I don't care anymore. I have been a doctor all my life, not to hear others say sorry. It's because I want to do it. Suitable for work. And it can also be done well. That's enough. The day Tien Duy Minh was discharged from the hospital, there was no movement in the department. There were no certificates of merit, no reward flags, no visits from leaders. As if nothing had ever happened. But some things have really changed. For example - The duty book with the words "Follow the regulations" was borrowed by Dean Tran Kien Quan to photocopy a copy, saying he wanted to use it as a model to promote "standardized procedures" for the entire department. For example — The Department of Health Affairs issued a new document, amending the consent process after explaining: For emergency cases, "family members cannot be contacted and The patient himself cannot sign his name", adding the clause "The head of the department or the head of the shift can sign on his behalf to start the emergency". White paper with black ink. Red stamp. The day the document was sent to the department, Ton Le took the paper and went to find me.
“Have you read it yet?”
“Read it.”
“This provision… did not exist before.”
"Yes."
“Is this thanks to you…”
“Don't know.” I bowed my head and continued to write the medical record, "It has nothing to do with you."
She stood there looking at me for a long time. Then burst out laughing.
“This person.”
“Hmm?”
“Only good at being stubborn.”
I don't care about her. But the corners of his lips were indeed slightly raised. Alright then. Maybe it's a little related. Days passed as usual. I still show up at the department every day at seven fifty-five. Still clearly sign and approve all applications and photo slips. Still, when you need to wait for your family, wait, and when you need to act, absolutely do not hesitate. The only difference is — Now there's no need to wait so long. Because the rules have been changed. I didn't tear down the wall covered with red-painted terms and conditions. It's still there. Remind me, and remind everyone — Regulation is death. Humans are living things. But when people refuse to reason, then the rules die - that is the sharpest knife. One early evening three months later. I finished my shift and bought a bottle of water at the convenience store in front of the hospital gate. As I walked out the door, I bumped into someone. It was the son of the myocardial infarction patient who complained to me more than half a year ago. Hair is glossy, face is groomed. Neat leather vest and shoes. In his hand he also carried a basket of fruits. Probably to bring things to his father for a follow-up visit.