390-392

Chapter 390: The Advantage Is Mine 

Ted was sent off. 

Adam took Joe to get a CT scan.  

“So, how’s it look?” Joe asked, staring nervously at Adam as he studied the CT images.  

“You’ll need to be admitted. Tomorrow, when Dr. Shephard gets here…” Adam started, but Joe cut him off before he could finish.  

“Just tell me straight up. I trust your diagnosis,” Joe said, his face pale as a ghost.  

In the U.S., not every condition gets you a hospital bed. To keep things efficient and profitable, hospitals here push you out as soon as they can. If you don’t have to be admitted, you won’t be. Even after surgery, they’ll give you a couple days to recover, then it’s “see ya later.” Barney should’ve been discharged ages ago, but he was in a VIP room, shelling out big bucks daily, so the hospital wasn’t exactly rushing him out the door.  

Joe knew how pricey a hospital stay could get, but right now, money was the last thing on his mind. All he could think about was what being admitted meant.  

“From the CT, it looks like the artery at the base of your skull is ballooning out—a subarachnoid hemorrhage from a pretty massive aneurysm. Surgery’s going to be tricky,” Adam explained. “But don’t freak out just yet. Dr. Shephard’s one of the best in the game. I’m sure he’ll come up with a solid plan.”  

Joe sat there, stunned, for what felt like forever before croaking out, “How much is this gonna cost?”  

“No clue,” Adam said with a shake of his head. “We don’t even have a surgical plan yet, so there’s no way to estimate it. Even once we do, costs can shift until the surgery’s done. You know how it goes.”  

In the U.S., treatment comes first. You don’t see the bill until about two months after you’re discharged. That’s when the real fun begins—a moment that’s basically “heaven one second, hell the next.” The hospital sends you a tab covering every little thing from your stay, and it’s often way beyond what you’d braced yourself for.  

Say you figure it’ll be a big hit—maybe tens of thousands of dollars—and you mentally prep for a max of, like, a hundred grand. Then the bill arrives. It’s not tens of thousands. It’s not even a hundred thousand. It’s not even a few hundred thousand. It’s over a million.  

Surprise! 

Shocked yet?  

For someone with shaky health or a weak stomach, that bill alone might trigger a stroke or brain bleed. The average American, pulling in maybe thirty-something grand a year and living paycheck to paycheck, suddenly has to face a million-dollar debt dropped out of nowhere. Without eating or drinking a dime, it’d take thirty or forty years to pay off. Even if you stretch it out—say, twenty grand a year—it’s still over fifty years. Picture an eighty-year-old guy delivering packages, still chipping away at that bill.  

Can’t pay? Oh, the hospital’s definitely suing you. They’ll strip you down to nothing, tank your credit, and basically exile you from society. It’s a wild ride you’ve got zero control over. If you want to live—if you agree to treatment—you’re stuck playing by their rules. CT scan? You’re getting it. MRI? Done. Some minor procedure first? Yup, that too.  

“Don’t stress too much,” Adam said, trying to lighten the mood. “Look on the bright side—this isn’t some mystery illness. You don’t need to trek over to Princeton’s hospital to see Dr. House.”  

“That’s… actually good news,” Joe said with a bitter laugh.  

He’d heard the legends about Dr. House next door. That guy tackled weird, unsolvable cases by running endless tests and throwing experimental drugs at you. Before he even nailed down a diagnosis, you’d have to survive his razor-sharp tongue and a gauntlet of procedures. Sometimes your condition hadn’t even worsened yet, but House’s meddling would knock you half-dead anyway. Some of those tests were invasive, and the drugs? Permanent damage, no take-backs.  

If you were lucky enough to get cured and sent home, you’d still be stuck with lingering side effects—and then that monstrous bill would hit, making you wonder if it’d been better to just check out early. And if you ever replayed House’s snarky attitude in your head, you or your family might be tempted to take him out first. Honestly, the fact that House was still kicking after all these years was a miracle.  

So yeah, getting a clear diagnosis—even something like cancer—was better than being stuck with an undiagnosed mess.  

Seeing Joe’s condition was stable for now, with no signs of worsening, Adam got him admitted and stuck around to keep an eye on him overnight. The aneurysm was huge and in a lousy spot—almost impossible to clip. That was the biggest hurdle for surgery.  

Adam could only think of one cutting-edge option: a “stillness surgery.” Cool Joe’s body down, stop his heart, drain his blood, put him in a fake-death state. With no blood flowing to the brain, the aneurysm’s rupture risk would drop to nearly zero. Finish the surgery in under forty-five minutes, restart the heart, and boom—success.  

It’d be Dr. Shephard leading the charge, but he’d probably call in Dr. Burke to handle the heart and blood-draining part. With Meredith currently at odds with Shephard, and Cristina—fresh off Burke’s “one-shot wonder”—still recovering, Adam figured no one was likely to steal this surgery from him.  

Yeah, it felt a little shady to admit, but he was pretty pumped. This was a doctor chasing the thrill of mastering their craft. Besides, he and Joe were barely acquaintances—not even friends, really.  

The next morning, Adam was ready to roll, prepped to assist Dr. Shephard with Joe’s evaluation. But Shephard hadn’t shown up yet. Instead, someone Adam wasn’t thrilled to see walked in.  

“Cristina? What are you doing here?”  

“I’m fine now, so obviously I’m back to work,” Cristina said with a smirk that wasn’t quite a smile. “What’s this? You’re not happy to see me? Got a juicy surgery lined up or something?”  

“Did you tell Burke?” Adam asked, keeping his tone casual. “You should probably clear that up with him.”  

Cristina’s face darkened for a second. But she was a razor-sharp genius—she snapped out of it fast, grinning. “I’ll go talk to Burke right now. Let’s see what surgery’s got you so worked up. Oh, and don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful for you, but I’m not passing up a good case.”  

With that, she spun around and headed for Burke’s office.  

“No backdoor deals, okay? Fair fight!” Adam called after her, half-joking.  

This kind of cutting-edge, multi-doctor surgery needed skill and speed. Leonard, Adam’s ideal pick, was solid on technique but couldn’t match Burke’s prime-of-life pace. If they needed a cardiothoracic expert, even with some tension over the interim surgical chief gig, Shephard would probably still pick Burke.  

And if Burke was in, Adam’s edge took a hit. Sure, he had a favor owed from Burke, but that didn’t stack up to Cristina’s “girlfriend” card. At least Meredith wouldn’t be stirring the pot this time, and Adam still had Shephard’s goodwill. Plus, he was Joe’s admitting doc and the top intern in the game.  

His odds were still better than Cristina’s.  

Yup, advantage is mine.  

Chapter 391: Greedy Snake Adam 

Medical Center 

It turns out Adam’s diagnosis and hunch were spot on.  

After all, modern medicine has treatment plans for every disease laid out in textbooks. As long as you’re well-read enough, nothing really throws you off.  

Ward Room 

“You’re gonna kill me first, then bring me back to life?”  

Joe cracked a joke after hearing Dr. Shepherd’s rundown of the standstill surgery. “All in 45 minutes? If you go overtime, do I get it for free?”  

“No way,” Cristina blurted out without thinking.  

Yep, she was there too—tagging along with Dr. Burke.  

In the end, Dr. Shepherd had picked Burke as the cardiothoracic expert to assist with the surgery.  

“Dr. Yang, you can go do the pre-op checks,” Burke said, trying to smooth things over.  

Adam raised an eyebrow and chimed in, “Dr. Burke, I’m Joe’s attending resident.”  

Burke pressed his lips together tightly.  

Dr. Shepherd grinned, watching Burke with a playful glint in his eye, curious to see how the acting surgical chief would handle this one.  

Truth be told, it didn’t really matter who got picked to assist in this surgery. The spotlight was on Shepherd and Burke. The interns were just there to lend a hand. As long as no one pulled a Meredith—like dozing off, forgetting to trim their nails, and accidentally puncturing a patient’s heart—pretty much anyone could do it.  

Not every case involves holding a giant tumor for hours on end, nor does every surgery hit a freak accident that even the attending can’t handle, only for an intern to somehow save the day.  

Adam had also figured out why, after he’d secretly stepped in to help the surgical chief with a procedure, the chief had passed him over and tapped Burke as acting chief instead.  

It was because of him and Meredith. The chief had found out.  

The chief’s take? Keep yourself above reproach.  

But was Burke really so upright and fair? Adam had his doubts.  

Burke was starting to get a headache.  

When Cristina heard about this standstill surgery, she’d come straight to him. He’d agreed without much thought.  

What he hadn’t expected was that Adam—usually so reliable—would openly challenge his call.  

As acting surgical chief, he could pick whoever he wanted for a surgery. Forget Adam, a mere intern; even Dr. Shepherd fell under his authority.  

But locking eyes with Adam, Burke remembered the favor he owed him. The reprimand he’d been ready to dish out just wouldn’t come.  

Because Adam was right—this was his patient. And Adam hadn’t dropped the ball once while managing Joe’s case.  

Normally, Burke wouldn’t have bypassed Adam and told Cristina to do the pre-op checks or join the surgery.  

He thought back to the surgical chief lying in a hospital bed, praising them as cut from the same cloth—both work-first types—hinting at passing the torch to him.  

If personal feelings weren’t in play, he never would’ve told Cristina to step in.  

He couldn’t keep doing this. His career had to come first.  

“Dr. Duncan, you handle the pre-op checks,” Burke said, switching gears.  

In his head, he made a firm decision.  

The smile froze on Cristina’s face.  

“Sorry, folks,” Joe piped up. “I don’t care if it’s Adam or Cristina—I haven’t even decided if I’m doing the surgery yet.”  

“Joe, you need this surgery…” Dr. Shepherd warned.  

“I know, I know,” Joe cut in. “If I don’t do it, I might die. But first, I need to know how much this is gonna cost. I don’t have insurance. I’m not about to let you save my life just so I can spend the rest of it drowning in debt I’ll never pay off. What’s the point of living like that? So give me a number. Ten grand? Twenty?”  

Dr. Shepherd and the others went quiet.  

“Thirty?”  

Joe had a sinking feeling, but he clung to a shred of hope, bumping the number up ten grand at a time.  

Ten thousand was already a fortune to him.  

“At least two hundred thousand,” Dr. Shepherd said bluntly, meeting Joe’s eyes. He was the lead surgeon; he had to be straight with him.  

“At least,” Burke added.  

That was just the surgery itself. Hospital stays, tests, meds—all the extras—would pile on top.  

Joe froze.  

Two hundred grand hit him like a punch to the gut. The “at least” part crushed him completely.  

He was just a small-time bar owner, pinching pennies so hard he’d skipped insurance altogether. Now they were asking him to cough up over two hundred thousand bucks for this surgery? Where was he supposed to get that kind of money? Selling the bar wouldn’t even cover it.  

And that bar? It was his livelihood, his whole life.  

If he sold it, what would he do after?  

For a long while, Joe couldn’t decide. Finally, he managed, “I need some time to think…”  

“Of course,” everyone nodded in unison.  

It was a huge call.  

Only Joe could make it.  

Dr. Shepherd left first.  

Burke glanced at Cristina, then followed.  

Cristina stood there, stunned.  

“That’s too far—didn’t we agree no backdoor deals?” Adam teased.  

“Me, too far?” Cristina snapped. “You’re not even Burke’s intern! You’ve already hogged all the good cases under Dr. Green, plus you’re always lurking in the ER, snagging the best patients before anyone else gets a shot.  

Me, Meredith, Izzie, George—and back when Alex was around, that made five of us—competing for Burke’s surgeries. Now Alex is gone, and you still waltz in and steal Burke’s cases whenever you feel like it!  

And you’ve got the nerve to call me out for pulling strings? I’m too far? When have we ever gone to Dr. Green and taken your surgeries? Who’s really playing dirty here?”  

“Uh…” Adam grimaced. “You could try competing for them. It’s all fair game, right?”  

Cristina’s withering glare shut him up.  

Okay, fine.  

Nobody’s an idiot here.  

The prime surgeries under Leonard? Even Bianca and the others only got the second-tier stuff. Cristina and the rest wouldn’t stand a chance poaching from there.  

“Hmph!” Cristina scoffed. “Under Dr. Green, you don’t just get the best surgeries—you get the most freedom to run them. That’s the dream for the rest of us.  

But you’re not satisfied with that. Now you’re swooping in, snagging Burke’s and Shepherd’s cases left and right. Think about it—lately, haven’t you pretty much monopolized every good surgery? And you still have the gall to call me out?”  

“Easy, easy,” Adam said, a little sheepish. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s all just fair competition, right?”  

He hadn’t done the math before, but now that he did, it hit him.  

He really had turned into a “greedy snake.”  

Over the past two weeks, he’d done about 80% of the good surgeries from the three attendings.  

Those were supposed to be split between nine interns.  

Sure, Adam’s skills earned him that share, but without his connection to Leonard—who handed him 100% of his good cases—it never would’ve been this lopsided.  

No wonder Cristina, just as ambitious as he was, was so pissed.  

Honestly, props to her for holding it in for two whole weeks.  

He’d have lost it way sooner.  

Chapter 392: I’m Popping Out! 

Medical Center. Ward. 

Christina vented for a bit and then left.  

“Joe, when you’ve made up your mind, just have the nurse page me,” Adam said with a smile before heading out too.  

It’s a tough call to make. Heaven knows when Joe will finally figure it out. Adam can’t just stick around waiting forever.  

As for footing Joe’s surgery bill himself? Yeah, that’s not happening. Their relationship isn’t that close. Joe’s not some innocent bystander who got hit by a car, leaving behind a grieving widow and kid. Even in that case, Adam had helped out afterward in a quieter, more tactful way—no grand gestures.  

As the saying goes: “A handful of rice earns gratitude; a bucket breeds resentment.” That’s how it works back in Dongguo, and it’s even truer here where money rules everything.  

As for Joe, Adam’s thinking maybe he’ll invest in the bar later. That way, Joe could cover his bills and keep running his business. Of course, he’d have to hand over a chunk of the profits from then on—going from full-on boss to half a worker.  

Back in the day, he’d bust his hump and barely scrape by. Now, he could slack off a little and still make decent cash. Who knows? Joe might even warm up to the working-stiff life. Beats selling the bar and drifting aimlessly, right?  

Adam, the “compassionate capitalist,” already has Joe’s future mapped out in his head.  

Emergency Room. 

Adam swings by again, figuring he’ll see a few patients during a lull. Sure, they’re not life-or-death cases worth “+0.01 goodwill points,” but every little bit helps. Plus, it’s a chance to sharpen his skills—two birds, one stone.  

“Adam, over here!” Susan spots him, her big eyes lighting up as she waves him over.  

“Dr. Lewis,” Adam says, hustling toward her.  

“There’s a guy in Exam Room 6 who won’t stop hiccupping. He’s asking for a male doctor. You’re up,” Susan says with a quirky little grin.  

“Got it,” Adam replies, catching the vibe behind her smile.  

Patients with “special requests” like that usually aren’t dealing with something straightforward. It’s often the kind of issue they’re too shy to spill to just anyone—especially not a female doctor. This hiccup guy probably has something he doesn’t want a woman checking out. Maybe his “little brother” is acting up.  

Truth is, Adam’s got zero interest in those kinds of cases. But that’s the gig—doctors don’t get to pick and choose.  

Exam Room 6. 

“Mr. Brad, when did the hiccups start?” Adam asks, giving him a quick once-over.  

“Hic! All day yesterday. Nonstop. Hic!” Brad answers between jolts.  

“Anything else going on besides the hiccups?” Adam prods. “Like, any discomfort anywhere?”  

“Nope,” Brad says, shaking his head. “Just the hiccups. Hic!”  

“Alright,” Adam nods. “You’re good to go, then. They’ll fade on their own.”  

“Wait, Doc, you’re not gonna do anything?” Brad stares at him. “There’s gotta be some trick to zap these hiccups fast, right?”  

Adam’s eyes narrow, his face blank. “What are you getting at?”  

“I read about this one treatment…” Brad hesitates. “Some doctor even won a prize for it…”  

Adam’s lip twitches.  

Oh, he gets it now. This guy’s “condition” just clicked.  

The “prize-winning treatment” Brad’s hinting at? Rectal massage to stop hiccups. The doc who came up with it snagged a Nobel Prize—except it wasn’t the real deal. It was the Ig Nobel, the spoof award for weird science.  

Adam turns and heads for the door.  

“Doc!” Brad calls out, panicking as Adam twists the knob. “You haven’t treated me yet!”  

“You’re fine already,” Adam deadpans. “You just talked a whole bunch—did you hiccup once?”  

“Hic!” Brad’s face freezes as he forces one out.  

It’s so fake even he knows it, and he sheepishly drops his head.  

Outside the Exam Room. 

Adam shakes his head, exasperated. Every time he thinks he’s seen it all, patients roll in with a fresh lesson: You ain’t seen nothing yet—brace yourself! If you can imagine it, it’s probably happened.  

“Adam, what’s up with Hiccup Guy?” Susan asks with a grin as he steps out.  

“A faker,” Adam says with a wry smile.  

“Drug seeker?” Susan nods knowingly.  

The pill-popping scene in the States is wild—addicts will pull out all the stops to score. If it’s got a buzz, they’re snorting it, swallowing it, whatever. It’s like those stories of the “fighting nation” chugging mouthwash, perfume, or windshield fluid just to catch a high when the vodka runs dry.  

No cash? They scam for it. No drugs? They scam for those too. Hospitals are their go-to hunting grounds. They bounce from ER to ER, spinning their sob stories—some even hurt themselves on purpose—just to trick a prescription out of a doctor.  

One quick hit, and they’re golden! Sometimes you know they’re gaming you, but as a doctor, you’re stuck playing dumb. Their pain’s real enough, and if you don’t treat it, you’re the one breaking the law.  

Doctors aren’t about to play hero—just follow the protocol and move on.  

“Nah,” Adam shakes his head. “Not drugs this time.”  

Susan, a seasoned resident, stares at him, jaw practically on the floor.  

It’s the golden rule of hospitals: there’s nothing you can dream up that a patient won’t top.  

Adam’s mouth quirks. He’s right there with her on that one.  

Emmm…  

Beep. Beep. 

His pager goes off, snapping him out of his thoughts.  

“Something’s up in the ward,” he says to Susan, then bolts toward the patient rooms.  

When he gets there, Dr. Shephard and Dr. Burke are already on the scene. Christina’s off to the side, smirking like she’s enjoying the show.  

What makes Adam’s stomach drop is the vaguely familiar face by the bed: Steven Murphy.  

Joe, lying there, catches Adam’s eye and gives him an apologetic look.  

Adam can already piece it together.  

“Joe’s decided to go ahead with the surgery and wants Dr. Murphy on the team,” Dr. Shephard announces once everyone’s gathered.  

“Dr. Murphy, you can start the pre-op checks,” Dr. Burke says, lips tight, voice flat.  

“Alright,” Steven Murphy replies, shooting Adam a quick smile before heading off.