[Medical Human Story – The Boundary of Life] Episode 49 – The Night of Crimson Rain(3)
Part III: A 0.1 mm Battle — The Final Crossroads Between Life and Death
Miracles never linger for long.
The moment Ms. Myeong-suk Park first opened her eyes, a collective breath
was held in the intensive care unit. Yet even then, I could not allow myself to
relax. The early phase of recovery after a Duret hemorrhage is the most
dangerous period of all.
“Doctor, her blood pressure is rising again.”
At the nurse’s voice, I immediately turned to the monitor.
Systolic blood pressure: 185 mmHg.
My heart sank.
“Increase sedation. Start nicardipine. Check intracranial pressure.”
Hypertension → rebleeding → re-herniation.
This formula was painfully familiar—and mercilessly cruel.
After Awakening — A More Dangerous Battle Begins
As consciousness begins to return, patients instinctively attempt to
breathe on their own, cough, and move. Every one of those movements can cause a
sudden spike in intracranial pressure.
“She must not move, even a little.”
I explained quietly to Seoyeon.
“Her survival itself is a miracle. But paradoxically, this is also the
most dangerous time.”
Seoyeon nodded, holding her mother’s hand with even greater care.
Sudden Alarm — The Crimson Shadow on CT
Early morning, postoperative day four.
An alarm ripped through the ICU.
“Doctor! ICP 38!”
I ran.
The numbers on the monitor were unmistakable.
A sudden surge in intracranial pressure.
“CT, now!”
During transport, Ms. Park’s breathing became irregular again, and her
pupillary reflex slowed.
The moment the CT images appeared, I knew.
Rebleeding.
A new hyperdense lesion near the cerebellar resection site.
And once again, the brainstem was being forced upward.
“…So it begins again.”
The Moment of Choice — Reoperation or Dignified Farewell
I called Seoyeon into the consultation room.
She already sensed everything.
“It’s gotten dangerous again, hasn’t it?”
I nodded.
“There has been rebleeding.”
“And if you operate again…”
“The chance of success is less than five percent. Even if she survives,
the likelihood of a persistent vegetative state or severe disability is
extremely high.”
Silence.
It lasted only seconds, yet felt like years.
Seoyeon’s eyes trembled.
“Then… do we have to give up?”
I could not answer.
This moment never belongs solely to the physician.
It belongs to the family.
A Mother’s Words
Seoyeon took a small notebook from her bag.
“This is my mother’s diary… she used to write in it every day.”
On the last page was a single sentence:
If I ever have to remain lying in bed for a long time, no longer myself,
please let me go quietly.
Her hands trembled.
“My mother… she always lived with pride. She never wanted to become a
burden to anyone.”
Tears fell onto the pages.
One Last Surgery, One Last Hope
Yet Seoyeon lifted her head.
“Still… please… just give her one more chance.”
In her eyes, I saw a choice free of regret.
“Alright.”
The Second Surgery — A 0.1 mm War
The air in the operating room felt colder than ever.
This surgery was far more dangerous than the first.
The swollen brain. Fragile vessels. An exhausted heart.
“Even a 0.1 mm mistake could injure the brainstem.”
Under the microscope, I held the micro-instruments.
One vessel. One nerve.
0.1 mm.
That was the distance between life and death.
Every nerve in my fingers tightened.
Searching between swollen brain tissues for newly ruptured microvessels,
controlling the bleeding, and decompressing again.
Four hours.
Six hours.
Eight hours.
Cardiac Arrest — The Cruelest Moment
Near the end of surgery.
The monitor suddenly fluctuated.
“Heart rate 40… 30…”
“Atropine!”
“Cardiac arrest!”
Beeeeeeeep—
The ECG flattened into a straight line.
“Start CPR!”
My hands moved automatically, compressing her chest.
“Prepare defibrillation!”
“200 joules!”
Click.
“Clear!”
Bang!
Her body jolted.
Beep— Beep—
Her heart began to beat again.
A wave of relief swept through the operating room.
The Doctor’s Hands, the Human Hands
I paused, placing my hand gently on Ms. Park’s forehead.
“Just a little longer… please hold on.”
This was not the voice of a doctor.
It was the prayer of a human being.
Dawn — And Silence
When the surgery finally ended, faint dawn light filtered through the
windows.
As we transferred her back to the ICU, I asked myself:
Had I made the right choice?
No one ever answers this question.
Waiting — The Most Painful Treatment
The waiting began again.
Every monitor reading, every flicker of a finger movement,
held everyone breathless.
And then—
After seventy-two hours.
Ms. Park once again, ever so faintly…
To be continued! -> https://medicalhumanstory.blogspot.com/2026/02/medical-human-story-boundary-of-life_0314761639.html
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