Romantic Doctor Teacher Kim 3: Episodes 3-4

by alathe

Open the OR and prep the anesthetic, because we’ve got multiple emergencies coming up! The first is a lesion that goes straight to the heart of Doldam Hospital — its new Trauma Center is under even newer management. That’s right: our villain du jour is on a mission to cut the staff into shape… and it won’t be long before his principles clash with those of our beloved romantic doctor!

EPISODES 3-4

Dr. Cha repeats his ultimatum: either Teacher Kim is barred from the Trauma Center, or he walks. It’s a tense moment for my faith in Director Park. At first, he refuses. (You go, you beleaguered bureaucrat!) But then he calls back: the deal is on. (Nooo, resist the call of villainy! You were so bad at it!) Luckily for my heart, we pan back to reveal that Teacher Kim himself was listening the whole time. What’s more, saying yes was his idea. Director Park is aghast. The Trauma Center is Teacher Kim’s longtime dream — why give it up now? The answer comes as a sly callback to the series pilot: how do you put an elephant in a fridge? The answer, Teacher Kim declares, is simple. Open the door, put it in, and close it. But “simple” doesn’t mean “easy” — and this particular elephant might take some persuasion.

It’s a serious gamble. Soon, Dr. Cha is making ominous noises about staffing the Trauma Center with his own recruits. As far as ominous, hospital-threatening villains are concerned, it’s far from Doldam’s first rodeo — but it’s the first time said villain was voluntarily invited to the staff meeting. Could it, broods Nurse Oh, be the product of Teacher Kim’s worsening MS? As his headstrong disciples wax mutinous, Teacher Kim explains his reasoning: the position as head of the Trauma Center should be open to anyone capable. It’s a dangerous line of thought, to suggest he’s the only one they can trust. Work hard, do your jobs, and it’ll all be fine. Gently yet inexorably, he coaxes agreement out of all of his staff… with the notable exception of Woo-jin. If Teacher Kim’s not running the Trauma Center, his surliest student intends to stay by his side.

As Ah-reum sagely observes, Teacher Kim’s decision has hit like a nuke — and the blast radius is wide. Soon, Eun-jae is inviting Woo-jin to a serious talk by the vending machine. Her dad is in need of somewhere to stay. Would Woo-jin mind… un-moving in with her? Just for a few days! Woo-jin gives her a loving smile. Of course — and she needn’t be afraid to ask. Still, as he leaves, he frowns. Just this morning, they were merrily canoodling in their place of work! Now, things are complicated.

In fact, Woo-jin’s life is chock full of bothersome things… chiefly, his new mentee. Dong-hwa, with his sneaky penchant for mobile gaming mid-shift, is driving him nuts. Back in the ER, there’s a new patient: a champion skier, who claims to be in agony after a crash. Woo-jin, an old hand at this, clocks the emergency at once. He’s faking it. As the skier’s coach yells at his miserable charge, Dong-hwa pipes up stubbornly: why not give him a drip, just in case? Woo-jin’s response is scathing. Nurse Oh sighs from the sidelines; Woo-jin’s slash-and-burn approach to pedagogy reminds her of a certain cantankerous chief surgeon. Teacher Kim bursts out laughing. She’s got a point. The solution, in his experience, is to throw them together until they bond.

It doesn’t help that Eun-jae’s own student, Sun-woong, looks on her as a mix of goddess, genius, and superhero. (As well he should!) Woo-jin walks in on the cardiology duo laughing together — as Sun-woong drinks the tomato juice he made for his girlfriend! Some grievances are hard to swallow. Nevertheless, Dr. Cha’s arrival puts a dent in Eun-jae’s professional bliss. It’s tough sharing a house with your quasi-estranged father. It’s tougher sharing a desk with your micromanagement-happy boss. It’s downright abysmal when those two are one and the same.

Soon, a patient comes bursting into the ER: the skier from before. This time, no one can accuse him of faking it — his leg is bent backwards, with visible bone. Woo-jin breaks out the scalpel and the saline in record time, snapping at Dong-hwa all the while. It’s evident he’s feeling guilty. Soon, they’re in the OR, prepping for an urgent splenectomy.

Eun-jae gets the notification as she and her dad sit down for dinner. Dr. Cha’s been doing his best, swallowing bad homemade ramen in an impressively non-judgemental fashion. But as soon as Eun-jae leaves, he gives in to the urge to snoop. Eun-jae has so far kept shtum on the matter of Woo-jin’s presence — live-in boyfriend? what live-in boyfriend? — but been clumsy on the follow-up. She’d claimed her housemate was Ah-reum. Alas, our OTP’s fondness for his-and-hers couple’s toothbrushes prove their undoing… to say nothing of the boxers in the laundry.

Our couple are at odds about their patient’s treatment. Eun-jae champions the by-the-book approach: repair the artery damage first, nerves second, and minimize risk to life. But the patient is a national athlete. Woo-jin wants to take an unorthodox risk — nerves first, then blood vessels, to maximize his chances of skiing again. Teacher Kim falls silent, weighing the risks. It’s only when he hears that complexion in the left foot is back — meaning one of two arteries remains undamaged — that he makes up his mind. Woo-jin wins. Nerves first.

Dr. Cha, arriving on the scene, is outraged. To him, it’s an unjustifiable risk. But Teacher Kim, now resolute, simply twinkles at him: don’t be an amateur. They can save both nerves and arteries. Woo-jin is triumphant. Sometimes, to save lives, you’ve got to be a little crazy. Some might call it romance. As for Eun-jae… she trusts Teacher Kim’s judgement. As her father gapes in horror, she strides into the theater.

It’s a surgical marathon. But as familiar, triumphant music swells — and wow does that get me every time! — Teacher Kim knits the nerves with his usual panache. As for Eun-jae? Both she and the special effects have leveled up. As the camera zooms in on an intricate lacework of blood vessels, we follow the fiddly business of suturing the great saphenous vein. Eun-jae cinches it shut without breaking a sweat. But not everyone in the room is a hyper-competent super-surgeon. When Sun-woong’s turn comes to close up the wound, he takes up the needle with pride… and applies it with the precision of a drunk man on a roller-coaster. Awkward glances are exchanged above surgical masks. Okay, so enthusiasm isn’t everything.

Training hiccups aside, our ski champ is looking stable. Later, Teacher Kim approaches his heartbroken coach… who, as it turns out, is also the patient’s father. There’s only so much assurance he can offer. Nerve damage is tricky, but a full recovery — what some might call a miracle — has been known to happen. For his part, Teacher Kim reckons it’s down to the patient’s will.

Meanwhile, Dong-hwa breathes a sigh of relief. Time to clock off! But before he can make his escape, chaos descends. Trauma victims come pouring in from all sides; there’s been a fire in an apartment block! Gritting his teeth — holy Hippocratic Oath, I should have been a plumber — Dong-hwa turns to stay. He finds himself peering down at an elderly lady with an ailing hip, a hemoperitorium… and a lighter curled in her fist.

As Woo-jin bursts in with a barrage of instructions, interspersed with sharp criticism, Dong-hwa looks sullen. Rebelliously, he mutters that noroepinephrine is the wrong call for an older patient. Incensed, Woo-jin confronts him. What the hell is Dong-hwa’s problem? Dong-hwa sniffs. I told you we should have let the ski patient rest. Don’t you feel guilty? Woo-jin’s face hardens. No. Doctors can’t deal in ifs. Yes, he made a mistake. But all he can do to make amends is focus on the patient in front of him.

The subtlety of this is lost on Dong-hwa, who retreats to sulk. But waiting by the vending machine — Doldam’s primary social hub! — is Teacher Kim. There are two types of surgeons, he says, worthy of wielding a knife. The ones who want to save lives, and the ones who want to learn how. Dong-hwa is neither. Dong-hwa splutters in self-righteousness: what about Woo-jin, who dares compare a star athlete with an arsonist! Boy has he picked the wrong guy to preach to. Moral hypocrisy is to Teacher Kim what blood is to a shark. The resulting tirade is glorious. Who does Dong-hwa think he is — judge, jury, and executioner? Until he decides to be a doctor, he can kiss his OR privileges goodbye!

Besides, he’s dead wrong about the woman. Turns out, the apartment that caught fire was Eun-jae’s old building. She recognizes all the patients… bar one shifty-looking man, who’s attempting to scarper, sharpish. As Eun-jae blocks his path, he shoves her hard — but, at her shout, a massive, benevolent bicep descends. That’s right: it’s the indispensable Mr. Gu! Between them, they make short work of shifty guy — who, sure enough, is the real arsonist. The lady with the lighter was only trying to stop him.

Pride in tatters, Dong-hwa apologizes to Woo-jin. At this, he receives the last thing he expected from his hyper-critical mentor: sincere praise. Dong-hwa’s comments about the noroepinephrine were bang on the money — even Teacher Kim agreed. (The man in question, who’s lurking behind the corner, grins. He swaps a gleeful glance with Nurse Oh, who’s also lurking. She looks back at Dr. Nam, and Dr. Bae who — yup, you guessed it. Sheesh. No privacy in this place.) Teacher Kim also congratulates Ah-reum, who performed a flawless cricothyroidotomy on the fly. He rewards her with one of her signature lollipops — and a smile. You know the one. The earnest, light-up-the-room beam that reminds you all these people are family.

Speaking of family — Eun-jae’s post-surgery catchup is less satisfactory. Dr. Cha is full of recrimination: Teacher Kim broke a fundamental principle with the ski patient — and Eun-jae is complicit. But what, Eun-jae asks, did he think of her surgical skills? She’s met with unfriendly silence. Woo-jin is markedly less stingy. I’m proud of you, he says. You did well. Eun-jae rests her head against his shoulder; he kisses her cheek. She’s proud of him too. More than the teasing, the tomato juice, and even the regular coffee machine rendezvous — this sleepy contentedness is what makes them so believable as a couple. I’m proud of them both too!

Alas, there’s a price to pay for being adorable. Namely, Eun-jae must awkwardly explain why she’s coming home in yesterday’s clothes. Dr. Cha, with his stubborn, show-not-tell attitude to affection — and the air of a man who might, just plausibly, be feeling guilty about last night’s lecture — has cooked her breakfast. Yesterday, it was “call me professor at work.” Today, it’s “call me Dad at home.” If Eun-jae is feeling dizzy from the emotional whiplash, it’s hardly her fault; she’s had five hours’ sleep, tops.

The next day, a handful of staff get a notification: among them, Dr. Bae, Nurse Park, Eun-jae, and Woo-jin. They’ve been selected for the Trauma Center. Provisionally. For the next two months, they’ll be running teamwork simulations. Woo-jin scowls. No thanks, he says. I’m out. Dr. Cha narrows his eyes. Does Woo-jin lack confidence in his skills? He expected better from the student of Bu Yong-joo. In private, Teacher Kim sits with Nurse Oh. These next two months, he remarks, cryptically, will result in one of two outcomes. Either the elephant goes in… or the fridge breaks.

Mentorship, parenthood… these themes are at the heart of the show. But this season, they’ve been kicked into hyperdrive. Suddenly, Teacher Kim isn’t the only educator — instead, Eun-jae and Woo-jin are stepping into his shoes, with mixed results. After all, teaching isn’t a skill you come by automatically. Our heroes may have to confront themselves before they can scale this particular learning curve! Feckless though Dong-hwa may sometimes be, he’s the spitting image of a younger Woo-jin, especially when he bites back at his superiors. As for Sun-woong… well, does “overachieving cardio surgeon with operating theater anxiety” ring a bell? Eun-jae is well placed to support him — but it remains to be seen if he’ll remind her of how she used to be in ways that she’d rather forget.

Learning isn’t just for juniors. That’s what I love about this series: no one, no matter how far in their career, is incapable of change. Dr. Cha is Teacher Kim’s toughest student yet: it’s the first time he’s tried the old elephant-in-a-fridge routine with a direct peer, rather than an arrogant young(ish) surgeon. I’m also fascinated by how Eun-jae’s chaotic relationship with her father has its narrative counterpart in Woo-jin’s relationship with his own parental figure, Teacher Kim. We know how similar the latter two are — and how hard-won the affection between them. How might Eun-jae be similar to her father, and what will it take for them to find common ground? I’m itching to find out how this goes!

 
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