[Medical Human Story-Episode 54]- Calcified Times(3)

 A narrative of humanity blooming amidst chronic renal failure and tumoral calcinosis


 

Part III: The Choice Called Surgery

What is the most harrowing moment in a hospital? Is it the fleeting second when a diagnosis is finally reached, or the heavy instant when treatment begins? No. For a physician, the most difficult moment is having to explain a choice to a patient—especially when that choice carries the weight of an entire life.

The Surgical Conference

That morning, I found myself in the surgical conference room. Present were two orthopedic surgeons, a nephrologist, and I. On the glowing screen hung the CT images of Mr. Kim Tae-hoon.

"The patient is a 42-year-old male," I began, my voice steady as I flipped the slide. "A long-term dialysis patient for twelve years." The next slide illuminated the room. "Currently presenting with bilateral tumoral calcinosis of the groin."

One of the orthopedic surgeons leaned in. "The size is quite substantial," he remarked. I nodded. "It is currently over 8cm." The nephrologist asked, "Is there pain?" "Yes," I replied. "It has begun to impede his ability to walk." A profound silence settled over the room. I could feel the singular thought shared by everyone present. Surgery.

The Silence of the Conference Room

The orthopedic surgeon was the first to break the quiet. "Surgery is feasible," he stated. "And the risks?" I asked. He paused, weighing his words. "The proximity to major blood vessels means it won't be simple." "Furthermore," the nephrologist added, "as a dialysis patient, his recovery will be slow." The air in the room grew heavy. "But the masses are still growing," I reminded them. The orthopedic surgeon nodded slowly. "Then eventually..." He left the sentence unfinished, but we all knew the unspoken conclusion: the final decision belonged to the patient.

The Consultation Room

A few days later, Tae-hoon and his sister sat across from me in the consultation room. I began my explanation with deliberate slowness. "I would like to discuss the treatment options with you." His face was etched with tension.

"The first is medical management," I explained. His sister spoke up, her voice trembling. "Will that make them disappear?" "It is unlikely they will vanish entirely," I answered honestly. A shadow crossed her face. "The second option," I continued, "is surgery." Tae-hoon spoke softly. "You mean... taking the stones out?" "Yes," I nodded.

A Patient’s Inquiry

He sat in contemplation for a moment before looking up. "Professor," he began. "If I have the surgery... will they come back?" "There is a possibility," I told him truthfully. He chuckled. "I figured as much." I looked into his eyes and saw, to my surprise, a strange sense of serenity.

Unexpected Words

"I’ll do it anyway," he said. I was taken aback. "Why such a quick decision?" He smiled faintly. "I hate the feeling of stones inside my body." He paused, his gaze drifting toward the window. "...And just once, I want to walk properly again." Those words struck a chord deep within me.

A Sister’s Tears

His sister began to weep. "Oppa..." she sobbed. "You don't have to push yourself." Tae-hoon just laughed gently. "It’s okay." He added, "I’ve survived twelve years of dialysis; surely I can handle one surgery." As I listened, I realized that this man was possessed of a profound, quiet strength.

The Night Before

On the eve of the surgery, I was making my rounds through the ward. I found Tae-hoon standing by the window. "Can't sleep?" I asked. "No," he smiled. I took a seat nearby. "Are you afraid?" He thought for a second. "A little," he admitted. I nodded in understanding. "Professor," he said after a silence. "Have you seen many patients like me?" "Not many," I confessed. He chuckled. "I guess that makes me a research subject, then." "Perhaps a little," I laughed with him.

A Human Question

Suddenly, his tone shifted. "Professor," he said. "Doctors see death quite often, don't they?" I found myself unable to answer. He continued, "I’m not ready to die yet." I looked into his eyes and saw it—the raw, unyielding will to live.

The Physician’s Record

That night, I sat down to write the clinical notes. Patient: Kim Tae-hoon. Diagnosis: Dialysis-related Tumoral Calcinosis. Treatment Plan: Surgical excision. I paused my pen. I realized that this operation was not merely about extracting stones. It was a man’s desperate, beautiful attempt to reclaim his life.


To be continued! 

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