In conclusion, the so-called blood transfusion that wasn't really a blood transfusion only had an effect for a few minutes.
The acute hemolytic transfusion reaction caused by the wrong blood transfusion was mercilessly killing the patient.
I wish there were a better way to describe it, but with my limited knowledge, I couldn't find one.
Moreover, the patient was literally dying in real time.
"This is just unbelievable."
Blundell, who had hurriedly attended to the patient, shook his head.
I used the word "attended" because there was no way to confirm whether he had saved the patient or killed him.
Most likely, he had killed him, right?
I didn't ask.
It felt like Schrödinger's cat—if I didn't ask, the patient could be both alive and dead.
"Why on earth is there hematuria?"
Blundell sighed as he looked at the bloody urine.
Given that this was different from any death he had witnessed before, it was understandable.
"Hmm… This is just… Is there really no way?"
The patient had already lost consciousness a while ago.
Blood pressure?
The pulse was barely detectable.
Based on experience, it was probably around 50 to 60.
Not the diastolic pressure, but the systolic.
"Hey, Dr. Pyeong, can't we at least give him some fluids?"
Blundell asked me, despairing as he realized the needle was already blocked.
I quietly shook my head.
"No. His body seems too swollen already."
"Ah. Is that related to the fluids?"
"I'm not sure, but… it seems so."
"Well, the human body is something you can study forever and still not fully understand. It feels like we've already passed the point of knowing everything…"
Blundell was spouting nonsense while looking at me.
Saying we've reached the point of knowing everything? Even 21st-century doctors wouldn't make such an absurd claim.
'Well… I guess it's because he doesn't know much.'
Instead of criticizing Blundell, I turned my attention back to the patient.
Honestly, this was my first time seeing something like this.
Well, I've seen plenty of bizarre things since coming here, but…
This was my first time witnessing an acute hemolytic transfusion reaction.
Seeing something I had only read about in textbooks with my own eyes wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.
'The kidneys are already ruined. If only we could do dialysis…'
Dialysis?
In a place where even blood transfusions aren't done properly, dialysis was out of the question.
They probably didn't even know what function the kidneys served.
To figure that out, there would need to be significant advancements in physiology and microanatomy.
In other words, it was an impossible expectation.
"Can I go check on the patient I saw yesterday for a moment?"
"Huh? Oh, sure. After all… this patient is mine now. What a mess."
This patient was beyond saving.
An unavoidable death was already looming.
I was grateful that I had managed to let the patient briefly regain consciousness earlier and speak with their family.
If I hadn't done that, the patient wouldn't have even been able to say their final goodbyes.
No, the bigger issue was the pain left for the living.
There was grief, but the living still had to go on.
'Well, at this point, there's nothing more we can do to ease the pain.'
That wasn't the only reason I was leaving the patient's side.
The patient had already slipped into a coma, beyond just losing consciousness.
They couldn't even respond to pain anymore.
No matter what Blundell did, there was no chance the patient would feel more pain.
Of course, Blundell's mental state seemed shattered, so it didn't look like he'd do much anyway.
Still, after delivering what he thought was a decisive blow with the blood transfusion, only to watch the patient die helplessly, it was understandable.
'If I want to teach him about blood transfusions… where do I even start?'
After some thought, I concluded that I needed to at least get him to give fluids more frequently.
To do that, I had to save the patient I had treated yesterday.
That would give me grounds to argue for more advanced treatments.
Eventually, we might even be able to perform blood transfusions.
"How are you feeling?"
I approached the patient, accompanied by Joseph and Alfred.
Before even asking how they were, I felt relieved.
The patient was clearly doing better than before.
"Ah… much better. I think I can even get up…"
They were already trying to sit up.
Whether it was possible or not, the fact that they were attempting it was important.
"Ah, not yet."
Of course, I stopped them.
This was a place where the concept of falls didn't exist.
Neither the patients nor the medical staff, like nurses or doctors, had any idea how dangerous it was for someone in a weakened state to fall.
No, they didn't even care how easily someone in a weakened state could fall.
There weren't even bed rails.
'Sigh.'
I barely held back a sigh as I thought about the mountain of problems ahead.
I really didn't know where to start.
"Just lie down for now. By the way… have you urinated?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. But… do I have to do it like this? I want to go to the bathroom…"
The patient pointed to the container I had brought earlier.
It was hard to come by, and it now contained concentrated urine.
I looked at the bright yellow urine as if it were the elixir of life.
To an outsider, it must have looked strange, but that's how I felt.
"That's good. You've passed quite a bit, haven't you?"
"Huh? No… I hadn't gone in over a day, so this much…"
"No, this is a good amount. Very good. Let's try sitting up slowly."
The fact that urine was being produced meant there was blood reaching the kidneys, right?
Moreover, it meant there was enough fluid to expel.
In other words, it suggested the patient was recovering from hypovolemic shock.
The hemoglobin, or red blood cell count, was a separate issue, but…
At least the bleeding itself wasn't immediately life-threatening.
"No, no. Slowly."
"Ah… my head…"
"Feeling dizzy?"
"Yes. Ow. My vision…"
"Darkened?"
"Yes. How did you…?"
"I'm a doctor, aren't I? That's why you should listen to me."
"Right, right."
Of course, orthostatic hypotension was still a risk if they got up too quickly.
It was unavoidable.
We had only given fluids, not blood.
"Now, let's try walking. You might fall, so take it slow. There are two people behind you, so it's fine."
Joseph and Alfred stood behind the patient as I instructed.
They carefully watched as the patient wobbled while walking.
The more they walked, the steadier their steps became.
It was only natural.
Walking raises blood pressure.
As long as the heart wasn't beating excessively, it was fine.
I was holding the patient's wrist to monitor their pulse and prevent any issues.
To be precise, I was checking the radial artery to count the pulse.
'It's a bit erratic…'
It was probably around 100 beats per minute.
The fact that it had risen this much just from walking wasn't a great sign, but…
At least it meant walking was manageable, so I decided to be satisfied for now.
"Alright, let's stop here for now… Are you okay?"
"I'm a bit out of breath. Just from walking…"
"That will improve over time. Now, let's take a look at your wounds."
"Wounds? I don't have any injuries."
After walking around the room twice, I sat the patient back on the bed.
The patient looked confused at the mention of wounds.
Well, they probably thought everything done in the hospital was treatment, so the word "wound" must have sounded odd.
"Here, on your foot, arm, and forehead…"
"Ah."
When I pointed to the foot, arm, and forehead, they nodded.
Sure enough, there were impressive wounds lined up there.
The wound on the foot even had a slight infection.
I should have cleaned and treated it, but that wasn't possible here, so it was only natural.
'At least… they're healthy enough that there's no major issue elsewhere.'
It was absurd to check for infections visually rather than through tests, but…
Humans are adaptable creatures, after all.
And Koreans, in particular, have a remarkable survival instinct.
The Miracle on the Han River didn't happen for no reason.
'The headache is the real problem.'
I concluded that this wasn't an ordinary headache.
Think about it.
If someone kept saying they were in pain even while a human butcher was threatening to cut them open, it must have been real pain, right?
This person wasn't exactly fighting for Korean independence or anything…
"Let's talk about the headache too."
So I asked.
Taking a medical history was basic, and it didn't require any special technology, but in this era, it was an exception.
If someone said they were in pain, people would just grab a knife without asking questions…
And they firmly believed they were scientists, so they acted with confidence even after causing harm.
They had no intention of fixing anything.
"Ah… what kind…?"
"How long have you had the headache?"
"Ah… it's been a while."
It was probably answers like this that led to such situations.
They didn't realize how common such answers were, so…
Of course, unlike others, I was a seasoned doctor, so I patiently continued.
"How long exactly? Over a month?"
"Huh? Ah… yes. Much longer than a month."
In most diseases, a month was the threshold between acute and chronic.
So this patient was chronic, meaning it wouldn't be easy to treat.
"I see. Has it been over half a year?"
"Hmm…
ᆞActually, it's been a really long time…
""
"I see. Hmm. Has the headache gotten worse, or is it the same as before?"
"It got worse, so I came here."
"Right."
In this era, hospitals weren't places you'd visit without serious resolve.
Unless it was something unavoidable, like obstetrics, most people avoided them.
The fact that they came meant the pain must have been severe.
"Where exactly does it hurt?"
"My head."
"No, I mean, which part of your head?"
"Ah… hmm. Umm…
"Here…?"
The patient pointed to the middle of their head, near the forehead.
There wasn't much to assess based on the location.
After all, headaches usually hurt there, right?
"When does it get worse?"
I continued with the questions.
I was hoping it might be tension-type headaches, but unfortunately, the patient's answer suggested otherwise.
"When I bend my head… it gets worse."
"Huh."
"Huh? Why?"
"No, um… do you have a runny nose?"
"I do."
"Yellow?"
"Sometimes it's black, but usually yellow."
It was sinusitis.
Sigh, that's a tough surgery.