Doctor Face Slapping Short Stories & Novels

On my very first night working the overnight shift at the new hospital I've been transferred to, I run into my wife, Willow Jensen, who claimed she needed to be away on a year-long business trip. Now, she's lying on a gurney outside the delivery room, heavily pregnant, with blood pouring from beneath her. The man kneeling beside her grabs my hand tightly, his desperate pleas ringing in my ears. "Doctor, please! You have to save her!"

The day I perform an emergency surgery, I reallocate the hospital's only dose of a wonder drug. Fresh out of the operating room, I'm pulled away by the Medical Affairs Office. They accuse me of unauthorized usage of the wonder drug and threaten to revoke my medical license. While I struggle to clear my name, a new intern our department chief, Cristina Hardy, just took on sends me a text message. "Dr. Carver, how could you just take a wonder drug without permission? Chief Hardy worked so hard to get approval for that dose. You can't be this reckless! "It's my duty to support Chief Hardy, so I reported you to the Medical Affairs Office myself. A true doctor shows compassion. Someone like you doesn't deserve to wear the white coat. From now on, all medication requests in the department go through me for sign-off!" Looking at the messages, I burst out laughing. He joined our department just a month ago. Seeing how easygoing Chief Hardy is, he started micro-managing everything on her behalf. What he doesn't realize is that my grandmother owns this hospital outright. I spearheaded the development of that rare, imported wonder drug and held its patent. Even his pitiful 800-dollar monthly intern pay comes straight out of my research grant. When did using a drug I developed myself count as an unauthorized allocation?

Ten years ago, my ex-wife, Hailey Anderson, secretly signed an organ donation agreement without my knowledge. She donated the heart of our son, Jayden Smith, to her lover, Seth Parker’s dying son, Charlie Parker. When I arrived at the hospital, Jayden’s body was already in the cold morgue. Hailey was waiting outside another ward. She teared up in joy when Charlie regained his heartbeat. On the day of Jayden’s burial, I signed the divorce agreement. Then, I changed my name and left the city. After ten years of excruciatingly hard work, I specialized in cardiovascular surgery. Other than inventing the first fully implantable artificial heart, I also became the top surgeon globally. Many wealthy people begged me to save their lives. One day, my assistant, Finn Reid, passed me the latest emergency name list for a heart transplant. The first patient in need of a heart was Charlie. Charlie was in a critical condition due to an acute rejection of Jayden’s stolen heart. I was the only doctor who was able to carry out that surgery. Without expression, I picked up my red pen and slashed a big cross on his application form. “I’m not operating on this patient.”

My wife has a severe sex addiction. But in the seven years we've been married, she never lets me touch her. To suppress her urges, she spends all day submerged in ice-cold water, and her arms are covered in needle marks. Several times, I try to initiate intimacy out of concern for her, but her reaction is terrifying. She even threatens to kill herself. "I told you, I only want a Platonic relationship in this lifetime. Can you stop being so selfish? If you insist on making me do that, I'd rather die!" she exclaims. She maintains this unusual obsession for seven years. Even after ending up in the hospital multiple times from suppressing her desires, she refuses to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a man comes in for a pre-check of his phalloplasty enlargement for the ninth time. After the anesthesia takes effect, he begins rambling incoherently. "Honey, I love you so much." Looking at the surgical scars, I shake my head, thinking this guy is really willing to go to extreme lengths for his wife. Then, I hear his final murmur. "Tasha, aren't I so much better compared to your useless husband?" My hand jerks, and I nearly drop the scalpel. It is because my wife's name is Tasha Snyder.

My mother's condition suddenly takes a turn for the worse. She begins coughing up blood, and the doctor says she must undergo surgery as soon as possible. I call my girlfriend, Daniella Dooley, who is working in another state. She is the leading gynecologist in the field and the only doctor with any hope of saving my mother. The moment she receives my call, she sets out without hesitation. But halfway through the journey, she tells me that an emergency surgery has cropped up and that she can't make it back. I crouch in the hospital corridor in despair, calling her again and again. All I can do is watch as my mother's heartbeat on the monitor grows weaker and weaker. On the 99th call, she finally answers. My voice is almost pleading as I say, "Daniella, my mother's condition is really critical right now. You're the only one who can perform this surgery. I'm begging you, please come back!" For a long time, she says nothing. I wait and wait, only for her to hang up without uttering a single word. Then, I see a post from her junior, Jackson Bleeth. It shows a sunny-side-up egg that she has just made for him with her precious hands. Accompanying it is a caption that feels almost provocative. "I had a little accident during surgery today. Not only did Daniella not blame me, but she even encouraged me." So the "emergency surgery" she mentioned is actually cleaning up Jackson's mess. At the moment when I am at my most desperate, she abandons me and chooses to go to another man.

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.”

A high-profile rape case rocks Corvessa City. During the autopsy, I examine the deceased's private area as part of the standard procedure. My wife, a police captain, blows up in front of the onlookers. "Don't we have a female medical examiner in our unit? Do you realize you're re-victimizing the deceased? And your wife is standing right here. Are you really that desperate?" The crowd turns on me in a heartbeat. Bowing to public pressure, the department suspends me and tells me to keep reporting in at my own expense. I hand in my resignation on the spot. Without me, nobody in Corvessa City is going to crack this case.

In the third year of my wolf decay, I was dying. It was a rare condition. I wanted to donate my body to research. I called my mother, three years since I'd last seen her, and asked her to sign the donation consent form. Without her signature, there'd be no one to handle my remains. She was busy with work. "Are you really making up something like this just to get attention?" she snapped. But I begged, and she gave a cold laugh and agreed. "What a miserable thing to deal with. You better actually be dying." Later, my wolf heart ended up on her dissection table. And that woman, who had nothing but contempt for me, actually killed three people for me.

A highway pursuit of a fugitive ended in a crash. I was rushed to the hospital alongside a death-row convict. "The patient's left chest cavity has been pierced by rebar. He needs emergency surgery immediately. Get his family on the line!" I did not want my mother, who was thousands of miles away, to worry. I forced myself to stay conscious and prepared to sign the consent form on my own. Yet the deputy chief of the military hospital snatched the form out of my hands. He ordered the staff to wheel me out of the operating room by force, all so they could treat the barely scratched convict instead. "Save him first. He has a clotting disorder. If the bleeding isn't stopped now, it'll be fatal!" The staff stared at him in disbelief. "But this patient is a police academy cadet. His condition's clearly more critical." The man spared me a single indifferent glance. "Trust my judgment. He won't die. Save the fugitive first." I bit back the pain and reached for the hem of his coat with trembling hands, but he shook me off without a second thought. He spoke again without looking at me. "I'm his father. I'll sign the liability waiver."

I understood babies. The baby in Room 403 cried out, "My butt itches! It is not a stomachache!" A newborn in the ER screamed, "Something is stuck under my belly button!" A preemie babbled softly, "I want my mommy..." None of that prepared me for that day. Dr. Margot Aldrich, the country's foremost authority in pediatrics, stood before a packed auditorium and examined a baby who had screamed himself purple. "We will keep observing." The mother fell to her knees. "Please, my baby is dying..." Margot let out a short laugh. "Am I the expert here, or are you?" The room went silent. In my ears, a tiny voice raged. "Are you grown-ups blind? Something is stuck under my belly button! It is not a stomachache! Somebody cut me open already!" I did not stop to think. I pushed through the crowd, dropped beside the crib, and looked Margot in the eye. "Dr. Aldrich, let me try."

To prove she was fair, Valerie forced me into the family's live-fire drill. She knew I had a severe heart condition. She knew I couldn't stand the sight of blood. Three hours under the blistering sun. My hands shook wildly. I stared at the trembling rabbit tied to the target, terrified to pull the trigger. "You can't even kill a freaking rabbit? How are you supposed to lead this family?" Valerie's icy voice lashed at me from behind. Tears filled my eyes. I finally pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the rabbit. Blood spattered everywhere. The smell and all that red triggered my blood phobia instantly. Everything went pitch black. Chloe, the intern medic, walked over and grabbed me roughly. Her eyes were full of pure malice. "Underboss, her vitals are totally fine. Is she faking it just to escape training?" Valerie looked down at my pale face. Disgust and disappointment covered her face. "Gemma, is this how I raised you? Everyone else finished. You don't get special treatment." "You finish this drill today—even if it kills you!" Then, my chest stopped moving. Dead silence. My soul floated into the air. I looked down at Mom, filled with guilt and despair. I'm sorry, Mom. This time, I really couldn't hold on.

Three days before our wedding, I brought supper for my fiancee, Zoe Anderson, at the hospital. I opened the door of the on-call room and heard moaning sounds. Under the dim lights, the intern, Jack Reid, buried his head against Zoe’s fair shoulder. His hand slipped beneath her open white coat. After Zoe saw me, she pushed him away and tidied her clothes. She looked very calm. “Jack’s pursuing me. He’s infatuated with me, and when he found out that we’re getting married, he threatened to kill himself with a scalpel. “I was worried he’d hurt himself, so I comforted him this way. Our wedding will still go on three days later. “You’ve always been very kind. I believe you won’t mind me saving a life this way, right?”

I'm a top healer at the Neutral Territory Sanctuary. The full moon watch had been draining. I'd barely stepped out the Sanctuary's grand doors when my phone blew up. It was the trauma wing. "Cora, get back here. Now. A patient just came in, severe wolfsbane poisoning. The Head Elder wants you leading the team!" My healer's instinct took over. I turned without a second thought. But then, a string of bizarre, floating red words appeared before my eyes—a fatal warning. 【DON'T YOU DARE STEP INTO THE ADVANCED HEALING ROOM! DON'T JOIN THIS RESCUE!】 【THE LUNA IS ALREADY DEAD. IF YOU GO IN NOW, YOU'RE JUST A SCAPEGOAT FOR THE ELDER'S DAUGHTER!】 【THIS PATIENT IS THE IRONCLAW PACK'S LUNA. THE ENRAGED ALPHA WILL TEAR YOU TO SHREDS. YOUR MATE AND FAMILY WILL BE DRAGGED DOWN WITH YOU!】 My feet froze to the spot. After a few seconds of dead silence, panic and a raw will to survive squeezed my heart. I decided to bet my life on those red lines. I was going all in. My Lycan vision scanned the dark street. My eyes locked onto it—an abandoned wolf trap at the corner of the street. The metal grate was gone, leaving it exposed. I clenched my jaw, squeezed my eyes shut, and without a second of hesitation, I leaped into that bottomless black hole.

When I returned from a mission, I found my Alpha mate, Wyatt, had tattooed his Beta's sigil next to our sacred mating mark. I cut my mission short, stormed back to the pack, and publicly declared my intent to Reject him. The mating mark is sacred, a symbol of two souls eternally bound. Desecrating it is the gravest insult to the Moon Goddess. Wyatt tore the rejection papers to shreds, casting them to the ground. Fury blazed in his wolfish eyes. "Over a sigil? You're tearing us apart over a meaningless symbol. Are you insane?" "Do I look like I'm kidding?" I sneered. "Fine. Let the Moon Goddess be your judge." The color drained from his face. "Faye, if you dare go through with this, I'll strip Rory of his birthright. He'll never be Alpha." "How could I be cursed with a mother like you? You're ruining my future as Alpha! I hate you!"My son, Rory, snarled from the side, his eyes burning with hatred. I looked at this father and son, who was now both strangers to me, and my heart turned to ash. My fingers tightened on my herb pouch. "The moment your father desecrated our mark," I said, my voice eerily calm, "I was already done with you."

Emma Young's childhood friend, Samuel Wright, is currently interning in my hospital. Even though he has misdiagnosed a patient, he remains arrogant and haughty. I personally drag him over to apologize to the patient and his family. On top of that, I request that Samuel reflect on his behavior at the hospital assembly. Samuel vents everything to Emma, only to get berated by her in return. "You're the one screwing up, and yet you still have the gall to complain about Michael? If you make this sort of mistake one more time, you're out!" Emma's reaction delights me. I'm relieved to see that she's a very logical person who doesn't show favoritism to Samuel just because of their old bond. I maintain my strictness around Samuel at work so that I can help him become an outstanding doctor. But one day, the police seek me out as soon as I'm done with an extremely difficult surgery. "Someone has reported you for medical malpractice. Please cooperate with our investigation." The enraged family members have me surrounded soon enough. "So, you're the quack who's responsible for my son's death!" Meanwhile, Emma has an arm wrapped around Samuel. Her gaze is icy the whole time. "It seems that we'll be having a new hospital director soon."

On Mother's Day, my mother-in-law passed away suddenly in the hospital. And my wife—a top-tier, elite surgeon—personally signed the organ donor consent form and led the team that removed her heart. I rushed to the hospital like a madman to confront her, only to find her calmly pulling off her gloves. "Mike's mother has been waiting for this heart for three years. He saved my life once. This is the only way I can repay him. "Mike has no one left but his mother. Can't you be a little more understanding? I'll bring him to lay flowers for your mother. Let's just put this behind us." I stared at the body on the table, face covered, then at the still-damp blood staining her white coat—and I almost laughed out loud from sheer disbelief. She still had no idea… that heart belonged to her own mother.

My husband, Julian Sutton, is busy with work on the day of my prenatal checkup. His childhood sweetheart, Vera Levine, with whom he's been amorous for years, offers to drive me. On the way there, she suddenly swerves and rams into the back of a truck. The car is flattened. Julian is a doctor in the emergency room, but I don't call him. Instead, I dial 911 and wait for assistance. Why? I called him in my past life, and he took me to the hospital. Our child was saved, but Vera died due to significant blood loss. Julian claimed not to blame me and even arranged for me to stay in a private hospital ward. But on the day I was discharged, he dragged me to Vera's grave and stabbed me. I lost the child and was on the verge of death as I stared into his bloodshot eyes. They were filled with unbridled hatred as he snarled, "Vera wouldn't have died if you hadn't grabbed the wheel! Don't think I'll believe you just because you're acting innocent! An eye for an eye—I want you to die for her, but only after experiencing the pain she felt in a hundredfold!" He twisted the blade and stabbed me repeatedly. My blood splattered on Vera's gravestone, dying it red. When I open my eyes again, I find that I've been taken back to the scene of the accident.

I'm Xavier Russell, a legendary surgeon currently ranked number one in the world. Three years ago, I performed 37 surgeries in a war zone with minimal equipment and saved 37 lives, earning me the moniker "God's Hand". On my first day interning at Wessen Hospital, the hospital director, Dylan Lewis, welcomes me at the entrance. He shakes my hand excitedly, then asks why I wanted to become an intern. "I wanted a break from wielding the scalpel," I reply. However, I accidentally bump into the hospital's star surgeon, Sylvia Chase. "A new intern? I have an important neurosurgery to perform. I'll have you know that the patient is a renowned diplomat," she says with a light scoff. She then declares, "You have three seconds to pick up those medical charts." My eyes remain glued to the medical report in her hand, which clearly contains a misdiagnosis. If she performs the surgery, the aforementioned diplomat is guaranteed to die.

The ambulance that's carting a pregnant woman is currently racing down the highway. The pregnant woman's water has already broken, which means she's in a dire situation right now. As I clutch the steering wheel tightly, I make sure to press the gas pedal all the way to the maximum. But the hospital director, Corey Johnston, who has tagged along for the ride, suddenly issues an order. "Pull up at the rest stop ahead." I'm momentarily stunned by the order. But I soon protest anxiously, "The patient can't afford to wait at all! She and her baby might die anytime soon!" Corey merely waves a hand impatiently. "Who's the one calling the shots here—me or you? I've been dabbling in the medical world for 30 years! As if a driver like you know better than me!" Thinking that Corey needs to go to the bathroom urgently, I soon park at the rest stop. But I witness him strolling into a supermarket leisurely, only to come out with two huge bags of snacks a long time later. "I bought my daughter the local specialities. She loves snacks like these the most." As Corey speaks, he tosses the snacks and his phone onto the front passenger seat. His phone screen flickers to life due to an accidental contact, which reveals the wallpaper of the lock screen. It's a photo of Corey and his daughter. I frown at the sight as my breath hitches in my throat. Why do I have a feeling that Corey's daughter looks quite similar to the pregnant woman in the ambulance right now?

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?