She Reads Every Thought In My Head, My Mind’s Full Of Pig Sterilization Steps

As the youngest attending neurosurgeon at St. Judes Medical Center, I did something unexpected. I voluntarily stepped aside and let the newly arrived resident take the lead on a highly complex surgery.

I did it because in my past life, the moment she stood at the operating table, her every move mirrored my thoughts exactly.

Before my scalpel could even touch the skin, she had already made the incision. While I was still calculating the best approach, she had already executed the optimal solution. Everyone called her a once-in-a-generation medical prodigy. They whispered that I was just an empty suit, holding onto my position through pure seniority.

That was until a critical surgery went sideways, and the patient died on the table.

She stood before the review board and testified against me, claiming the fatal error was mine. Every blind spot in the security footage and every altered log pointed directly to me. I was stripped of my medical license and sentenced to three years in prison.

The day I was released, I went to find her. By then, she was the national director of neurosurgery.

Looking down at my ruined, hollow state, she let out a soft laugh.

"I could see every single step inside your head, Evelyn," she whispered.

I collapsed right there at the hospital gates. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was back in the department office, on the very day she first reported for duty.

This time, I did not spend my morning reviewing complex craniotomy procedures.

Instead, I closed my eyes and began rehearsing a different set of steps over and over in my mind.

The exact, step-by-step process of spaying a farm pig.

"Dr. Reed, I am so honored to be assigned to your team."

The voice was timid, carrying the perfect blend of innocence and youthful caution.

A violent shiver ran down my spine, and my pen sliced right through the patient chart I was holding.

That voice. Those exact words.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. My head throbbed as if struck by a sledgehammer.

In my previous life, in this exact office, she had said those exact words. Back then, seeing her looking so anxious and eager to learn, I had shared everything I knew without holding back.

And what did that get me?

During our first major craniotomy together, the moment I identified the bleeding point, before I could even ask for the instrument, she had already placed the hemostatic forcep with pinpoint accuracy. While I was still mapping out the clamping strategy in my mind, she had already dissected the tissue ahead of me.

The entire operating room was stunned.

The chief of surgery praised her on the spot as a natural-born genius, while I was cast as the slow-witted veteran who only held the lead because of my years on the clock.

I genuinely believed she was gifted.

Right up until that fatal surgery.

The patients cerebral aneurysm ruptured unexpectedly, triggering massive hemorrhaging. I fought desperately to stabilize him, but at the most critical second, she made a move that was the exact opposite of what should have been done.

The patient died on the table.

At the subsequent malpractice hearing, she wept miserably, pointing her finger at me.

"I tried so hard to warn Dr. Reed, but she was too arrogant. She simply wouldn't listen to me."

Every security camera blind spot and every operating log miraculously aligned with her lie. I was barred from medicine and locked away for three years.

I remembered the pouring rain on the day of my release. I stood outside the clinic, watching her walk toward me in her pristine white coat, holding an umbrella.

She smiled at me, a look of pure, mocking triumph.

"Evelyn, are you still trying to figure it out?" she whispered, leaning in close. "The truth is, I don't actually know how to perform these surgeries. But I know you."

"Every step you plan, every calculation you make, every flawless solution you conceive, I see it all clearly. You didn't lose to me. You lost to your own mind."

Her words slithered into my ears like venom. The sheer fury suffocated me, and I collapsed straight into the cold puddles outside the hospital.

When I opened my eyes, I was back here.

Back to her very first day.

"Dr. Reed? Are you okay?" Abigail Carter took a step closer, her eyes wide with simulated innocence.

I stared into her eyes.

Cold sweat poured down my back, and my heart hammered violently against my ribs.

It really was her.

I forced a deep breath, swallowing the bitter taste of adrenaline.

"I'm fine. Just didn't sleep well," I said, my voice steady and level. "Abigail, right? Go get scrubbed. You are on the table with me in ten minutes."

Her eyes lit up instantly, and she could barely hide the smug curve of her lips.

I watched her walk away, my gaze turning cold.

Since you like to listen so much, Abigail.

This time, I'll make sure you get an earful.

Ten minutes later, we were in the operating room.

The procedure was a standard epidural hematoma evacuation. It wasn't the most difficult surgery, but for a resident on her very first day, even holding the retractor would normally be a stretch.

Dr. Albright, our chief of surgery, walked in to observe, standing quietly near the monitors.

I gloved up and kept my hands raised, but I did not step into the primary surgeon's spot.

"Chief," I said, my voice conversational. "I want to let Abigail take the lead on this one."

A heavy silence fell over the operating room.

The anesthesiologist stopped writing, and the first and second assists stared at each other in disbelief.

Dr. Albright frowned. "Evelyn, what are you playing at? It's her first day."

"Practical experience is what residents need most, Chief. I will be right here supervising. Nothing will go wrong." My tone was firm, carrying the perfect weight of a supportive mentor.

I turned my gaze to Abigail.

She was visibly frozen, the scalpel trembling slightly in her hand.

Of course she didn't know what to do. She was a fresh graduate who had barely touched a patient in a clinical setting. She looked up, terror pooling in her eyes as she stared directly into mine.

She was waiting.

Waiting for the answers inside my head.

I met her gaze, offering a reassuring smile, and allowed the textbook steps of a hematoma clearance to run clearly through my mind.

Incise the scalp. Coagulate the bleeding vessels.

Use the rongeur to expand the bone window.

Tack down the dura.

Evacuate the hematoma.

I replayed the entire neurosurgical manual in my head, word for word, with absolute clarity.

Abigails hand stopped shaking.

She took a deep breath, her eyes suddenly brimming with immense confidence. The blade descended.

"Perfect incision line, depth is spot on," the first assist murmured, unable to hide his surprise.

Abigails movements became swifter and more precise. She was entirely locked into the knowledge pulling from my mind, executing every step flawlessly.

"Excellent! Truly remarkable!" Dr. Albright couldn't help but clap his hands. "Evelyn, where did you find this girl? Her technique is cleaner than yours was at her stage!"

When the final suture was placed, Abigail set her instruments down.

She looked up, and even through her surgical mask, I could see the intoxicating joy of being worshipped. She looked at me, a flash of poorly hidden contempt in her eyes, though her voice remained sweet and submissive.

"It was all thanks to Dr. Reeds guidance. She was encouraging me in her mind the entire time."

I stood to the side, my gloves completely spotless.

"You have a natural gift, Abigail," I replied softly.

Once the room cleared, I pulled out my phone and began watching instructional videos on farm animal castrations.

I needed to etch every single detail of spaying a sow into my mind.

Within two weeks, Abigail had become the hospital's rising star, while I quietly entered the darkest phase of my career.

At two in the morning, a post-op patient under my care suffered a sudden, massive intracranial hemorrhage and was rushed back into emergency surgery.

When Dr. Albright slammed the patient's drainage tube onto my desk, his face was pale with rage. I realized the tube, which should have been free and clear, had been folded over and clamped shut using a highly concealed technique.

"Is this how a senior attending shows responsibility?!" Dr. Albright roared in the hallway, pointing a finger at my face. "The patient almost herniated! Evelyn, what on earth have you been doing lately?!"

Suddenly, a frantic family member rushed forward, landing a stinging slap across my face.

"You hack! You delayed my mother's surgery just to show off your little student! Now she's paralyzed! How are you going to pay for this?!"

The force of the blow left my cheek burning and swollen.

On my desk lay the preoperative consent form. There, in stark black and white, was my signature, though I knew the document had been swapped.

The surrounding staff looked on, their eyes filled with a mix of pity and quiet satisfaction.

"To think her skills have degraded this much, making such a rookie mistake in post-op care."

"Shes probably just green with envy because Abigail has been getting all the attention lately. Shes completely lost her focus."

"A major malpractice incident like this requires immediate suspension and license review."

I stood in the center of the whispering crowd, my limbs turning to ice.

The security cameras in that hallway had miraculously malfunctioned, and the logbook held only my signature. Abigails setup was cleaner and far more vicious than it had been in my previous life.

Just as the risk management officer stepped forward with the official suspension notice, Abigail suddenly threw herself into the fray.

"Chief! Please don't suspend Dr. Reed!"

Her eyes were red, and heavy tears began to spill down her cheeks as she grabbed Dr. Albrights sleeve.

"Dr. Reed has just been incredibly exhausted lately! She gave all her surgical opportunities to me, taking on so much pressure. This was just an honest oversight!"

"Abigail, step back. We can't keep a liability like her on staff," another doctor chimed in, defending the resident.

"No!" Abigail wept, looking utterly devastated. "If it weren't for Dr. Reed, I wouldn't be here today. Chief, I beg you, suspend her if you must, but please don't banish her from the department! Let her stay as my assistant. She can just assist me and help with the basic prep!"

A collective murmur of admiration rippled through the corridor.

"Unbelievable. Abigails grace is out of this world."

"Look at her, and then look at Evelyn. Evelyn tried to sabotage her out of jealousy, and yet Abigail is still trying to save her job."

I looked down, staring at Abigails tear-stained, pitiful face, a cold laugh echoing in my chest.

Of course she wanted to keep me around.

Without me, she was an empty shell. If I were kicked out of the hospital, she would be out of range of her mind-reading trick. How would she perform her next surgery? She had to keep me chained to her side as her personal, walking cheat sheet.

"I accept the disciplinary action," I said, my voice raspy as I forced myself to look thoroughly defeated and broken.

"Thank you, Abigail."

Abigail offered her usual sweet, innocent smile. To anyone else, she looked like an angel. Only I knew the predatory triumph hiding behind that expression.

But she had no idea that the hunter often disguised itself as the prey.

Your bill is coming due very soon, Abigail.

Three days later, the department received an unprecedented, highly complex case.

A giant cerebral aneurysm.

It was located deep within the skull, pressing tightly against the optic nerve and the internal carotid artery. It was the ultimate neurosurgical ticking time bomb.

The hospital administration was on high alert, and the medical director himself had come down to watch from the observation gallery.

And the name written on the primary surgeon slot was none other than Abigail Carter.

During the prep stage, I threw on a surgical mask and ran toward the operating theater doors, playing my part to perfection.

"Let me in! This anatomy is far too treacherous! One wrong move and the patient will never leave the table!"

I pressed myself against the glass doors, my eyes wide with manufactured desperation as I banged on the glass.

"I know this patients history better than anyone! I need to be in there!"

Several nurses quickly grabbed my arms, their faces twisted in disgust.

"Dr. Reed, you are suspended! Are you trying to kill the patient by causing a scene?"

"Seriously, you got demoted for your own incompetence, and now you're trying to steal Abigail's spotlight? Have some dignity."

Inside the scrub room, Abigail looked through the glass window, her eyes flashing with a brief moment of panic.

She hadn't even studied the imaging. Her mind was a total blank. If I didn't feed her the coordinates and the surgical path, she wouldn't even know where to make the first cut.

She quickly pressed the intercom button, her voice coming through the speaker soft and magnanimous.

"It's fine, charge nurse. Let Dr. Reed into the observation gallery. This is indeed a highly challenging case. Since Dr. Reed is senior, she can stay in the gallery with the audio link active. If I run into any trouble, I will need her guidance."

Up in the observation room, the Chief and the Director nodded in approval.

"Remaining humble under pressure, always eager to learn. This girl has a limitless future," the Director praised.

I stopped struggling and let the nurses escort me up to the second-floor gallery.

Standing behind the massive glass window, I looked down at the patients exposed skull on the table below.

Finally, the corners of my mouth twitched into a grin I no longer had to hide.

The surgery began.

Abigail stood at the primary position. She took a deep breath and glanced up at the glass window.

She was establishing the link.

I stood there, expressionless, and began firing up my mind, laying out the standard, hyper-precise surgical steps in vivid detail.

Receiving the signals, Abigail relaxed. Her hand became rock steady as she navigated the microscope with ease.

Whispers of awe filled the observation gallery.

Then came the most hazardous phase of the procedure.

Exposing the aneurysm, preparing for clamping.

The vessel walls here were as thin as paper. A slight shift in breathing could cause the aneurysm to rupture, turning the operating field into a bloodbath.

Abigail held out her hand, and the scrub nurse passed her the delicate micro-clips.

She looked up once more, waiting for my mental cue regarding the angle and pressure of the clamp.

I stared down at her from behind the glass.

Now.

I flooded my brain with a memory from my childhood in the countryside: a squealing, thrashing sow pinned down in the mud, her legs tied. No anesthesia. The vet, wearing grime-covered rubber gloves, plunges a rusted blade into the flesh.

I glared at Abigail, screaming the instructions in my mind with absolute, commanding authority.

Now, reach in and press down hard on the uterus.

Use your other hand to clamp the artery.

Use raw, brute force to tear it out along with the surrounding tissue.

Ignore the blood. Just rip it out!

Abigail's hand, holding the delicate micro-clip, froze in mid-air.

Her entire body shuddered violently, and a look of sheer, primal horror crossed her face.

Her medical training, what little she had, screamed that this was wrong. This was disastrously wrong.

But she had never actually performed a surgery on her own. Every ounce of her muscle memory was built entirely on absolute, unquestioning obedience to the thoughts in my head. Under the immense pressure of the moment, her cognitive brain fractured, and her survival instinct defaulted to the mental commands she had always relied on.

To the horror of everyone in the gallery, Abigail suddenly seemed to lose her mind.

She violently pushed the surgical microscope aside.

She threw down her fine instruments, and in front of the entire surgical team, she plunged her bare fingers directly into the patient's open, delicate brain cavity.

"What is she doing?!" the Director shrieked, jumping out of his seat.

I stood behind the glass, watching her without a trace of pity.

Pull it out, Abigail. Give back what you stole.

Abigails face twisted into something monstrous. She clamped her fingers around the pulsing artery, let out a desperate, animalistic grunt, and yanked with all her might.

A sickening tear echoed.

Blood sprayed like a geyser, painting Abigail's face crimson.