What Happens In 'The Med Bed Story: Restoring The Health Of Humanity'?

In my last life, the Fosters acknowledged me as their real son. But my own sister framed me for causing their adopted son's relapse. My biological parents believed her and threw me out. Not long after, I died sick and alone on the street. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the Fosters came to take me home. Gracie Foster stood in front of our parents, pointed at me, and said, "Mom, Dad, he's not my brother!" They looked at me in disappointment, then turned and left. I stood there without taking out the locket that could prove who I was, then quietly walked back into the orphanage. Twenty years later, I became one of the country's leading cardiologist. The woman sitting across from me handed over a medical file, her voice trembling. "Doctor, please. Save my brother." When I saw the name, I stopped. My gaze shifted to her worn, haggard face. I stared at her for a long time before finally saying, "I won't take this patient."

The moment I discover I'm pregnant, Courtney Smith, the leukemia patient I saved three years ago, turns up on my doorstep once again. She claims that her leukemia has relapsed again, so she wants me to abort my baby in order to save her life again. But I'm pregnant with my deceased police husband's baby. So, I tell her that I can only donate my bone marrow to her once I've given birth to my baby. After hearing my answer, not only do Courtney and her family not feel any gratitude toward me, but they also berate me for not helping them out till the end. "You can still have another baby once you lose this one! But if your pregnancy affects my illness in any way, will you be able to take responsibility over this?" Then, the Smiths abduct me to a shady hospital, where they forcibly put me through an abortion and remove my bone marrow. While their operation is a success, my baby and I end up dying on the surgical table. As they gaze at our corpses, the Smiths' faces are plastered with icy expressions. "Don't blame us for what we did. If you were the one with leukemia, we'd still make Court donate her bone marrow to you. One's life is determined by fate. If you can't survive, that just means you're fated to die." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the timeframe three days before Courtney finds out about her leukemia relapse.

"A Year to Heal: The Nurse and the Millionaire" tells the story of Amelia Jones, a woman who has always had bad luck as a faithful companion. After an offer she can't refuse to take care of a rich man in a wheelchair, she sees the opportunity to change her life and fulfill her dream of studying Literature in Europe. But taking care of Alexander Alderidge, a controlling, cynical and arrogant man, will not be an easy task. As Amelia deals with the daily problems of caring for a patient, she also has to face the painful past that haunts her. Alexander, in turn, also has his wounds opened by time, and both need to heal not only his legs, but also their own souls. Over the course of a year, these two characters who are so different, but so similar in their pain, will discover that life can be unpredictable and that love can arise in the most unlikely places. An exciting story about overcoming, maturing and the pursuit of happiness.

King Lincoln was just a young man of 28, but he had the strength of a thousand men. His name had been written in the book of records as the youngest ruler of the Most Powerful Kingdom. His Kingdom was the envy of all the 11 Kingdoms. But One day, one of Lincoln's numerous enemies almost won over him. His attack had almost worked as he was able to hit Lincoln with an extremely poisoned arrow during a war. Lincoln didn't die at the battlefield, no. But when he was taken back to the palace, they got to see how badly injured he was. The arrow was poisoned with a rare substance and it's effect was draining the life out of Lincoln - bit by bit. Physicians tried all they could, but couldn't find a cure. His sister was worried, his three brides were paranoid as well. Everyone wanted a solution for their King because the fall of Lincoln would be the fall of the Kingdom. Finally, his sister found a solution. There was a healer - a young lady with special healing abilities who was likely to heal the King. But she was someone that was locked up and restricted from associating with outsiders by her father. Roseline was never permitted to go out for reasons best known to her father and she wondered why. Lincoln's sister was overly worried about her brother's life and figured she had to get the healer by all means to heal her brother. But would that be possible since Roseline's father particularly hated the King? And even if it was possible, there was going to be a little consequence if Roseline succeeded in healing the King. He'd become a sex addict; addicted to her alone.

After my rebirth, I signed a whole body donation consent letter. In my previous life, my boyfriend's junior was a self-proclaimed miracle worker who claimed she could cure any illness—even late-stage cancer. Every time that woman worked her magic, the same disease that she'd cured would reflect on my body. Overnight, I was diagnosed with over 300 types of diseases, and the bones in my legs were shattered. Just when I was going to talk to my boyfriend, he stormed in holding a checkup report. "You're unbelievable, Cynthia! You had AIDS and didn't tell me? Who was it? God, I can't believe I actually pitied you. You deserve every disease you have." … Yvonne took my place as a healer respected by the world of medicine. I languished and died under excruciating pain and the public's insults. Moments before my demise, her smug cackle reached my ears. "Your life for hundreds. You should be grateful I gave you this chance." Then, my eyes snapped open. And this time, I finally understood how she had done it.

My fiancé's junior colleague went around the hospital every day calling herself "the best girl". When a patient with acute appendicitis was admitted, she mistakenly prescribed laxatives instead of proper treatment. The patient nearly went into shock and died. After the hospital was reported by the patient's family, she simply smiled and said, "I don't even need a supervising doctor to prescribe medication anymore. I'm such a good girl!" On another occasion, she failed to order routine pre-op blood work for a surgical patient. During the procedure, a visiting senior surgeon was exposed and later contracted HIV. She actually puffed out her chest and said, "Even if everyone had to stay up all night helping me save the doctor, I'm still the best girl!" I protested more than once and urged my fiancé to dismiss her. He refused every time. He brushed it off with a laugh, saying "this good girl" just needed time and experience. Then, a prominent patient was transferred from a military hospital for surgery. She secretly tampered with the medical records, switching the pathology findings from the left lung to the right. She even revised the surgical plan, recommending removal of the patient's completely healthy right lung. Luckily, I caught the mistake in time, restored the correct pathology report, and performed the surgery successfully. After the patient recovered, he asked for our team to be recognized. To my disbelief, Elena Bakers ran to my fiancé in tears. "I wrote the entire report by myself! All by myself! I'm the best little girl! "Why do you always take credit away from me? It took so much courage for this little girl to be brave just once! "You're all horrible!" Elena stormed out of the hospital and was struck and killed by a car on the spot. My fiancé did not say a word. However, on the very day I was appointed hospital director, he produced falsified evidence accusing me of altering records and causing multiple medical accidents to advance my career. I was arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. As the verdict was delivered, he looked at me with unmistakable satisfaction. "You'll never make up for what you owe Elena. Not in this lifetime." When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Elena altered the surgical plan.