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🕑 Added 2025-06-15 16:04:13 +0000 UTCChapter 357: Who’s the Real Doctor Here?
The next day.
Medical Center.
Green Clinic.
“Adam, you’re on rounds today,” said resident physician Sydney, assigning the task.
“Got it,” Adam replied with a nod.
“There’s definitely gonna be some good cases today,” bald Chris muttered under his breath.
“No case beats mine,” chubby white guy Stu said with a sleazy grin. “Plastic surgery’s got a breast augmentation lined up today. It’s a small step for me, but a giant leap for some Hollywood starlet’s happiness.”
“You’re so into it, why don’t you just get your girlfriend an extra one while you’re at it?” Chris teased. “Bigger and more— you’d be in heaven.”
“Great idea!” Stu didn’t get mad; his eyes lit up instead. He rubbed his double chin, thought for a second, then clapped his hands in delight. “Put the extra one right in the middle. Then…”
He stretched out both hands, mimicking some crude move straight out of a cheesy comedy, his head bobbing side to side. The whole vibe was so skeevy that everyone winced, promptly scattering to avoid dealing with the over-the-top creep.
Sure enough, once rounds started, Adam saw Chris wasn’t wrong. There was a solid case today.
“Give me the rundown,” Leonard said as he arrived for work and joined the rounds, nodding at Adam.
“17-year-old female, admitted for nonstop bleeding after a root canal. She’s showing heart murmurs linked to a fever. Antibiotics brought her temperature back to normal,” Adam reported.
“Your diagnosis?” Leonard asked.
“She might need a heart valve replacement,” Adam said. “But since she’s showing hemophilia symptoms, we should add a clotting test to see if she can handle blood thinners and an artificial valve.”
“Good call. Contact her parents and get the tests started,” Leonard instructed.
“My parents are here at the hospital,” the girl piped up, her tone dripping with sass. “Probably at the cafeteria right now. My weird dad’s obsessed with the hospital buffet.”
“Alright, reach out to them,” Leonard said with a nod before heading off.
Adam got in touch with the girl’s parents and set up her tests. Time flew by, and soon it was noon.
Hospital cafeteria.
The crew gathered around for lunch as usual.
“Why’s it so quiet?” Liz asked, jutting her chin toward Alex, who was sitting alone at a table with no one daring to join him.
Normally, news zipped through the hospital like wildfire—especially after last night’s bombshell. Once word got out that Alex was basically Patient Zero in this syphilis mess (think Kung Fu Panda-style “master of offense and defense”), anyone infected despised him. Those who dodged the bullet kept their distance. Even the few who shared his reckless vibe and wouldn’t mind hanging out were too paranoid about people assuming they’d been “conquered” by him.
So there he was, Alex, hogging a whole table to himself, totally isolated. His nickname had evolved from “jerk” and “demon” to straight-up “trash.” Vivid, loaded, and right on the nose.
“Heard the chief’s tied up with something and won’t be around for a few days,” Christina said, always in the know. “Dr. Burke can’t exactly go over the chief’s head to the dean, so it’s stalled out.”
“Lucky break for him,” Adam couldn’t help but remark.
Stuff like this often fizzled out if it got delayed long enough.
“Come on, guys, don’t be like that. We all started together,” Meredith chimed in. She’d pulled an all-nighter on a surgery, followed by some quality time with her “McDreamy,” leaving her hormones perfectly balanced and her mood sky-high. She was all about spreading the good vibes today and couldn’t resist sticking up for Alex. “He’s one of us. Yeah, he’s got issues, but I believe there’s more to him than the shallow, cold front he puts up…”
“Heh,” Adam let out a snort, unable to hold it in.
“What’s so funny?” Meredith shot him an annoyed look.
“Your speech—it’s hilarious,” Adam said, shaking his head with a grin. “What’s next? You gonna say he’s only shallow and cold because he had an unhappy childhood?”
“…” Meredith blinked, caught off guard, but nodded anyway. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I think. It’s not weird—I get it. I’ve always been a handful too, but look at me now, I turned out fine. People grow. We should give others some slack…”
“Heh,” Adam chuckled again, cutting her off.
“Now what?” Meredith’s face soured.
“I thought you were joking,” Adam said, genuinely surprised.
“Which part sounds like a joke?” she snapped, frowning.
“All of it,” Adam replied, still smiling. “‘People grow, we should give others slack’? Sure, it sounds nice—real feel-good, chicken-soup-for-the-soul stuff. But don’t forget, we’re doctors. We hold patients’ lives in our hands. If your ‘growth’ comes at the cost of a patient dying when they shouldn’t have, why should they pay with their life just so you can heal from your sad little childhood? Who’s the doctor here, and who’s the patient?”
Say that to a patient or their family, and you’d get decked.
Part of why med school requires a bachelor’s degree is to set a bar—keep out anyone too young or emotionally immature. Then you’ve got four years of school, plus seven years of residency, all to hone your skills and drill in the mindset of sticking to protocol. The goal? Minimize the chance of a patient suffering because of your personal baggage.
If you can’t manage that, why should anyone pay you to treat them? If they’re shelling out cash just to die pointlessly, they might as well skip the doctor and pray to God instead.
Meredith’s words sounded warm and fuzzy, but her perspective was totally skewed.
Doctors do need room to grow—nobody’s perfect, not even attendings. Mistakes happen. But some mistakes you just can’t make. Some you can’t forgive. Otherwise, what’s the point of laws?
Take Alex. First off, the guy’s got no ethics—telling an old lady she deserves to die, calling a tumor-ridden girl a disgusting freak who had it coming. Is that something a doctor should say? Hell, is that something a person should say? Then he’s been negligent twice, nearly killing patients, and just laughs it off afterward with zero remorse.
And this guy gets a pass because of an “unhappy childhood” and a “fake” shallow, cold exterior? Give me a break.
Fake or not, doesn’t matter! Like that old saying goes: “We don’t care what you say, only what you do.” Cure patients, and they’ll thank you even if you’re a sarcastic jerk. Fail at that and play the cold card? That’s not an act—that’s real. That’s a problem.
If you’ve got a problem, get help. Don’t use patients’ lives as your personal therapy tool.
Then again, Adam remembered Meredith once dozed off and punctured a patient’s heart—talk about a freak accident. So maybe today it’s Alex, but tomorrow it could be her. Birds of a feather, right? Better to stay forgiving—after all, it’s not her paying the price.
Meredith was speechless, floored by Adam’s takedown.
Some things are easier done than said. Once you poke holes in the logic, unless you’ve got thick skin and can shrug it off—pretending it’s all fake while everyone nods along or stays quiet—truth is truth, and wrong is wrong. No amount of fluffy platitudes can cover that up.
Meredith clearly wasn’t at that level yet. She knew Adam was right, and she was wrong.
Chapter 358: Save Face for Others, Save Face for Yourself
Medical Center
Cafeteria
Lunch ended on a sour note.
Adam’s blunt logic cut through the warm fuzzies like a scalpel, exposing the rot beneath the chicken-soup-for-the-soul vibe. Meredith wasn’t the only one squirming—Liz felt it too.
George and Cristina, though? They didn’t bat an eye. Cristina’s all about survival of the fittest—she’s gunning to be a legendary female surgeon and has zero patience for screwups like Alex. Plus, she’s cocky enough to think she’d never make such a rookie mistake. No personal sting, no offense taken.
George, meanwhile, might be soft as heck, but he’s decent at heart with a mostly solid moral compass. He vibed with what Adam said. Alex, with his total lack of ethics—letting him grow as a doctor would be what? A disaster waiting to happen? In just over two months, even with residents and attendings watching him, the guy’s already caused this much chaos. Imagine if he actually got good. The bigger the power, the bigger the responsibility—and the bigger the damage.
Green Clinic
“Here’s the test results,” Adam said, handing the chart to Leonard. “The patient can’t get an artificial heart valve.”
“No biggie—we can use a pig valve,” Leonard replied, glancing at the chart with a smile.
“Not gonna work,” Adam said, shaking his head. “The patient, Devo, was up this morning and afternoon, dragging herself out of bed to pray by the window. She’s a devout Orthodox Jew— even wants to change her name to Esther. Good luck convincing her to take a pig valve.”
Esther’s the ancient Persian queen from the Bible—a beautiful, kind Jewish heroine who saved her people with her wits. Leonard’s mouth twitched; he clearly knew the reference.
Jews see pigs as unclean. For an ultra-conservative Orthodox Jew, sticking a pig valve in their life-pumping heart? That’s straight-up blasphemy.
Leonard rubbed his temple. “Try to talk her into it anyway.”
“If the pig valve’s a no-go, we could look at a bovine valve,” Adam suggested. “Jews don’t mind those, and they work better too.”
“Bovine valve?” Leonard frowned. “That’s newer tech—pretty complicated…”
Adam got it. Medicine’s always evolving—new ideas, new techniques popping up constantly. Doctors have to be lifelong learners. But when you’re older, the energy and efficiency for picking up new tricks? They tank. Big, complex surgeries can stretch 10, 12, even more hours, and that’s brutal on aging docs. Leonard’s hesitation screamed one thing: he’d never done a bovine valve surgery, didn’t feel confident, and wasn’t eager to try.
“We could call in an expert—do a video consult,” Adam said with a grin. “There’s always a first time, right? I’d love to learn the technique from you too. Of course, it’s just a backup plan—better safe than sorry. For now, we’ll push for the pig valve option.”
“Hmm. Let’s go see her,” Leonard said, a smile creeping onto his face. He gave Adam an approving nod.
They were old friends, and no one else was around, but Adam’s tact—giving him an out while keeping things smooth—meant a lot. Leonard appreciated it.
Patient Room
Devo’s—or Esther’s—parents were on board, but she blew up the second she heard the plan.
“What?! You actually agreed to this?!” she yelled, gripping her IV pole and glaring at her mom and dad.
“Honey, it’s to save your life,” her mom said, trying to calm her down.
“Enough!” Esther snapped. “You don’t respect my faith—or me! You’re seriously okay with them sticking a filthy pig in my body—in my heart?! An animal that breaks every Jewish law! My heart’s my life source! If you swap it out with that, what am I even left with?!”
“It’s just the valve, not the whole heart,” Adam pointed out.
“I don’t care!” Esther whipped around to him, unloading full blast. “Putting pig parts in me? I’d rather die.”
“See? Told you we shouldn’t have let her join the Orthodox crowd,” her dad grumbled. “Should’ve stuck with the Reform crew like everyone else.”
“You don’t even light candles on Friday nights, and you can’t name all ten plagues from Passover!” Esther fired back at him. “You’ve both lost your faith—and now you’re whining about me being devout?!”
Her parents hung their heads, saying nothing. They couldn’t win against an Orthodox zealot’s verbal onslaught. They’d gone Reform—like most Jews—for the freedom, the lighter rules. By that metric, yeah, they’d ditched the faith hardcore.
“Miss Friedman,” Leonard cut in, no choice but to step up. “We respect your devotion, but without surgery, you’ll die.”
“Then figure something else out,” Esther said, still rational enough not to book a one-way ticket to heaven just yet. “As long as it’s not snorting and oinking like Wilbur, I don’t care what it is!”
Adam stayed quiet, glancing at Leonard. In front of patients—especially with family around—you don’t undercut your attending. It’s basic. Like how Jia Baoyu, the spoiled brat from Dream of the Red Chamber, got away with murder at home but played the perfect gentleman outside, earning his grandma major street cred. If he hadn’t, she’d have had him beaten to a pulp, no question.
Leonard could dote on Adam all he wanted, but Adam wasn’t about to get cocky and stomp on the unwritten rules. If anything, he’d double down on propping Leonard up. Even though he knew the bovine valve was the perfect fix, unless Leonard greenlit it, Adam wouldn’t breathe a word to the patient or her folks.
“We’ll think it over,” Leonard said, mulling it over before heading out with Adam in tow.
Office
“Adam, since you brought up the bovine valve idea, I’m guessing you’ve already done your homework. You know who the experts are, right?” Leonard paced a bit, then stopped and looked at him.
He knew Adam’s habits. Back before med school, Adam had bought a cabin in the woods and hunted animals just to practice surgery years ahead of time. Now? The guy was meticulous—thought of everything. When Shepherd once said Adam reminded him of someone, Leonard’s first guess was the infamous Dr. House. Not a stretch.
“Yeah,” Adam said with a grin. “Dr. Chesney at Cleveland Clinic, Dr. Kens at Johns Hopkins, and Dr. Morton at Mass General—they’re the big names for this.”
“Great,” Leonard said, clearly sold. “Set up a call. We’ll study it first. If it’s doable, we go with the bovine valve.”
Chapter 359: Down in the Dumps at Work, Winning Big in Love
Hospital room.
“A bovine valve? Awesome!”
Esther didn’t even hesitate once she heard it wasn’t from a pig—she was all in.
“Great. The valve’ll take an hour to get here, so we need to start prepping for the OR now,” Leonard said with a smile.
“Wait a sec,” Esther cut in.
Adam’s lip twitched. That phrase was his kryptonite.
“Miss Friedman, anything else?” he asked, keeping his professional smile intact.
“Just one last thing,” Esther said, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m fine with the surgery, but before we start, I need an Orthodox Jewish rabbi to pray for me.”
“No problem,” Adam nodded, shooting Leonard a quick grin.
Leonard got the hint immediately. If Adam could book a wedding banquet at the Plaza Hotel on a dime, finding an Orthodox rabbi? Piece of cake.
Do whatever you want! That’s the plain, boring life of the rich.
“Do you have a faith?” Esther asked out of the blue, watching Adam handle the rabbi situation with a single phone call.
“I believe in science,” Adam said with a smile.
In the West, admitting you’ve got no faith raises more eyebrows than being a heretic. When in Rome, right? He’d picked up a trick from Sheldon and crew—claiming science as his religion. It dodged a lot of hassle. After all, science has its own church these days. Believing in it? Totally legit.
“Your name’s Adam—the first human, the first man, made from dust in God’s image,” Esther murmured, staring at his face like she was in a trance. “But you know what kids these days are like? My friends are all about hooking up and partying till they drop. You’re probably the same, huh?”
“We doctors are busy as hell all day. Where’s the time to mess around or party?” Adam laughed.
“I don’t buy it,” Esther said, eyeing him. “A guy like you doesn’t even need to try. Those pretty nurses look at you like they’re ready to gobble you up.”
“Alright, time to head to the OR,” Adam said, shutting down the topic.
She’d called herself Esther and clocked the origin of his name. Clearly, she was a little too fixated on his face. Surgery or not, he wasn’t about to flirt with a patient.
Operating Room.
Esther lay on the table while a female rabbi, now in surgical scrubs, crouched beside her, holding her hand and praying. Adam stood on the other side.
An old-school satellite TV was set up, with Dr. Chesney from the Cleveland Clinic ready to guide the bovine valve transplant remotely.
The prayer wrapped up. Esther turned her head to look at Adam. He gave her a reassuring smile.
“Let’s get started,” Leonard, the lead surgeon, called out.
The anesthesiologist placed the mask over Esther’s face, releasing the gas. She was out in seconds.
“She’s ready,” the anesthesiologist confirmed.
“This is Dr. Chesney from the Cleveland Clinic, an expert in bovine valve transplants. He’ll be assisting us via satellite,” Leonard announced to the OR team.
Complex surgeries demand tight coordination. Prepping everyone on the procedure and their roles is non-negotiable. Before heading in, Leonard had Adam run through the steps, key moments, and contingency plans one more time—just to be triple-sure.
“Thanks, Doctor,” Leonard said to Chesney on the screen.
“Open the chest, start the bypass. We’ll make a lateral incision in the left atrium to expose the valve…”
As Chesney’s instructions came through, the team sprang into action around Leonard. This time, he took the scalpel himself, with Adam as first assist, backing him up the whole way.
The surgery went off without a hitch.
“I’m still alive?” Esther asked weakly as she came to.
“Of course,” Adam said with a grin.
“My heart,” Esther smiled. “Is it beating—or mooing?”
She’s got a sense of humor, huh? Adam couldn’t help but chuckle. He placed the stethoscope on her chest and handed her the earpiece. “Definitely not oinking.”
“Heh,” Esther giggled, listening to her heart’s steady, strong beat. She was just a 17-year-old girl, her life barely started. Even as a devout believer, she wasn’t exactly itching to meet God yet.
“Adam, do you have any Jewish friends?” Esther asked, her eyes drifting back to his face as her smile lingered.
“Yeah,” Adam said, immediately thinking of Howard Wolowitz—saucy, Jewish, and still a future acquaintance. That guy broke every Jewish rule in the book and still married Bernadette from a Catholic family. Imagining Howard with this Esther? Disaster. She was tall and sturdy—Howard, a grown man in oversized kids’ clothes, wouldn’t stand a chance, berserk mode or not.
Then there were Monica and Ross—also Jewish. Ross’s penny-pinching was peak “calculating Jew” stereotype.
“Any Jewish girls?” Esther pressed, fishing subtly.
“Yeah, Monica. We’re good friends. She married my best friend—happy couple,” Adam said, picking up the stethoscope. “Alright, rest up. I’ve got other patients to check on. See you tomorrow morning.”
In the hallway.
Christina and the crew were sprawled out, unwinding from a long day’s grind. Adam stopped to chat about the surgery.
No surprise, Meredith had scrubbed in on another neuro case with Dr. Shepherd. Christina was handling a 47-year-old patient who’d never had kids, finally got pregnant, and then got slapped with a breast cancer diagnosis—now facing the brutal “save the mom or the baby” choice. Liz had a psychic with epilepsy.
“Adam, you think anyone can actually talk to spirits?” Liz asked.
“Nope,” Adam said, laughing. “Don’t fall for it.”
“Yeah, yeah—reading faces, body language, psyching people out with vague guesses. I know the drill,” Liz said, still torn. “But this Mr. Duff guy feels real. He guessed my mom’s secret cupcake recipe—nailed it, said I forgot a spoonful of coconut extract.”
“He got lucky,” Adam explained. “Cupcake ingredients are pretty standard. A guy like that’s been around, seen it all. He picks up your accent, figures where you’re from, maybe even tasted the local version before. Smells cupcakes on you, notices no coconut vibe—hardly a stretch. If he’s wrong, he shrugs it off. No loss. Cast a wide net, and a few guesses hit dead-on. Looks psychic, but it’s the same old tricks.”
“Ohh, that makes sense,” Liz said, visibly relieved. The unknown can freak you out.
Just then, Alex strutted by, scanning the group with a smug little smirk.
“What’s up with him now?” Adam asked, curious.
“Heard he hooked up with a hot older woman this afternoon,” Christina said, too wiped to care. “Work’s a bust, but he’s killing it in the romance department.”
“He’s still hitting on patients?” Adam shook his head. “Guy’s got guts.”
(End of Chapter)
