
Secrets of the ER: Physician Stories From Seongsan
In Seongsan, Jeju, where families gather around hospital beds and clasp hands in waiting rooms, the question of what lies beyond death is never merely academic. It is immediate, urgent, and deeply personal. Physicians' Untold Stories by Dr. Scott Kolbaba speaks directly to that urgency. The book presents firsthand accounts from physicians who have witnessed phenomena that suggest death may not be an ending but a transition. These are not abstract theological arguments; they are concrete, specific experiences reported by trained observers. A patient describing a beautiful garden visible only to her. A physician hearing a deceased colleague's voice offering comfort during a difficult case. For Seongsan families navigating loss, these stories are a hand extended in the darkness.
Ghost Traditions and Supernatural Beliefs in South Korea
South Korea's ghost traditions are rooted in centuries of shamanic practice (mugyo/musok), Confucian ancestor veneration, and Buddhist spiritual beliefs. The gwisin (ê·€ì‹ ) — Korean ghosts — are typically portrayed as female spirits with long black hair and white burial garments, an image popularized globally by Korean horror cinema. The most feared type is the cheonyeo gwisin — the ghost of a virgin woman who died unmarried, condemned to wander because she never fulfilled her Confucian duty of marriage and motherhood.
Korean shamanism, practiced by mudang (무당, shamans, predominantly women), is one of the world's oldest surviving shamanic traditions. Gut (굿) ceremonies involve elaborate rituals where the mudang communicates with spirits of the dead, wearing colorful costumes and performing acrobatic feats while possessed by spirits. Despite modernization, an estimated 300,000 practicing shamans operate in South Korea today, and shamanic rituals are regularly performed before major construction projects, business openings, and even K-pop debuts.
The annual Chuseok harvest festival (Korean Thanksgiving) includes charye ceremonies to honor ancestors, and the concept of han (한) — a deep, collective feeling of sorrow and resentment — is central to Korean ghost stories, where spirits with unresolved han cannot rest.
Near-Death Experience Research in South Korea
Korean NDE research is shaped by the country's unique spiritual landscape — a blend of shamanism, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Christianity (about 30% of Koreans are Christian). Korean NDE accounts often feature encounters with yamaras (beings who judge the dead, from Buddhist tradition) or deceased ancestors who deliver messages about family obligations. The Korea Association for Near-Death Studies promotes research and support for NDE experiencers. Korean Buddhist scholars at Dongguk University have explored parallels between NDE accounts and Buddhist descriptions of the bardo — the intermediate state between death and rebirth. The popularity of Korean horror films and dramas dealing with ghosts and afterlife has made NDE concepts widely known in Korean popular culture.
Medical Fact
Security cameras in hospitals have occasionally recorded doors opening and closing in empty corridors at night — footage that cannot be explained by drafts.
Miraculous Accounts and Divine Intervention in South Korea
South Korea's large Christian population (particularly Protestant and Catholic communities) reports miracle healing cases regularly. The Catholic Diocese of Seoul has investigated multiple healing miracles, and Korean Protestant megachurches — some of the world's largest — report faith healing experiences. The canonization of 124 Korean martyrs by Pope Francis in 2014 involved investigation of miracles attributed to their intercession. Traditional Korean healing practices, including sasang constitutional medicine and herbal remedies, have been the subject of clinical studies at Korean medical universities.
The History of Grief, Loss & Finding Peace in Medicine
High school sports injuries near Seongsan, Jeju create a community investment in healing that extends far beyond the patient. When the starting quarterback tears an ACL, the whole town follows his recovery—from the orthopedic surgeon's office to the physical therapy clinic to the first practice back. This communal attention isn't pressure; it's support. The Midwest heals its athletes the way it raises its barns: together.
Spring in the Midwest near Seongsan, Jeju carries a healing power that winter's survivors understand viscerally. The first warm day, the first green shoot, the first robin—these aren't metaphors for recovery. They're the recovery itself, experienced at a physiological level by people whose bodies have endured months of cold and darkness. The Midwest physician who says 'hang on until spring' is prescribing the most effective antidepressant the region produces.
Medical Fact
The sound of footsteps in empty hospital corridors during night shifts is one of the most universally reported phenomena by overnight staff.
Open Questions in Faith and Medicine
The Midwest's tradition of pastoral care visits near Seongsan, Jeju—the pastor who appears at the hospital within an hour of learning that a congregant has been admitted—creates a spiritual rapid response system that parallels the medical one. The patient who wakes from anesthesia to find their pastor praying at the bedside receives a message more powerful than any medication: you are not alone, and your community has not forgotten you.
Lutheran hospital traditions near Seongsan, Jeju carry Martin Luther's insistence that caring for the sick is not a work of merit but a response to grace. This theological framework produces a medical culture that values humility over heroism—the Lutheran physician doesn't heal to earn divine favor; they heal because they've already received it. The result is a quiet, persistent compassion that doesn't seek recognition.
Ghost Stories and the Supernatural Near Seongsan, Jeju
Farm accident ghosts—a uniquely Midwestern category—haunt rural hospitals near Seongsan, Jeju with a workmanlike persistence. These spirits of farmers killed by combines, PTOs, and grain augers appear in overalls and work boots, checking on fellow farmers who arrive in emergency departments with similar injuries. They don't try to communicate; they simply stand watch, one worker looking out for another.
The Midwest's tradition of barn medicine—veterinarians and farmers treating each other's injuries alongside livestock ailments near Seongsan, Jeju—produced a pragmatic approach to healing that persists in rural hospitals. The ghost of the farmer who set his own broken leg with fence wire and baling twine is a Midwest archetype: a spirit that embodies self-reliance so deeply that even death doesn't diminish its competence.
Hospital Ghost Stories
The night shift in any hospital is a liminal space — a threshold between the ordinary rhythms of daytime medicine and something altogether more intimate and mysterious. Physicians who work nights in Seongsan's hospitals know this well: the quieted hallways, the dimmed lights, the peculiar intensity of caring for the critically ill when the rest of the world sleeps. It is during these shifts that many of the experiences documented in Physicians' Untold Stories occur. A nurse hears a patient call her name from a room where the patient died two hours ago. A resident physician sees a figure standing at the foot of a dying patient's bed — a figure that vanishes when approached.
These night-shift encounters are not unique to any one hospital or city; they are reported across the medical profession with a consistency that is difficult to attribute to coincidence or fatigue. Dr. Kolbaba presents these accounts with sensitivity to the professionals who experienced them, many of whom spent years questioning their own perceptions before finding validation in the similar experiences of colleagues. For Seongsan readers, these night-shift narratives offer a glimpse into a world that exists alongside our own — a world that becomes visible only when the noise of ordinary life quiets enough for us to perceive it.
The impact of Physicians' Untold Stories extends beyond its readers to the broader medical conversation about end-of-life care. In Seongsan, Jeju, and across the country, the book has contributed to a growing recognition that the dying process involves dimensions that standard medical education does not address. Hospice and palliative care programs have begun incorporating discussions of deathbed phenomena into their training, acknowledging that healthcare workers need frameworks for understanding and responding to these experiences when they occur. This shift represents a significant cultural change within medicine, and Dr. Kolbaba's book has been a catalyst for it.
For Seongsan families who are navigating end-of-life decisions, this evolving medical perspective is directly relevant. It means that the physician or hospice worker caring for their loved one may be more prepared to discuss and validate unusual experiences than previous generations of healthcare providers would have been. It means that a patient who reports seeing a deceased spouse is less likely to be dismissed and more likely to be listened to with respect and curiosity. Physicians' Untold Stories has helped create a medical culture that is more honest about the full spectrum of human experience at the end of life — and for Seongsan families, that honesty is a profound gift.
The question of why some deaths are accompanied by unexplained phenomena and others are not is one that Physicians' Untold Stories raises but wisely does not attempt to answer definitively. Dr. Kolbaba acknowledges that the majority of deaths, even those attended by the physicians in his book, occur without any remarkable events. But he suggests that this may be a matter of perception rather than occurrence — that deathbed phenomena may be more common than we realize, but that the conditions for perceiving them (emotional openness, attentional focus, relational connection to the dying person) may not always be met.
This observation has practical implications for families in Seongsan who are approaching a loved one's death. It suggests that being fully present — emotionally open, attentive, and willing to perceive whatever might occur — may increase the likelihood of experiencing the kind of comforting phenomena described in Physicians' Untold Stories. This is not a guarantee, and Dr. Kolbaba is careful to avoid creating unrealistic expectations. But it is an invitation to approach the dying process with a quality of presence that is, in itself, deeply healing — regardless of whether unexplained phenomena occur.
Research on post-mortem communication — defined as experiences in which the living perceive meaningful contact with the deceased — has expanded significantly in recent decades, with studies by Jenny Streit-Horn (2011) suggesting that between 30% and 60% of bereaved individuals report some form of post-death contact. These experiences include sensing the presence of the deceased, hearing their voice, seeing their apparition, smelling fragrances associated with them, and receiving meaningful signs. Physicians are not immune to these experiences; several accounts in Physicians' Untold Stories describe physicians who perceived contact with deceased patients after the patients' deaths. These physician experiences are particularly noteworthy because they occur in individuals who are trained to be skeptical of subjective perception and who have no emotional investment in the belief that the deceased can communicate. For Seongsan readers who have experienced their own forms of post-mortem communication — a phenomenon far more common than most people realize — the physician accounts in Dr. Kolbaba's book provide validation from an unexpected and highly credible source.
The "filter" or "transmission" model of consciousness, developed most fully by psychologist William James and elaborated by contemporary researchers at the University of Virginia, offers a theoretical framework that can accommodate the phenomena documented in Physicians' Untold Stories. Unlike the standard "production" model — which holds that consciousness is generated by the brain and ceases when the brain dies — the filter model proposes that the brain functions as a reducing valve or filter for a consciousness that exists independently of it. Under this model, the brain does not create consciousness but constrains it, limiting the range of conscious experience to what is useful for biological survival. As the brain deteriorates during the dying process, these constraints may be loosened, allowing a broader range of conscious experience — which would account for deathbed visions, terminal lucidity, and other end-of-life phenomena. The filter model is not a fringe hypothesis; it has been developed in peer-reviewed publications by Edward Kelly, Emily Williams Kelly, and Adam Crabtree, among others, most notably in the scholarly volume Irreducible Mind (2007). For Seongsan readers who are interested in the theoretical implications of the stories in Physicians' Untold Stories, the filter model provides a scientifically respectable framework that takes the evidence seriously without abandoning the methods and standards of empirical inquiry.

Miraculous Recoveries
Researchers have long noted that spontaneous remission of cancer appears to occur more frequently in certain tumor types — renal cell carcinoma, neuroblastoma, melanoma, and certain lymphomas — than in others. This observation, while not fully explained, suggests that biological factors play a role in these remissions and that they are not purely random events. Some researchers hypothesize that these tumor types may be particularly immunogenic, making them more susceptible to immune-mediated regression.
Dr. Scott Kolbaba's "Physicians' Untold Stories" includes cases spanning multiple tumor types, some consistent with this immunogenicity hypothesis and others that challenge it. For oncology researchers in Seongsan, Jeju, these accounts add valuable anecdotal evidence to the growing case for systematic study of spontaneous remission. Understanding why certain tumors regress spontaneously could revolutionize cancer treatment — transforming what is currently a medical mystery into a therapeutic strategy.
The role of community in healing — the way that social support, shared prayer, and collective care can influence patient outcomes — is a thread that runs quietly through many of the accounts in "Physicians' Untold Stories." While the book focuses primarily on the medical dimensions of miraculous recoveries, it also reveals that many of these recoveries occurred in contexts of intense community engagement: church groups holding prayer vigils, neighborhoods organizing meal deliveries, families maintaining round-the-clock bedside presence.
Research in social epidemiology has consistently shown that strong social connections are associated with better health outcomes, lower mortality rates, and enhanced immune function. For communities in Seongsan, Jeju, the stories in Kolbaba's book suggest that this connection between community and healing may operate at levels more profound than current research has explored — that the collective care of a community may itself be a form of medicine, working through channels that science has not yet mapped.
Advances in epigenetics have revealed that gene expression can be modified by environmental factors, including psychological stress, social isolation, meditation, and even belief. These modifications, which occur without changes to the underlying DNA sequence, can activate or silence genes in ways that affect immune function, inflammation, and cellular repair. Some researchers have speculated that epigenetic changes may play a role in spontaneous remission — that the psychological or spiritual shifts often reported by patients who experience unexplained recoveries may trigger gene expression changes that activate healing pathways.
While this hypothesis remains speculative, it offers a scientific framework that may eventually help explain some of the cases in "Physicians' Untold Stories." For researchers in Seongsan, Jeju, the intersection of epigenetics and spontaneous remission represents a frontier of inquiry where molecular biology meets the mysteries of consciousness and belief — a frontier that Dr. Kolbaba's book illuminates with clarity and compassion.
The field of narrative medicine, pioneered by Rita Charon at Columbia University, emphasizes the importance of patients' stories in clinical care — the idea that a patient's narrative of their illness carries information that laboratory tests and imaging studies cannot capture. The cases in "Physicians' Untold Stories" extend this insight to the phenomenon of healing itself, revealing that patients who experience miraculous recoveries often construct narratives of transformation that give meaning and coherence to their experience.
These narratives typically share common elements: a crisis that strips away superficial concerns, a confrontation with mortality that reveals what truly matters, a moment of surrender or acceptance, and an experience of transcendence — connection to something larger than the self. For researchers in narrative medicine at institutions in Seongsan, Jeju, these shared narrative elements raise important questions. Are these narratives merely retrospective interpretations of biological events, or do they reflect actual psychological processes that contribute to healing? If the latter, then the narrative dimensions of illness and recovery may be not just therapeutically relevant but biologically active — and the practice of eliciting, supporting, and engaging with patients' narratives may itself be a form of treatment.
The New England Journal of Medicine's publication history includes numerous case reports of spontaneous tumor regression that, collectively, challenge several fundamental assumptions about cancer biology. A 1959 case report documented the complete regression of a choriocarcinoma following diagnostic hysterectomy — no anticancer treatment was administered. A 1990 report described the spontaneous regression of malignant melanoma, with biopsy evidence of immune-mediated tumor destruction. A 2002 report documented the regression of hepatocellular carcinoma in a patient who had been placed on the transplant waiting list — by the time a liver became available, the cancer had disappeared.
Dr. Kolbaba's "Physicians' Untold Stories" places these journal-published cases in human context, adding the physician perspective that academic publications necessarily exclude. For the medical community in Seongsan, Jeju, the combination of peer-reviewed documentation and personal testimony creates a more complete picture of spontaneous regression than either source provides alone. The NEJM cases establish that these events occur and are medically documented; Kolbaba's book reveals that they are far more common than the published case reports suggest — because most physicians who witness them never write them up, fearing professional consequences or simply lacking the framework to discuss them.

Where Hospital Ghost Stories Meets Hospital Ghost Stories
The scent of flowers in a room where no flowers exist is one of the most commonly reported deathbed phenomena, and it appears multiple times in Physicians' Untold Stories. Physicians and nurses in Seongsan-area hospitals and elsewhere describe walking into a dying patient's room and being overwhelmed by the fragrance of roses, lilies, or other flowers — a fragrance that dissipates shortly after the patient's death and that no physical source can account for. These olfactory experiences are particularly striking because they are so specific and so consistent across different witnesses, locations, and time periods.
The research literature on deathbed phenomena includes numerous reports of unexplained fragrances, and some researchers have speculated that they may represent a form of communication or comfort from a spiritual dimension. Dr. Kolbaba presents these accounts without imposing an interpretation, but for Seongsan readers who have experienced similar phenomena — the sudden scent of a deceased grandmother's perfume, the smell of a father's pipe tobacco in an empty room — the physician accounts offer validation. These experiences, the book suggests, are not products of grief-stricken imagination but genuine perceptions reported by trained medical observers.
The impact of Physicians' Untold Stories extends beyond its readers to the broader medical conversation about end-of-life care. In Seongsan, Jeju, and across the country, the book has contributed to a growing recognition that the dying process involves dimensions that standard medical education does not address. Hospice and palliative care programs have begun incorporating discussions of deathbed phenomena into their training, acknowledging that healthcare workers need frameworks for understanding and responding to these experiences when they occur. This shift represents a significant cultural change within medicine, and Dr. Kolbaba's book has been a catalyst for it.
For Seongsan families who are navigating end-of-life decisions, this evolving medical perspective is directly relevant. It means that the physician or hospice worker caring for their loved one may be more prepared to discuss and validate unusual experiences than previous generations of healthcare providers would have been. It means that a patient who reports seeing a deceased spouse is less likely to be dismissed and more likely to be listened to with respect and curiosity. Physicians' Untold Stories has helped create a medical culture that is more honest about the full spectrum of human experience at the end of life — and for Seongsan families, that honesty is a profound gift.
Deathbed coincidences — events in the physical environment that occur simultaneously with a patient's death and have no apparent causal connection to it — represent one of the most intriguing categories of phenomena documented in both the Brayne/Lovelace/Fenwick survey and Physicians' Untold Stories. Clocks stopping at the moment of death, light bulbs burning out, photographs falling from walls, mechanical devices malfunctioning — these events, reported by physicians and nurses across Seongsan and the broader medical community, are individually dismissable as coincidence but collectively suggest a pattern. The statistical likelihood of a clock stopping at the precise moment of a patient's death, absent any physical mechanism connecting the two events, is vanishingly small when considered in isolation; when dozens of such cases are documented by credible witnesses, the pattern becomes difficult to dismiss. Researchers have proposed various explanations, from psychokinetic effects of the dying consciousness to quantum-level correlations between observer and environment. None of these explanations are yet well-established, but the data — consistently reported by trained medical observers — demands that they be explored. For Seongsan readers, these deathbed coincidences serve as a reminder that the relationship between consciousness and the physical world may be far more intimate and far more mysterious than our current scientific models acknowledge.
How This Book Can Help You
County medical society meetings near Seongsan, Jeju that discuss this book will find it generates the kind of collegial conversation that these societies were founded to promote. When physicians share their extraordinary experiences with peers who understand the professional stakes of such disclosure, the conversation achieves a depth and honesty that no other forum permits. This book is an invitation to that conversation.


About the Author
Dr. Scott J. Kolbaba, MD is an internist at Northwestern Medicine. Mayo Clinic trained, he spent three years interviewing 200+ physicians about their most extraordinary experiences.
Medical Fact
Music spontaneously heard by healthcare workers at the moment of a patient's death — hymns, melodies, or ethereal tones — is a cross-cultural phenomenon.
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