Chapter 2

Lewis didn't seem satisfied, so he added, "Also, from now on, try to act like a professional. Stop behaving like some cowboy doctor."

I paused and looked at him. "Well, then. Can you please tell me what the diagnostic criteria and differential points for stress-induced cardiomyopathy are?"

Lewis froze, stammering, "Uh… Well, that… depends on ECG and echocardiography findings… It's a… kind of…"

I stopped looking at him. He huffed, clearly annoyed, and walked away.

I remembered three years ago when the hospital director, Kelvin Holder, personally came to the state hospital ICU to recruit me.

He'd shaken my hand and said, "Cody, come to our hospital. I'll give you full autonomy. Your CPR skills are top-notch. You can save more lives."

Looking back, it felt like a joke.

…

I'd been demoted to resident, with a lot less responsibility.

I no longer took part in emergency rescues. Instead, I followed the standard residency protocol to the letter. I did my rounds, wrote up charts, and issued medical orders.

I handed over my shift on time and left the second the clock struck.

Yesterday, a car accident patient arrived in critical condition. The nurse called me out of habit. I glanced at her and said calmly, "Go get Dr. Robinson. He's the attending physician now."

The nurse panicked. "Dr. Robinson's in the office! He said he's working on an important academic paper!"

I said nothing and walked out of the ward.

I didn't linger for any critical patients anymore.

After work, for the first time, I skipped the hospital library. I went to a fencing gym instead.

I strapped on the heavy armor, pulled the helmet down, and gripped the cold blade. I let all my anger and frustration out through every thrust and parry.

The next day, Lewis posted a file in the department group chat.

The file was titled "Pilot Guidelines for Standardizing Medical Charts and Aligning with International Documentation Systems".

It was a dozen-page PDF filled with complex charts and definitions, introducing an entirely new medical chart template.

All terms had to use official full titles from the national medical association. No common abbreviations allowed. It even added massive sections for data analysis and references.

The chat went silent.

Seconds later, my phone started blowing up with private messages from colleagues.

"Dr. Parker, what the hell is this guy doing? He wants us to write a chart like it's a thesis?"

"Is he out of his mind? We're treating patients, not publishing papers!"

"Today on rounds, he made the nurse say 'cardiac pulsation frequency' instead of 'heart rate'! Seriously?"

"This isn't aligning with international standards. It's just extra work! By the time he finishes writing this for an emergency patient, they'll be dead!"

"Pure PowerPoint doctor! All talk, no action!"

I stared at Lewis's self-important notice, saying nothing.

An older colleague privately messaged me, asking what some of the "standardized terms" even meant.

I patiently explained, then turned off my phone.

My complete "check-out" attitude sharply contrasted with Lewis' useless micromanagement.

I used to be the backbone of this department. No matter how complicated the emergency, everyone felt secure with me around.

Now, the moment a critical patient arrived, chaos broke out.

Lewis would just stand off to the side, barking orders in all the standard terms from his new guide but never lifting a hand himself.

Colleagues' resentment grew, and some privately started to miss the efficiency and dependability I used to provide.

I knew they were waiting for a real crisis to hit.

…

I submitted my annual leave request to Gabriel—a full 30 days. It was the total time I had accumulated over the past five years.