With These Shears

I was saving a patient’s life when I cut through her bra with a pair of trauma shears.
My fiancée, Monica, posted a video of me performing chest compressions online.
“I know you’re saving a life,” she wrote, “but doesn’t the patient’s privacy matter? And your hands were all over her… As your fiancée, that makes me really uncomfortable.”
The story blew up online. The hospital, wanting to avoid a PR nightmare, chose the path of least resistance.
I was demoted, my entire annual bonus was docked, and a formal reprimand was placed in my file. After years of dedicating my life to saving people, I was being branded a pervert.
So I gave up.
I wouldn’t save another soul.
And that’s when the whole hospital started to panic.

1
“George, this is a lesson for you,” Monica said, her arms crossed. “We’re getting married soon. Even if you’re a doctor, you need to show some respect for our relationship!”
I just stared at her, at this woman I was about to marry.
“Are you done?”
Monica froze. “What kind of attitude is that? You still don’t think you did anything wrong?”
“Whatever you say.”
As the words left my mouth, I felt something essential between us shatter into a million pieces.
Her face flushed crimson, as if I’d just slapped her. “Fine! ‘Whatever I say’? George, we’re through! This wedding is off!”
She snatched her phone from the table, spun around, and stormed out.
Dr. Matthews, the department head, scowled and tapped his pen on the desk. “Look at this mess you’ve made! Do you see how upset Monica is?”
He slid a piece of paper toward me. “To contain the fallout, you’ll write a formal, detailed apology. You will read it aloud at the next hospital-wide assembly and admit to your inappropriate conduct.”
I looked at him, saying nothing.
His eyes darted away for a second before he regained his authoritative glare. “That’s an order, George. And it’s your only chance.”
The next day, a notice of my disciplinary action was posted on the hospital’s internal network and on every bulletin board. The wording was severe.
“Improper medical procedure.”
“Lack of sufficient humanistic care for the patient.”
“Dr. George Cole is hereby demoted, with forfeiture of his full annual performance bonus. This is to serve as a warning to all staff.”
Every word felt like a public execution.
Kevin, one of the interns, sent me a discreet text. “George, we all have your back. We know you were just trying to save her. But… you should probably lay low for a while. Dr. Matthews is on the warpath.”
I switched off my phone. I could have guessed.
Dr. Matthews’ nephew, Ryan, had just returned with a fancy fellowship degree from overseas and started at the hospital last week. The old man had been itching to promote him, to give him my position as an attending physician.
Monica’s little drama had handed him the perfect excuse.
I walked back to my desk and silently booted up my computer. I meticulously organized, printed, and compiled all the case files, surgical records, and post-op follow-up plans for every critical patient under my care.
Then, I formatted the personal drive on my work computer, erasing years of my research data and draft papers.
A week later, at the hospital-wide assembly, Dr. Matthews stood at the podium, his voice booming. “…and in light of Dr. Cole’s unprofessional conduct, the board has decided to revoke his status as an attending physician.”
The auditorium was dead silent.
“Now, please join me in giving a warm welcome to the newest member of our cardiothoracic surgery team, a brilliant mind joining us from his fellowship abroad, Dr. Ryan Matthews!”
A young man in a crisp new lab coat, his hair slicked back with gel, stood up and gave the crowd a condescending nod.
Dr. Matthews beamed at him. “Effective today, Dr. Ryan Matthews will be officially taking over all of Dr. Cole’s former duties.”
I sat in the back corner, my face a mask of stone.
Ryan sauntered over to my desk and rapped his knuckles on it. “Hey. Time to clear out your stuff.” His chin was tilted up, his expression a perfect blend of arrogance and disdain. “Your new spot is over there in the corner. Where the residents belong.”
He leaned in. “Also, your work computer stays. I need to inspect it to make sure you’re not taking any sensitive department data with you.”
I glanced up at him, didn’t say a word, and began packing the few personal items I kept at my desk.
That didn’t seem to be enough for him. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added. “From now on, let’s try to maintain a certain level of professionalism in this department. A little less… back-alley medic, you know?”
I paused and looked him straight in the eye. “In that case, perhaps you can enlighten me. What are the diagnostic criteria and differential points for Takotsubo cardiomyopathy?”
Ryan’s smug expression faltered. He sputtered, “Well, that’s… obviously based on the specific EKG and echocardiogram findings… it’s a type of…”
I’d already turned away. Realizing he’d made a fool of himself, he scoffed and stalked off.
I thought back to three years ago, when the old hospital director had personally come to recruit me from the ICU at St. Jude’s Regional. He had gripped my hand and said, “George, come work with us. I’ll give you full autonomy. Your world-class CPR skills could save so many more lives here.”
What a joke it all seemed now.
As a resident, my workload was significantly lighter. I no longer participated in any emergency surgeries. I followed the resident’s protocol to the letter: rounds, charts, orders. I handed off my cases on time and clocked out the second my shift was over.
Yesterday, a critical patient from a car wreck was brought in. A nurse, out of habit, yelled for me. I took one look at the monitor and told her calmly, “Find Dr. Ryan. He’s the attending on call.”
“Dr. Ryan is in his office!” she said, her voice frantic. “He said he’s compiling important academic data!”
I didn't reply. I just walked out of the room. I no longer spent an extra minute on any critical patient.
After work, for the first time in years, I didn’t go to the hospital library to review medical journals.
I went to a fencing club.
I suited up in the heavy protective gear, pulled on the helmet, and gripped the cold steel of the épée. I channeled all my rage and suffocating frustration into the sharp, clean lines of the duel.
The next day, a file appeared in the department’s group chat, posted by Ryan. The title was: A Trial Initiative for the Optimization of Departmental Charting Standards in Alignment with Advanced International Medical Documentation Systems.
It was a dozen-page PDF filled with convoluted charts and jargon, outlining a brand-new template for patient notes. It demanded that all medical terms be written out in their full, official names—no common abbreviations allowed—and added numerous new sections for data analysis and literature citations.
The group chat went silent.
A few seconds later, my phone exploded with private messages.
“George, what the hell is this guy’s problem? He wants us to write a Ph.D. thesis for every patient chart?”
“Is he insane? We’re treating people in America, not writing for some European journal. What’s with all this pretentious crap?”
“During rounds today, he insisted a nurse say ‘cardiac pulsation frequency’ instead of ‘heart rate.’ It’s just making things more complicated for no reason!”
“This isn't about international standards; it’s about creating pointless busy work! By the time we finish one of his charts, the patient in the ER will be long dead!”
“He’s a textbook doctor. All theory, no practice.”
I saw Ryan’s condescending announcement in the chat and said nothing. An older colleague messaged me, asking what a few of the “standardized terminologies” even meant. I quietly explained them to him. Then I shut off my phone.
My complete detachment and Ryan’s clueless micromanagement created a stark contrast in the department. I used to be the anchor. No matter how chaotic the emergency, everyone felt grounded when I was there. Now, every time a critical case came in, the ward devolved into panic and confusion. Ryan would just stand on the sidelines, barking orders using his new “standardized terms,” never getting his own hands dirty.
The resentment among my colleagues was growing thicker by the day. People started whispering about how much they missed my efficiency and decisiveness.
I knew what they were waiting for.
They were waiting for a real crisis to erupt.
I submitted my request for annual leave to Dr. Matthews.
Thirty days.
The full amount of vacation time I’d accrued over the past five years.
His face darkened the moment he saw the form. “George, what is the meaning of this?” He crumpled the paper and threw it at me. “The department is short-staffed as it is. Are you taking this much time off just to spite me?”
He lowered his voice, his tone laced with menace. “Don’t think you’re untouchable just because you’re a resident now. You have a long career ahead of you. Piss me off, and I have plenty of ways to make sure you never practice in this state again. You think a demotion is bad? Believe me, I can have you fired.”
I said nothing. I just reached into my pocket, pulled out the report from my recent physical, and placed it on his desk.
“Dr. Matthews, I’ve been experiencing cardiac arrhythmias. My doctor has advised complete rest.” My voice was calm, almost serene. “Long-term, high-stress work isn’t good for the heart. As a senior physician, you understand that better than anyone.”
He snatched the report, his face shifting from red to pale as he scanned it. He couldn’t find a single thing to argue against.
“Hmph!” he grunted, grabbing a pen and angrily scrawling his signature on my leave request.
As I turned to leave, Monica appeared, clinging to Ryan’s arm.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Cole,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Couldn’t handle a little setback, so you’re running away?”
Ryan puffed out his chest. “Some people just don’t have the mental fortitude. Back where I trained, people like him would have washed out on day one.”
“Don’t think the department can’t function without you,” Monica added, her eyes flashing. “Ryan is ten times the doctor you’ll ever be. He’s a true professional.”
I didn’t even bother to look at them as I walked out of the office.
Sarah, the head nurse, caught me at the end of the hall. “George.” She pressed an apple into my hand. “You remember that woman you saved the other day? The one from the video?”
I nodded.
“She’s the only daughter of the CEO of Orion Corporation. He sent someone to ask about you. He wanted to thank you personally.” Sarah sighed. “But Dr. Matthews intercepted them. He said it was a departmental success, all thanks to Dr. Ryan’s brilliant leadership.”
She shook her head. “You’re just too damn honest, George. You never fight for yourself.”
I just nodded, thinking, You have no idea what kind of trouble you’ve invited.
I settled into my seat on the train back to my hometown. Just as it pulled out of the station, my phone rang. It was Kevin, the intern, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.
“George! It’s bad! Something terrible has happened!”
“The CEO of Orion Corporation—he had a massive heart attack! He’s here, in our ICU!”
My stomach dropped.
“Ryan’s the attending. He saw the EKG, knows it’s a major MI, but the CEO has a rare drug allergy, and Ryan’s too scared to use the standard thrombolytics!”
“He’s just been staring at his tablet, looking up research papers, mumbling about ‘evidence-based medicine,’ but he won’t make a decision! He’s afraid to risk an emergency angioplasty, so now he’s trying to get the family to sign transfer papers!”
Kevin’s voice cracked. “George, it’s a STEMI! Every minute counts! How can he even think about transferring him?”
Before I could answer, another call came in. Dr. Matthews. I hung up on Kevin and answered.
Matthews’ voice was a raw, unfiltered roar. “George! You get your ass back here right now! If anything happens to the CEO of Orion, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life!”
I held the phone away from my ear until he was done screaming.
Then, I replied calmly. “Dr. Matthews, first, I am currently on approved medical leave. Second, I am only a resident. I have neither the qualifications nor the authority to handle a patient of this magnitude. Isn’t your esteemed, foreign-trained Dr. Ryan the expert you have on hand for precisely these kinds of complex cases?”
Then I hung up.
A new text from Kevin popped up, laced with pure panic. “George, the CEO’s condition worsened in the ambulance! His heart stopped for a minute! The family is losing their minds. They called the hospital president directly, threatening to sue us into oblivion!”
“The whole hospital is in lockdown! The president, the VPs, they’re all down in our department!”
Another message followed. “Dr. Matthews is spreading a rumor that you intentionally hid the CEO’s allergy records to make Ryan look bad. He’s telling everyone you knew about the special case and kept it secret to sabotage him!”
I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. The man was a master of shifting blame.
As if that wasn't enough, things got worse. Another critical patient in the ICU, one who’d just had bypass surgery, suddenly went into ventricular fibrillation. The monitors shrieked.
Kevin’s live commentary continued via text. “Ryan is fumbling with the defibrillator! He’s shocked the patient multiple times, but there’s no response! He even set the energy levels wrong! A nurse tried to correct him, and he screamed at her!”
“Sarah is saying they need to put the patient on ECMO immediately! It’s the last hope!”
ECMO. Extracorporeal membrane oxygenation. The multi-million dollar, state-of-the-art machine our department imported from Germany. The ultimate lifeline.
“Ryan is trying to start the ECMO, but it’s failing! The alarm keeps going off!”
Sarah was shouting, “The startup sequence and calibration parameters for this machine are specific! Only Dr. Cole knows them inside and out! He’s the only one who ever operates it! Don’t touch it!”
Ryan shoved her aside. “I’ve used these machines all over Europe! The principles are the same! What does a nurse know?”
“The previous parameters must have been set wrong! They don’t meet the latest international standards!”
He forced a system reboot and tried to directly modify the core operating parameters.
“George, oh my God! The ECMO is smoking!”
Following Ryan’s ham-fisted attempt, the main console let out a piercing screech. The screen flashed violently and went black. A foul smell of burnt plastic filled the ICU.
The multi-million dollar lifeline was dead.
Two critical patients: one’s golden hour for treatment squandered, leaving him knocking on death’s door. The other’s last chance for survival gone, his EKG about to flatline.
The sounds of families crying and screaming, mixed with the piercing wail of the monitors, turned the entire cardiothoracic unit into a scene from a nightmare.
The hospital president’s face went white. He looked like he was about to faint. With a trembling hand, he called the ECMO manufacturer’s technical support line in Germany.
The German engineer on the other end, in heavily accented English, regretfully informed him that their nearest technician was in Europe. It would take at least two days for them to fly over.
A suffocating despair settled over the room.
Just as the president was about to hang up, the engineer added one more thing. “Perhaps you could contact the team of Professor Langdon, who helped us with the initial on-site calibration. I recall he had a brilliant protégé… a young doctor with the last name Cole. I believe he works at your hospital.”
The president’s hand froze in mid-air. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto Dr. Matthews.
The color drained from Matthews’ face, leaving it a ghastly, corpselike white. He knew better than anyone.
The brilliant protégé of Dr. Langdon, the nation’s foremost authority in cardiopulmonary medicine…
That doctor named Cole…
Was me. The man he had personally destroyed, now sitting on a train, on vacation.

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