The tedious compression dragged on.
I stared blankly at the clock hanging on the station wall.

Time crawled painfully slowly.
The vitals on the monitor were calm, and although the patient frowned in discomfort, he wasn’t coughing up blood anymore.

‘See, it’s nothing.’

I let out a sigh of relief inside.

Those crazy ghosts making such a huge fuss and drilling me on my day off was obviously just meant to scare me.

Reality isn’t that dramatic.

Blood spraying like a fountain, turning blue from suffocation, stuff like that only happens in dramas—

That was when it happened.

The patient suddenly jerked with a choking sound.

A sinister sensation surged up from deep in his throat.

The cough he had been holding back burst out reflexively.

“Cough! Cough, cough!”

And then.

SPLAAAAASH—

At the same time I felt the long Kelly clamp in my hand get violently pushed back, bright red blood erupted from the patient’s mouth like a fountain.

The vessel that had barely been held shut by compression couldn’t withstand the pressure of the cough and ruptured completely.

“Aaahhh!!!!!”

Red blood splattered everywhere, across the patient’s chest, my gown, and even the floor.

The patient began spewing blood from his mouth in thick surges.

At the same time, the monitor started screaming like it had gone insane.

Beep—beep—beep—beep—!

The oxygen saturation plummeted vertically from 98% to 90, then 85.

A blood clot had blocked the airway.

“W-what is this!”

My brain froze.

Where had the peace from just moments ago gone, leaving this hellscape in front of me.

From the patient’s throat, it wasn’t just blood anymore but thick clots surging back up.

A horrific gurgling sound echoed.

The patient’s face rapidly turned blue.

“Doctor! The patient’s sats are dropping! Into the 70s!”

“Suction! Get the suction now!”

My mind was in chaos.

My hands were trembling violently.

ENT still wasn’t here.

The third-year, Han Jae-eon, had gone to see another patient.

Think.

Think.

Think, Hyeon-jae.

‘Alright! A patient bleeding heavily from the throat!’

‘This is airway securing. Airway securing is the top priority, you idiot!’

‘Use the biggest laryngoscope blade to sweep the tongue and clots aside, then shove the tube in as fast as possible and inflate the cuff so blood doesn’t get into the lungs!’

Airway, airway!

The ghosts’ comments rang in my head like tinnitus.

“Anesthesia isn’t here yet, right? They’re still far?”

“Yes! No response yet!”

Do it.

The decision took one second.

I ran to the head of the bed and shouted.

“The stuff we prepped earlier! Intubation set, now! Blade and a 7.5 tube! With the suction tip!”

At my scream, a nurse frantically thrust a tray toward me.

I clenched the laryngoscope with shaking hands.

‘Left hand. The laryngoscope always goes in the left hand.’

I regripped it in my left hand and forced the patient’s jaw open.

And I swallowed hard at the sight in front of me.

Hell.

The patient’s mouth was already a sea of crimson.

Churning blood and thick clots were mixed together, making it impossible to tell where the tongue ended and the throat began.

‘Suction first! You can’t put it in if you can’t see! Use the biggest one and suck everything out!’

That’s what the anesthesia ghost had said.

I grabbed the thick suction tip with my right hand and shoved it deep into the patient’s mouth.

Grrrrrrrrk!

The suction machine screamed as it swallowed clots of blood.

But it was useless.

Blood was surging up from deeper in the throat faster than it could be suctioned away.

My field of view was still filled with red.

I couldn’t see anything.

The oxygen saturation monitor had begun its countdown toward cardiac arrest.

F*ck.

I can’t see.

I can’t see anything.

I can’t get it in like this.

‘If suction alone doesn’t work, use the blade like a dam! Idiot!’

Right, I’d definitely seen that comment during the gallery training.

‘In cases like this, don’t hesitate, just shove it in! Use the blade tip to sweep the tongue base and all the clots hard to the left and create even one second of space! Be aggressive!’

I abandoned reason.

I jammed the laryngoscope blade in my left hand deep into the patient’s mouth.

Then, in one motion, I swept the tongue and the surging clots entirely to the left.

“Ghk!”

For a brief instant, the blood subsided and a tiny window of space opened.

But with the mucosa swollen and torn from blood, I couldn’t tell where the epiglottis was or where the vocal cords were.

I was lost.

‘Where is it! Where do I put it in!’

The number on the monitor read 55%.

‘If you can’t see, push from the outside! Don’t you know BURP? Have the nurse push the thyroid cartilage back, up, and to the right! Then the cords will drop right into view!’

I grabbed the flustered nurse’s hand.

“Nurse! Here! The patient’s neck! This protruding bone, press here with all your strength! Down, and toward me!”

The nurse pressed hard on the patient’s neck.

That was the moment.

The view shifted ever so slightly.

Through the blood-soaked chaos, I faintly saw the outline of the epiglottis, and beyond it, a white V-shaped structure.

The vocal cords!

Found you, you bastard!

Filled with elation, I drove the tube in my right hand toward that white gap.
This was it.

Once it goes in—

Tap.

The tip of the tube hit something.

It wouldn’t go in.

“Why won’t it go in!”

Worst-case scenario.

Laryngospasm.

Oxygen saturation 50%.

This is the end.

‘Spasm in that situation? Don’t force it. You’ll tear it! Just rest the tube tip at the cords! Maintain steady pressure and wait for the spasm to release!’

…Right.

This was my last hope.

I held the tube steady at the entrance of the vocal cords without pushing or pulling.

One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.

The heart rate on the monitor began to slow.

Please.

Please open.

Please.

And then.

Slide.

The resistance at the tube tip vanished like a lie.

I didn’t miss that split second and shoved the tube all the way in.

Done.

It went in.

“Haaah….”

The moment I let out a breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead—

“Hey! What the hell are you—!”

The third-year, Han Jae-eon, burst through the curtain and froze at the sight before her.

A patient drenched in blood.
And a first-year resident calmly auscultating with a tube jammed into the patient’s mouth.

Han Jae-eon’s eyes wavered.

Her gaze flicked between the laryngoscope in my hand, the tube lodged in the patient’s mouth, and my blood-soaked gown.

“It ruptured when he suddenly coughed.”

My voice didn’t shake.

“The airway was obstructed due to massive bleeding, sats dropped into the 70s, so I performed immediate intubation under my own judgment. A 7.5 tube is in, cuff inflation completed. I just bagged him and confirmed bilateral breath sounds. Tube position is stable.”

Han Jae-eon’s expression changed as she listened.

She snatched the stethoscope from my hand and placed it on the patient’s chest herself.

Confirming.

That’s a senior’s job.

“Breath sounds on both sides… tube’s in properly.”

She muttered briefly, then instantly switched into commander mode.

“You stay glued to the patient and hold the tube so it doesn’t come out. I’ll hook up the vent.”

Then Han Jae-eon started issuing orders to the nurses.

“Run one liter of normal saline through the current line. We need volume first.”

“Yes, doctor!”

“And check with the blood bank if the PRBCs that were cross-matched earlier can come down right now.”

“I’ll confirm and report back immediately!”

“Just in case, mix norepinephrine and have a line ready on the pump. If the blood pressure drops below 80, we start it immediately.”

“Yes!”

“Prepare an A-line kit as well. If the BP keeps swinging, we’ll place an arterial line right away.”

Han Jae-eon headed toward the station without looking back.

I nodded and wiped the blood splattered near my mouth with gauze.

I really did this.

I really shoved a tube into the throat of someone bleeding like hell.

It didn’t feel real.

Soon after, Han Jae-eon returned, dragging a heavy ventilator.

With mechanical sounds, the screen lit up and her fingers flew across the touchscreen.

With a hiss, the machine began forcefully pushing oxygen into the patient’s lungs.

The patient’s chest rose and fell rhythmically.

The oxygen saturation climbed—80, 85, 90… finally forcing its way up to 95%.

For now, the immediate crisis was over.

Without turning toward me, Han Jae-eon shouted to the nurse.

“Nurse Na-yeon! Call anesthesia and ENT again right now and tell them the patient blew, intubation is done, and to get down here ASAP!”

“Yes, doctor!”

Then she turned back to me.

What now.

“Han Hyeon-jae.”

“Yes.”

“Go to the med room and bring two ampules of midazolam and one ampule of rocuronium. He’s about to wake up, we need to sedate him again immediately.”

Only then did my mind catch up.

I ran to the emergency medication room.

The sedative midazolam.
The neuromuscular blocker rocuronium.

Drugs that would put the patient into deep sleep and paralyze his muscles so he could fully synchronize with the ventilator.

As I gathered the medications, the scene from moments ago replayed in my head in slow motion.

…I really pulled it off.

A hollow laugh escaped me.
My hands were still trembling faintly.

When I returned to the patient, Han Jae-eon nodded at the syringes in my hand.

“You got them? Give everything through the IV line now.”

I connected the syringes to the three-way stopcock on the IV line in the patient’s arm.

First midazolam.
The clear liquid flowed into the vein.
Then rocuronium.

“Okay. Now let’s secure the tube.”

Han Jae-eon tore off a long strip of medical tape.

Together, we taped around the patient’s mouth, firmly fixing the tube in place.

“Next, call for a portable X-ray to check tube depth.”

Her instructions never stopped.

I picked up the intercom and contacted radiology.

A moment later, a radiology tech rolled in a mobile X-ray machine.

The scan was done in no time.

Less than a minute later, the image appeared on the station monitor.

“Let’s see….”

Han Jae-eon and I stood side by side, staring at the screen to find the tip of the tube.

The tube tip was perfectly positioned.

“Depth’s spot on.”

She murmured quietly.

I swallowed dryly instead of replying.

Then Han Jae-eon stepped in herself.

She felt for the radial artery at the patient’s wrist, found the pulse, and without hesitation inserted the needle.

Arterial blood surged into the syringe.

“Send this straight to the lab!”

The syringe filled with blood was handed to a nurse and rushed away.

All that remained was to wait for the results.

As if nothing had happened, calm returned to the ER.

Only the steady sound of the ventilator filled the space.

All initial measures were complete.
The patient was stable for now.

My hands were shaking.
My heart was shaking.

I… I.

Am I crazy.

Really.

What is this feeling.
This feeling of my heart pounding uncontrollably.

Only then did Han Jae-eon shove her hands into her pockets, lean against the wall, and look at me.

I couldn’t read her expression.

“Hey.”

“…Yes, doctor.”

“What you just did.”

She paused, choosing her words.

“You f*cking nailed it.”

“…What?”

“How did you do that. With blood spraying like that, you didn’t even shake and still got it in? By yourself?”

I couldn’t exactly say, ‘I was force-trained by ghosts a few days ago.’

So the most textbook answer slipped out of my mouth.

“I just did what I was taught.”

Han Jae-eon snorted.

“Bullsh*t.”

“If just doing what you’re taught was enough, why do patients ever die.”

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