The Girl Who Knows Medicine
1064 Words
Before the young doctor could finish his sentence, Eliana tossed a small vial across the room. Her eyes never once left the frail figure on the hospital bed.
Dr. Ethan Tang caught the bottle mid-air and stared at the label in disbelief.
“CardioVital Extract?” he gasped. “Eliana… where did you get this?”
This wasn’t just any drug. This was the miracle serum that had shaken the black market—rumored to perform wonders for failing hearts. One tiny pill went for tens of millions, and that was if you could even find one. Only one dose was auctioned per month.
“Eliana, after everything the Whitmores did to you, you don’t owe them anything,” Ethan said, voice tight with emotion.
But one look from her silenced him instantly.
“What? Am I wrong? Not even their real son treated her this well,” he mumbled under his breath.
Ethan had graduated from the top medical university six months ago and was currently doing his internship at Jingkang Hospital. Coming from a prestigious family of doctors, he arrived with pride and arrogance—until he met Eliana.
She had humbled him in every possible way.
One night, after days of struggling with a complicated case, Ethan had been running on zero sleep when Eliana casually glanced at the charts and, in just a few words, gave him a solution he never would’ve thought of.
Another time, she looked at a chest scan and identified early-stage lung cancer—he’d been about to diagnose it as severe pneumonia.
And then there was the old woman—Madam Whitmore.
The patient everyone had given up on. Ethan had declared her as good as dead.
Eliana brought her back.
Twice.
This teenage girl—this terrifying prodigy—had shattered his ego, stripped his pride, and taught him what it really meant to be a doctor.
He knew as well as she did that what the old woman needed most was a heart transplant.
But with her age, hypertension, and multiple organ failure, she was far too weak to survive surgery.
So Eliana was using the CardioVital pill to stabilize her. To keep her alive long enough.
Not for surgery—just to buy her time. To give her strength.
Meanwhile, the Whitmores?
They thought tossing her in a VIP suite was enough.
“There’s no way they’d ever spend millions on a pill for her,” Ethan muttered.
“She’s my responsibility,” Eliana said softly. “Take care of her for me.”
“If she wakes up and sees me, it’ll only make her worse.”
Ethan gave a firm nod. “Leave it to me.”
Eliana took one final look at the unconscious old woman. Her throat tightened, but she said nothing. Then she turned and quietly walked away from Room 301.
⸻
Just down the hall…
A flurry of doctors rushed toward Room 306.
“What happened? Mr. Sinclair’s vitals just crashed—”
“He’s been refusing medication. Trying to force Master Declan to appear—”
“Ridiculous! He’s gambling with his life!”
Eliana was passing the hallway when one of them bumped into her.
She turned her head just in time to catch a glimpse inside the room. The man in the bed—half-dead, gasping for air, one foot already in the grave.
“He stopped his meds?” she asked calmly. “He’s playing with fire.”
“Family’s on the way. We’re waiting for consent before doing anything invasive,” one doctor sighed.
“If you wait, he’ll be dead,” Eliana said flatly.
Every head turned toward her.
There, standing in the hallway, was a teenage girl.
She looked about seventeen, dressed casually, but carried herself like she owned the world.
Long legs. Clear eyes. An aura that demanded attention.
“What do you know?” one senior male doctor snapped. “You’re just a kid.”
“If we could save him, we would,” another added. “But this case is complicated. We can’t proceed without family approval.”
“Let me guess,” Eliana said casually, “Rheumatic heart disease?”
The room went still.
“You can tell… just from looking?” one of the older female doctors asked, surprised.
“She knows medicine?” another muttered.
“Since you already know it’s RHD,” the male doctor said, narrowing his eyes, “then you should also know the patient needs another valve replacement surgery. This isn’t his first.”
Eliana tilted her head, eyes gleaming.
“If he needs another replacement, it just means you didn’t administer enough antibiotics the first time,” she said coolly. “That’s why he’s dealing with infection and paravalvular leakage.”
A hush fell over the room.
“She knows about paravalvular leakage?” one nurse whispered.
That was exactly the problem. Mr. Sinclair had skipped his antibiotics. The infection had worsened. The leak came back.
“Why are we wasting time talking to a teenager?” barked a deep voice from behind.
Everyone turned as Professor Zhang, the hospital’s top cardiac surgeon, entered the room. He was in his fifties, authoritative and intimidating.
“Professor Zhang,” they all greeted in unison, straightening up.
“How long until the family arrives?” he asked sharply.
“At least twenty minutes.”
Professor Zhang’s face darkened.
That was too long.
He reviewed the case in his mind. Mr. Sinclair had already undergone two valve replacements overseas. Both had failed due to infection and leaks. Time had run out to fly him abroad again, which was why they had brought him to Jingkang Hospital, the best cardiac center in the country.
Zhang had been the one to perform the last surgery. Under immense pressure, he had pulled off the impossible.
And now? Mr. Sinclair was infected again. Suffering from infective endocarditis and a fresh paravalvular leak.
This time, things were worse.
The infection had spread. He’d developed upper respiratory complications. Pneumonia. Then heart failure.
And now, his life was hanging by a thread.
Surgery was an option—but the success rate?
Less than 10%.
Their only hope was to wait for his family to authorize the operation.
But Eliana stood calmly at the door.
“If you wait,” she repeated, “he won’t survive twenty minutes.”
- Writer
