The Rancher at the Pink Hospital | A Short Story

Among doctors, there is a term called a "Pink Hospital."

It refers to a hospital, said to exist in every region, where there are strangely many rumors about romantic relationships between men and women.

Why is it so easy for doctors and nurses to get together?

There are many blatant stories, like a nurse making a bento for a resident, or someone intentionally timing their departure to match the end of outpatient hours.

Of course, the truth is usually unknown.

However, I often hear stories like these.

The on-call room.

There are doctors who sound strangely out of breath when you call them late at night.

When a certain doctor is on call, the younger staff won't use the adjacent on-call room.

No one says why.

It's just an unwritten rule.

There are also stories about doctors who are in an unusually good mood the morning after a night shift, or nurses who are usually strict but are inexplicably very kind on certain days.

No one knows how much of it is true.

But every hospital has similar stories, and every doctor hears the term at least once.

And unfortunately, it seems our hospital is one of them.

The topic came up at a department drinking party.

Surgeons, internists, residents, and a few nurses were mixed in.

That is usually the composition of a department drinking party.

A young resident said,

"This hospital is a 'Pink Hospital,' isn't it?"

After a moment of silence, laughter erupted.

No one denied it.

I laughed too.

Someone said,

"Every hospital is like that."

Another doctor said,

"No, the level here is a bit higher."

Laughter erupted again.

Then the resident continued,

"Dr. Eguchi from surgery is apparently a rancher."

More laughter.

Rancher.

It's medical slang.

One in the ward, one in outpatient, one in the operating room.

A doctor who has a sexual partner in each department.

In other words, there are "cows" everywhere.

A ranch.

Someone said,

"Three isn't enough, is it?"

Laughter erupted again.

At that moment, a nurse at the end of the table said quietly,

"...Three isn't enough."

For that instant, the air stood still.

It immediately returned to laughter.

That doctor was famous.

Thirteenth year in surgery.

His surgeries are incredibly fast.

And not just fast.

They are accurate.

He rarely fails, even with difficult cases.

He also had a good reputation with patients.

He was the ace of the surgery department.

Residents want to watch his surgeries.

Nurses also want to be in his surgeries.

The reason isn't just his skill.

He was a doctor who laughed often.

He would tell jokes even during surgery.

He remembered the nurses' names and would talk to them casually.

Doctors like that are well-liked.

And rumors are born.

The nurse station has a unique atmosphere.

There are more glances than words.

When a certain nurse approaches, the conversation stops mid-sentence.

"Dr. Eguchi is late again today, isn't he?"

Another nurse says to the nurse who said that, while laughing,

"The doctor is busy."

Busy.

With that one word, the conversation ends.

But after that, no one mentions the doctor's name.

That silence is strangely long.

It's closer to territoriality than romance.

In this hospital, for some reason, everyone knows who slept with whom.

The department is the same.

When a certain name comes up, the way people laugh changes.

Someone knows.

Someone has heard.

That atmosphere is always there.

I remember one night.

A few months ago, it was late at night after a shift.

The lights in the ward hallway were half-dimmed, and long shadows stretched out.

That doctor and a young nurse were standing side by side.

Both were talking quietly.

They were standing a little too close.

When I walked by, both of them looked at me.

They moved slightly apart.

I didn't say anything.

"Good work."

I just said that and walked past.

Actually, I thought it was a bit interesting.

I don't dislike stories like this.

One day, a rumor spread.

"Apparently, his wife called."

The doctor had left home saying he was on call.

But his wife thought something was wrong.

She called the hospital.

"I'm Dr. Eguchi's wife from surgery. He isn't picking up his cell phone, and I have something I absolutely must tell him, so could you put me through?"

The receptionist replied,

"He is not on call today."

That was all.

Even though it was just that, half the hospital knew by that night.

Rumors spread in the blink of an eye.

Department, outpatient, ward, operating room, nurse station.

The same story is told everywhere.

"Apparently, his wife came to the ward."

"No, I heard she was waiting in outpatient."

"I heard she was crying."

"There's also talk that she was yelling."

No one saw it.

Yet everyone knows.

Rumors change shape on their own.

A few weeks later, the doctor was gone.

It was sudden.

His scheduled surgeries were reassigned to other doctors.

His name stopped coming up in the department.

No one talks about him at the nurse station either.

As if he was never there to begin with.

One day, a resident said in the department,

"In the end, who told his wife?"

No one answered.

I drink my coffee.

In this hospital, everyone knows who slept with whom.

But no one knows where that rumor started.

I remember.

The two people I saw in the hallway that night.

What if I hadn't told anyone at that time?

I cannot deny that possibility.

And I suddenly wonder.

When the resident said "This is a Pink Hospital, isn't it?" at that drinking party, who was the first to laugh?

I can't remember.

However, I cannot say for sure that I have never told anyone about that night.


*This story is fiction.
No, it really is fiction.
No matter what anyone says, it is fiction.
It's just because of a middle-schooler-like reason that Eguchi's name has 'ero' (erotic) in it.

I feel like I've heard that disturbing terms like "Pink Hospital" and "rancher" exist in the medical world, but at the very least, this story is completely fictional.

It's true.
Please believe me.
It wasn't me... well, I'm not even an acquaintance, though.