Medical Center. Surgical Conference Room.
"Is it really that bad?"
Adam glanced at Dr. Burke, who was sitting there with a wry smile.
It's only when the case is something even Burke and the others can't handle that they start dodging like this, terrified of being the one stuck with the historical blame.
Otherwise? Everyone would've been fighting tooth and nail to operate on the Right Hand of God.
It's not just a badge of academic honor—it's the ultimate networking jackpot.
The guy in front of them? One of the founding legends of modern surgery.
Just look at the surgical director—a big shot like that was one of his students. The man's got disciples everywhere.
Low-tier docs? Even if they had the guts, the Right Hand of God wouldn't trust them with it.
Too mid-tier, and it's just awkward.
So here they were, stuck in this weird limbo.
"Walter's got aortic and mitral valve stenosis, plus tricuspid regurgitation. He needs a double valve replacement and tricuspid repair," the surgical director said carefully.
"And?" Adam nodded.
If that was it, it wouldn't spook all these famous docs into backing off.
"I've also got chronic atrial fibrillation, pulmonary hypertension, and a left atrial thrombus…"
The Right Hand of God started ticking off his laundry list of conditions on his fingers. "These doctors think cracking me open will just kill me."
"Can't blame them," Adam said, shaking his head.
At his age, with this insane stack of debuffs, even Adam—without seeing the full chart—could tell it was a long shot.
No wonder Burke was ready to nope out.
If he took it on and the guy died (like, 99% chance), the medical world wouldn't care that no one else dared touch it.
They'd just let the other docs spin it: "Burke's skills suck, got cocky, killed the Right Hand of God, and cost us a legend."
Next thing you know, he's the cautionary tale in every med school textbook. 😬
"Charts, echocardiograms, chest X-rays… everything you need is right here."
The Right Hand of God slid a thick stack of files toward Adam and looked at him. "So, the only question left is: Dr. Duncan, you willing to take me on?"
"If you want me to, I'm in," Adam said with a nod.
"Oh? Why's that?"
The Right Hand of God raised an eyebrow. "Not scared of the historical baggage?"
"Nope," Adam said, grinning. "You're one of the OGs of modern surgery.
You've spent your life building techniques that saved countless patients—gave them a shot at living.
As a junior in the medical world, I'm not about to let someone like you end up with no one willing to operate.
That'd be too messed up.
Sure, the odds on this surgery might be crazy low.
But it's not zero.
If I pull it off, I'm the guy who saved the Right Hand of God.
And if it flops? I'm still confident it won't be the defining moment of my career or my legacy.
Future med students won't just see 'Adam killed the legend'—they'll get a wake-up call: even the best docs fail sometimes.
We're doctors, not gods!
All we can do is our best." 😎
"…"
Burke, listening nearby, gave a bitter chuckle. "Fine, I'll do it. Adam's right—we can't let a legend like you go out with no one stepping up…"
"Thanks for the sentiment," the Right Hand of God said, glancing at Burke with a smile. "But I've made up my mind. Dr. Duncan's doing it!"
"Walter!" the surgical director cut in. "Adam's got the skills, no doubt, but let Burke lead and have Adam assist. Safer that way."
"Nah," the Right Hand of God shook his head. "Duncan's taking the lead!
Richard, it's not like no one would operate on me.
Ted Kingsburg, Greg House—those guys? Like Duncan, they wouldn't blink if I croaked on their table, historical blame or not.
But I can't stand those two jerks!
Not one bit.
I didn't come here to mess with you all…"
He sighed, looking at the surgical director. "The real reason? I need a friend. If I don't make it out of that OR, I want an old buddy to say goodbye.
I should've gotten married, had a bunch of kids—then I wouldn't have to drag you into this…"
"My honor," the surgical director said, placing his hand over the Right Hand's.
He wasn't just a student—he was a disciple.
The Right Hand of God was his mentor, his teacher, his father figure.
Facing life or death, an old dad like him naturally wanted family by his side in his final moments.
"I knew you wouldn't say no," the Right Hand of God said, patting his favorite disciple's hand with a grin. "I'd hoped you'd be there with me, doing the surgery together. But now? I think I can aim higher."
He turned to Adam. "So, Webber assists, and you, Dr. Duncan, take the lead.
Let's leave it to God—see if the 'Right Hand' title passes to the 'Hand of Adam' right now!"
"You'll always be the Right Hand of God," Adam said with a laugh.
"Heh," the Right Hand chuckled, even happier. "Good, good. With your talent, you don't need some hollow title like that.
The 'Hand of Adam'? That might be what humanity really needs!
Still, I'd love for our two hands—one old, one young—to leave a legendary, fun story for the medical world. Something to inspire the next wave of docs to jump in.
Wouldn't that be a blast?"
They chatted and laughed a bit more, then Adam suggested a full re-check.
Sure, he didn't mind failing.
But why fail if you don't have to?
That jerk next door, House, might be a pain, but he had a point right now: everyone lies, so don't trust anyone.
The Right Hand's files were thorough, and Adam had studied them hard—but he still wanted fresh tests.
Who knows if there's a mistake in there?
The guy could afford it—another round of comprehensive scans would update the condition and minimize human error.
This time, Adam and the surgical director personally took the Right Hand of God through every test.
As they worked, they hashed out the surgical plan with him.
Man, the Right Hand of God earned that title—his expertise was unreal.
If docs could operate on themselves, Adam was sure he'd nail this surgery with way better odds.
Adam lived for this kind of back-and-forth.
(End of Chapter)