A man, who detested the blaring wails of sirens, found himself in an unexpected poetic role – behind the steering wheel of an ambulance.

"Are you a doctor?" quivered a voice from the ambulance's rear.

"Somewhat," he replied, aware that his medical license was technically suspended. However, he chose not to reveal this to the patient, as he didn't agree with the Medical Board’s decision. "How can I help?"

"I believe I'm having a heart attack," the man said, clutching his chest.

He had encountered numerous patients with similar symptoms before. However, his own assessment suggested that the man was grappling with a panic attack stemming from excessive worry. "Let me share both good and bad news," he began. "You're not experiencing a heart attack, but there's an issue related to your brain."

"A tumour?" Fear quivered in his voice.

"No," he replied, trying to ease the tension. "Don't fret; it's a treatable condition."

"Treatable? How?" The man's eyes widened, uncertain about the journey ahead.

"Just a brief procedure," he reassured, brushing off the concern. "Think of it as a non-invasive brain surgery, like refining your thoughts."

"I'll do anything to get better!" the man exclaimed; his desperation evident.

Anxiety often led people to intriguing decisions. Despite the man's distress and years caution, he was now entrusting his life to an ambulance attendant posing as a doctor.

"Close your eyes," the attendant instructed, hoping his time away from the operating theatre hadn't dulled his skills.

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"We've reached the hospital," the ambulance attendant announced.

"What about the operation?" the man inquired.

"That's been taken care of," he contemplated, debating whether to provide a post-op explanation. However, he reminded himself that he wasn't technically a doctor, so it wasn't his concern. "You can exit now."

As the man stepped out of the ambulance, the attendant settled into his seat, feeling a blend of relief and uncertainty. He was unsure of what lay ahead. Suddenly, a knock on the window shattered his thoughts. An overly enthusiastic nurse stood outside, signalling him to lower the window.

"The Board would like to see you," she cheerfully stated, her demeanour contrasting sharply with the gravity of the situation.

Though one might expect him to approach this meeting with a heavy heart, the surgeon remained stoic. He entered the meeting room, facing a panel of senior doctors whose scrutinizing gazes filled the room with tension.

"Regrettably, we've decided to suspend your license indefinitely," one of the doctors admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of relief.

"And the reason?" he asked, striving to maintain his composure.

Another doctor chimed in; his voice tinged with apprehension. "You diagnosed a man with heartbreak and proceeded to perform surgery on his thoughts to 'cure' him. This resulted in erasing his memories of the woman he loved."

"My intention was to help the patient."

"You tampered with his thoughts," another doctor interjected, "and may I ask how you managed that with just a scalpel?"

The surgeon stood firm. "What alternative would you propose? Suggest therapy or flood him with medications?"

One doctor erupted in anger. "Anything but what you did! You delved into his thoughts and erased every memory of his beloved, as if it were a malignant growth."

"I see no wrongdoing," the surgeon countered.

"Don't you comprehend why we avoid such surgeries? He can't even recall his own child because those memories were intertwined with that woman. Should we amputate an entire arm for a broken finger?"

The surgeon remained unmoved, showing no sign of remorse.

"You acted recklessly, and I'll ensure that not only in the capital, but across the entire province, your medical practice will be restricted."

But the doctors were mistaken, because the outskirts would accept him. There the Capital would have no jurisdiction.