Why Is 'I Gave Treatment Not Them' Important In Medicine?

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."

After passing my veterinary licensing exam, I posted the news online to celebrate. My elderly neighbor, Gloria Vance, immediately fired off a string of messages. [Miles, my grandson's sick. Could you treat him?] [I'm really worried about the boy. He's had a fever for days now.] I slowly typed out a single: [?] Another message came through. [We're neighbors, after all. Just show a little compassion and save the child.] Trying to be kind, I wrote back, [Mrs. Vance, if your grandson's sick, you need to get him to a hospital right away. I can't treat him.] To my surprise, she fired back a voice message. "Aren't you studying medicine? What's the harm in taking a look at my grandson? How can a person be so stingy? "If you won't help, I'll report you to your university and have them expel a student with character as rotten as yours!" I was floored. I study veterinary medicine. How am I supposed to treat a human child?

I was the sole heir to the Thirteen Needles of Revival, a legendary healing art. My consultation fee was twenty thousand dollars per visit, yet every year countless tycoons, politicians, and powerful elites lined up outside my door. As long as a patient still drew breath, the Thirteen Needles of Revival could pull them back from Death's doorstep. Over the past five years, I had awakened a wealthy businessman who had been declared brain-dead after a car accident. I had also prolonged the life of a centenarian suffering from multiple organ failure. Even terminally ill patients whose families had already been told to prepare for the worst were able to walk out of the hospital on their own after receiving my treatment. There was only one ironclad rule. I treated no more than ten patients a year. Once those ten slots were filled, no amount of money, power, or influence could change my mind. Whoever came next would have to wait until the following year. This year, only one slot remained. Suddenly, a group of bodyguards dressed in black burst through the door. They carried in a man covered in blood and dropped to their knees before me. “Please save our boss! We'll pay whatever it takes!” I looked at the man they carried inside and spoke coldly. “Take him out. I wouldn't save this man even if it killed me.”

My mom ran a clinic her whole life, charging just five dollars for cold medicine. After I took over the clinic, I followed her teachings closely, doing my best to care for the folks in our community. However, after I charged an influencer 30 dollars for medication, I got blasted online as a scam clinic that was out to rob people blind. The entire town showed up at my door, young and old alike, demanding I return the 'overcharged' fees. I gave them exactly what they wanted and refunded every penny before shutting down the clinic for good. "There you go, just like you wanted. The clinic's closed. From now on, if you've got health concerns, feel free to drive 30 miles to the county hospital for consultation. I wish you all good health." The very next day, they were back at my door again. Only this time, they were begging me to reopen.

The first thing I did after being reborn was add penicillin, a drug the patient was severely allergic to, into his pre-surgery medication administration record. The hospital leadership exploded. “Have you lost your mind?” “Are you trying to kill the patient?” I smiled as I accepted the suspension notice they handed me. In my previous life, I had been the lead cardiac surgeon for this operation. Back then, I refused a request from my wife, Shannon Wright, whose childhood friend, Jonah Hill, wanted to use my patient as ‘practice’ during the surgery. Right there in, Shannon threw a tantrum and demanded a divorce. In the chaos, she ripped out the patient’s blood transfusion line and even knocked over the blood bags, causing the wealthy patient to die on the table. However, they pinned the entire medical malpractice scandal on me. With the security footage wiped clean, I was sentenced to death in the end. My parents sold everything they owned and gathered eight million dollars. They gave the money to Shannon, begging her to hire a lawyer and help overturn my case. Instead, she told them that she and Jonah had been having an affair. From the very beginning, I had only been their scapegoat. The shock shattered my parents. While driving home in a daze, they lost control of the car and plunged off an overpass bridge. Both of them died on the spot. Now, when I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day of that wealthy patient’s surgery.

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.