Published: 2025-09-28

Doctor Jiménez sat at his desk, going through piles of documents, scientific and medical papers, and foreign magazines. He was not looking for anything in particular, but for a spark that would push him to a breakthrough, after all, it had happened before. It could come from anywhere, a German paper or a Japanese science fiction magazine, one never knew, and that is why Dr. Jiménez knew how to speak in twelve different languages and was learning other four.

He unburied his head from the pile of literature in front of him and looked forward. His gaze was lost, as if he faced a crowd and refused to fixate on anyone in particular. “I want to thank the New Town Medical Research Institute for their continual support in—” as he talked to an imaginary crowd, a knock on the door interrupted him. It was Caroline, his secretary.

“I have told not to interrupt me when I’m working on my research. Is your generation really that useless?” Dr. Jiménez said.
“I apologize, Doctor. I came because it’s already past 8:00 PM and I have to go pick up my son from the daycare.”
“Then go. Why come here to announce it?”
“I came to bring you the magazine from Switzerland, where Dr. Schmid first published his theory. You told me to bring it right away when I received it.”
“Are you receiving it just now?”
“It arrived at around 4:30 PM, but—”
“Then why didn’t you bring it earlier?”
“Because you told me not to interrupt you when you are working, doctor.”

Doctor Jiménez looked at Caroline with utmost attention.

“Very well. Leave it on my desk, then you can leave.”

Caroline hurried across the room and placed the magazine on top of the desk. She said goodnight as she was leaving the room, but the doctor didn’t bother to return the greeting.

Caroline’s visit made Dr. Jiménez lose his train of thought. He grabbed the new magazine and stared at it. He had been wanting to read the unrevised version of Dr. Schmid’s theory for quite some time now. He dropped the magazine on the messy desk and stood up. He had recovered his train of thought. The speech; he was in the middle of his speech.

Doctor Jiménez was to receive an award for outstanding contributions to the field of medicine the very next day. As a most distinguished surgeon, he had published countless papers and pioneered several cutting-edge procedures. His contributions to the medical sciences across forty years of career were invaluable, and the multiple awards and plaques in his office were proof of that.

Between foreign magazines and speech rehearsals, the clock’s hands moved rapidly. It was already past 10:00 PM. Doctor Jiménez was exhausted and considered it prudent to return home for the day. He locked his office and left for home. He had barely walked a couple of feet when he felt dizzy. Another person would have brushed it up, but Dr. Jiménez knew the body gave no false positives; his body was trying to tell him something. He felt his pulse, and it seemed to be all right; his breathing was OK, too; it didn’t seem like neurological failure either. He suddenly felt an acute pain in the chest, and his breathing started slowing down. It was his heart.

The research wing was deserted that late at night, unless he could find help, Doctor Jiménez had no other option but to run to the operating room. He knew every second was vital; thus, he ran, but as soon as he tried lifting his feet, he fell to the ground. The skin on his forehead was torn open. At 68 years old, his body was fragile. Now, his vision was not only blurry but also red-tainted, and the pain in his chest had not disappeared.

He got on one knee and used the wall as a support for his upper body, then he stood up, and, dragging his feet slowly, made his way to the operating room.

There was little time for sterilizing the room, and he had no supporting personnel; what he had to do, he had to do by himself. Doctor Jiménez knew the pain was probably caused by coronary artery disease. He knew the symptoms, he knew how to treat them, but he was not a heart surgeon. Besides, open heart surgery was nothing like an appendectomy; he could not see his heart while he operated on it. What he was about to do was not medical science, but a suicide.

He looked around the room. He would have to make the most of whatever supplies he had at hand. A surgical monitor would let him see his insides. He was ready, but frightened. He had already lost blood when he fell to the floor; he had to cut his chest open, bypass the blocked artery, and sew his chest closed, all without losing consciousness. To make matters worse, he had to do it without stopping his heart, and using a piece of sterile tube instead of a healthy vessel. As he lay down, he could see the reaper looming over the operating table. The odds were 99 to 1 against him.

He took a deep breath and softly dragged the scalpel over his chest. Blood squirted upwards as if his body were a fountain. There was no turning back now.

The next day, doctors, scientists, and members of the press reunited at the New Town Grand Hotel to recognize the contributions of men and women in the field of medicine, but Doctor Jiménez was not among those present. Nobody had heard from him, so the organizers pushed his award to the end of the list and went on with the event.

Around half an hour before the end of the event, a woman wearing an elegant black dress and pushing a man in a wheelchair entered the hall. Doctor Jiménez had arrived, accompanied by his loyal secretary Caroline.

THE END.