The Pride That Grows Larger Because It Cannot Be Said: A Doctor's “The King’s Ears Are Donkey Ears”

Source - EBS

It was on my way to work. As soon as I got off the subway, I let myself be carried along by the crowd pouring toward Gangnam Station intersection.

The wind brushed past my forehead, and the smartphone screen was filled with the list of patients scheduled for appointments today.

Then, like a scene from a movie, a familiar face appeared on a giant electronic billboard covering the side of a building.

White jacket, sweat droplets under the lights, synchronized dance moves to the beat

It was a singer on whom I had performed a hair transplant.

I felt embarrassed and proud at the same time.

I was secretly happy, but I immediately nodded and muttered only to myself.

“Your hair really grew well.”

I had actually been quite worried because the singer had never come back for a follow-up after the surgery.

Had the follicles survived well? Was the hairline natural? Were there any side effects?...

But seeing the person proudly showing their hairline on a huge screen in front of so many people put my mind at ease.

I wanted to suddenly say to the passerby standing next to me,

“I did that person’s hair. It came out well, right?” But I couldn’t.

It clearly states that “patient information learned during work must not be disclosed or announced.”

Beyond the legal and ethical issues, the trust the patient placed in me is a value that cannot be exchanged for anything else.

The problem is that I protect that trust far too thoroughly.

Because I keep the secret, “the truth only I know” lingers on my tongue, and at conferences or gatherings, I am always put to the test.

“Did you happen to perform surgery on that actor?”

“No, but did that person have surgery?”

I’ve had conversations like this dozens of times.

Actors, singers, influencers... whenever they change, people around me ask,

but I always pretend not to know.

I only say it in my heart. ‘Yes, I did it.’

Whenever this happens, the fable that comes to mind is “The King’s Ears Are Donkey Ears.”

Like the barber who shouted his secret into a well, the well inside my heart also cries out:

‘The king’s ears are donkey ears!’ But I firmly keep the lid on the well.

It itches to keep it to myself, but instead I soothe myself with a private sense of pride.

It is enough that my hands were part of their transformation.

When I arrived at the clinic and took a sip of coffee, I thought,

“Now you’re really making it big.”

As I erased the smile that had spread across my lips, I prepared once again to protect the secrets of today’s other patients.

And I shouted again only in my heart.

‘The king’s ears are donkey ears!’

In human relationships, trust is ultimately proven not by words but by actions.

I believe that keeping the secrets entrusted to me by patients is the minimum—and the maximum—courtesy a doctor must uphold.

So if you ever see a doctor on the street saying, “I did that singer’s hair,” please think of that person as someone other than me for that moment.

Because I will probably keep shouting it only in my heart for the rest of my life.