Doctor Feel-Good Story Short Stories & Novels

Two years ago, as a graduate of Werewolf Medical School, I volunteered to go to the most remote and poorest pack, as it had always been my dream to help werewolf patients in need. I heard from my teacher that the werewolves in the Rogue Pack were the poorest and that their living conditions were the worst. Most of the werewolves there were old and weak, so I volunteered to go to that pack as soon as I graduated. After I arrived, I helped them build an infirmary and even set up a blood station. Every year, I led them in voluntary blood donations. But one time—right after I had taken a short break following a blood donation—they turned on me. They slandered me, calling me a selfish and heartless healer. Worse still, they accused me of faking illness, claiming I was lying comfortably in bed while patients were dying—refusing to lift a finger to save them. Not only that, they stormed into the infirmary, seized all my herbs and equipment, and completely trashed the place I had built for them with my own hands. Recalling the days I had spent day and night healing them—only to see my infirmary destroyed and my dream shattered—I let out a bitter smile. I picked up the phone and called the dean of my home pack. "I'm ready to return," I said. "I want to serve the patients in our own pack." Then, without a trace of regret, I left that place behind. However, after I gave up, the whole pack regretted it and begged me to return.

“Camille, I’ll love you forever!” Jameson let out a low, agonized growl. Just as he was about to climax, his phone suddenly began to buzz. He ignored it, of course. Now was hardly the time. However, his phone lit up again. The moment he saw the text on the screen, his body froze. Camille heard him answer the call. “Hello?” In the deep silence of the night, the voice on the phone cut through the stillness, clear and unmistakable. “Jameson, did you know that Sylvia—” Jameson switched languages and cut in with a sharp command, “Keep it down. It's not a good time.” The other person switched languages too, though he was still loud. “The hospital results came in. Sylvia is in the final stages of cancer. She only has a month left! Her last wish is to become your wife. Can you grant her that before she passes?” Jameson’s expression changed immediately. “What?! Wait for me!” He ended the call and turned to Camille. “Camille, something urgent came up. I need to step out for a bit. Be good and stay home. I’ll be back after you’ve had some sleep.” Before she could respond, he rose to wash up, changed his clothes, and left without looking back. Moments later, her phone buzzed. Sylvia: [Camille, you lost. I told you—Jameson has always been mine.] Right above it was a message from three days ago: [If I tell him I have cancer, do you think Jameson will leave you and come to me? I bet he will.] Camille’s gaze slowly shifted from her phone screen to the open bedroom door. What Jameson did not know was that she had already picked up a new language. She understood every word of that call. After a long moment, a faint, bitter smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, I lost...”

In my previous lifetime, the entire medical world had acknowledged me as Godhand. But I was forced to become a scapegoat for my genius younger brother, Matthew Lachman, in a medical malpractice case, which resulted in me getting my medical license revoked and being sentenced to seven years in prison Before I was set to go to jail, my fiancee, Winona Green, personally severed my tendon in my dominant wrist just so she could force me to sign the papers. Since then, I was tormented and bullied relentlessly in jail. In the end, I died in my cold and dark cell out of depression. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm set to go to jail as a wronged person. This time, I no longer remain depressed. I decide to continue living properly so that I can clear my name one day. In the prison, I use my amazing medical skills to save the inmates' lives and build my own connections. Since I've been on my best behavior, my sentence keeps getting reduced. That's how I get released from prison in advance. After my release, I hide my identity and open an auto repair shop on the streets. One day, my entire family barges into my shop. My mother kneels in a puddle of grease as she says pleadingly, "Jamie, Matthew is ill. You're the only one who can perform the high-precision surgery on him. Please save him!" Meanwhile, Winona clutches the engagement contract from before. With tears running down her cheeks, she promises me, "I will marry you right away as long as you can save Matthew's life!" I merely lift my hand, which is trembling so much that I can barely hold a wrench properly. A self-deprecating smile is plastered on my face this time. "Have you forgotten that you're the ones who have personally crippled my hand? Since you want me to perform that surgery so badly, does that mean you actually want Matthew dead instead?"

After being reborn, the very first thing I do is schedule a hysterectomy. In my past life, my boyfriend's first love started a livestream channel to build her image as a brilliant OB-GYN. The moment she saw me vomiting, she deliberately claimed on livestream that I was pregnant. Right then and there, my boyfriend insisted that he had never even slept with me. I tried to explain, but she handed me medication to help sustain the pregnancy. She even told me to take care of myself and take them on time. Viewers made fun of my boyfriend, saying I had cheated on him. Furious, he broke up with me. Later, my personal information leaked, and countless men began harassing me for hookups. I couldn't take it anymore and jumped to my death. Meanwhile, his first love rode the fame wave of her brilliant OB-GYN persona, gaining followers and being idolized by her fans. But this time, I don't even have a uterus. Let's see how she plans to fake a pregnancy scandal now.

A week before the wedding, I took my dad to the hospital where my fiancé worked for an upper endoscopy under sedation. Dad had gotten up extra early to shave and put on a gleaming white shirt and a new pair of shoes. Clutching his numbered ticket, he asked me quietly, "If Yale's busy, we don't need to see him. We shouldn't hold him up." I patted his arm. "Don't worry. I made an appointment. It wouldn't be holding him up." He'd been up since five without anything to eat. By eleven, his legs were trembling from standing. I texted Yale Xavier. [Dad can barely stand anymore. How many people are ahead of us?] It took him a long time to reply. [Wait your turn like everyone else.] Another hour passed. Just as our turn finally came, they called in the mother and daughter who'd been sitting the whole time. Through the gap in the door, I heard the girl ask, "Yale, who are those people outside? Are you sure it's okay to give me their spot?" "Sure. I happen to know them a little. They're father and daughter. They won't mind." I looked down at the ticket in my palm, soaked with my dad's sweat. Dad had paid his tuition for medical school and his doctorate, and in five days, I was supposed to marry him. Now we were just people he happened to know. I rolled up the ticket and tucked it into my pocket, then helped Dad to the nearest place serving breakfast. As soon as we sat down, I sent a message to our family and friends. [The wedding is off.]

When a wave of labor pain brought me to my knees in the hospital hallway, Orson Caldwell, a brilliant doctor, was just about to wheel me into the delivery room. Just then, his phone rang. When he answered the call, his expression fell. "Seraphina, Cressie's teddy is having trouble giving birth. It's in critical condition, but the vet clinic in her town is closed. I have to perform a C-section on it." I clutched my stomach as blood slowly began to seep between my legs. "I'm fully dilated. If you leave now, what am I supposed to do?" Orson looked annoyed. "We'll get another doctor to do it. You're only giving birth, but Cressie's dog could die. I'll make it up to you and our child someday." With that, he rushed into the elevator without even taking off his white coat. I laughed through my tears, pulled out my phone, and called my father. "Dad, I'll agree to the arranged marriage."

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!"

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 daughter, Lilah Olson, was hit by a car and needed immediate medical attention. Instead of calling my surgeon wife, Elina Olson, I raced against the clock to find another doctor. In my previous life, Lilah and Elina’s first love, Nolan Hicks, were involved in car accidents at the same time. I called Elina first and begged her to operate on Lilah. She rushed over to perform the surgery, only to miss Nolan’s desperate call for help. Elina didn’t blame me. Instead, she comforted me, saying that everyone had their own fate. That was until our third wedding anniversary. She slipped sleeping pills into my water and replaced Lilah’s calcium supplements with rat poison. She grabbed me by the hair and forced me to stay conscious, making me watch as she hacked Lilah’s corpse to pieces, blow after blow, until it was nothing but bloody pulp. Then she used a scalpel to slash open my major artery and stabbed me more than a thousand times. “If it weren’t for you two, Nolan wouldn’t have died!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Lilah was hit by the car.

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."

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."

My mother is hospitalized due to a terminal illness. She's in urgent need of a kidney transplant to save her life. I'm the only one who can perform the surgery, but I give the kidney to a stranger. My father and husband get on their knees before me on the day of the surgery. They beg me to save my mother. However, I shrug and say, "I can't do anything about this. A life is a life, regardless of who the person is. This is what she gets for coming late—death is waiting for her."

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."

When my son suffered a heart attack in the middle of the night, I rushed him to the hospital where my wife worked. Instead of taking charge herself, she handed the operation to an intern. "New doctors need opportunities to learn. I'll be right there supervising. Nothing will happen." But before the surgery even began, a phone call pulled her away, leaving a trembling Marvin Vance alone in the operating room. My son never made it off the operating table. I collapsed in the hallway, sobbing in grief. Yet I overheard my wife gently comforting Marvin. "For your first surgery, you held on this long. You've done an amazing job, my little cinnamon roll." Awkwardly copying trendy slang younger people used online, she reassured him with endless patience. Then she turned to me with a cold expression and demanded that I sign a letter forgiving Marvin. "He has his whole future ahead of him. You can't destroy his life." I tore the document to pieces and threatened to call the police and expose what had happened. In response, she arranged for a medical donation and had my son's body dissected that very night. Driven insane by grief, I threw myself from a building while clutching my son's ashes. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of my son's surgery. This time, I immediately contacted my parents and transferred him to another hospital. But that night, they still dissected a child.

A patient was dying in the ER when my neighbor offered to drive me to the hospital. But the second we hit the highway, she slammed on the brakes and slowed the car to ten miles an hour. I begged her to go faster. Every second could cost that patient their life. She sneered, “In such a hurry to see your lover? Don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been seducing my husband behind my back! “I called him twenty times, and he never picked up. His location is right beside your hospital! “Then I’ll drive as slowly as I want. I’ll make sure you two adulterers suffer every inch of the way.” But when we reached the hospital and she saw who the patient was, she dropped to her knees before me and smashed her forehead bloody.

A doomsday blizzard hit just before Christmas. The zombie virus exploded. Our fortress was a top-tier ski resort. Now, it was about to fall. My husband, Ethan, was a former Navy SEAL. Our head of security. He swore his defense system was foolproof. The blizzard knocked out the power. But he’d sent all the backup generator fuel to the summit. Just to light up a Christmas tree for Chloe. He even had a few guards up there with them, throwing a party. In my last life, I fought him. I herded everyone into the last bunker. But Chloe whined. A crowded Christmas was boring, she said. She stormed out of the safe room and ran right into the jaws of the horde. Ethan carved a path through the horde to secure the walls. Then he sat in silence, cradling Chloe’s bones. He pretended he wanted to start over with me. He let me get pregnant with his child. The day I gave birth, he knocked me unconscious and dumped me into a nearby zombie nest. He always rescued me just before I died. He’d inject me with a serum that kept me from turning. Nineteen times, he threw me to the zombies. I died in agony as they tore the flesh from my bones. "If you hadn't sabotaged my defenses," he’d hissed, "if you hadn't crashed our party and led the horde right to us, Chloe would still be alive!" I opened my eyes. I was back. Christmas Eve.

I return to the country after attending an international anesthesia academic conference. That's when I see the news of my boyfriend and twin sister getting married. I'm anxious to verify its authenticity, but my sister drugs me and induces me. "A substitute's child will only be an unwelcome bastard even if it's born. I'm just helping it move on to a better life." Then, she slices me open with a scalpel. She gouges my womb out, causing me to die from significant blood loss. Meanwhile, my boyfriend believes her lies. He's sure he's not the father of my child. He ignores my messages begging him to save me. Instead, he spreads the word about me eloping with someone else. He even wipes all traces of me from his life. "I will never see her again, forever and ever." Five years later, surveillance footage of my sister cruelly murdering me surfaces.

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.

A week before the marking ceremony, my fiance, Alpha Mason Wallace, suddenly switches the venue to Firefly Grove. His friends tease him. "You changed the venue just because Serena wants to see fireflies? And you didn't even tell Cora? What if she shows up at an empty site? "Besides, Cora's the one who picked Moonlight Bay. Do you really think she'll go along with this?" Mason says casually, "She burned her skin saving me. She won't fight me over a venue change. Besides, she planned every detail herself. She'll notice the update." I stand outside the doorway, listening in silence. Then, I slip away without a word. When the day finally comes, Mason calls from Firefly Grove, panic in his voice. "The ceremony's about to start. Where are you?" I stare at the shimmer on Moonlight Bay and answer calmly, "I'm already here. My ceremony is about to start too."

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?