Koki Oguchi

Pediatrician
Former Head of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, Kitasato University Hospital
Founded Oguchi Children’s Clinic in 2000
Closed the clinic in 2025

When I asked Mr. Oguchi if he would speak with me, he said, “There’s a great pizza place nearby—let’s go have lunch there sometime.”
When I arrived, he was already there, waiting with a glass of wine.

After we had talked for a while about recent events, I asked why he had chosen pediatrics over internal medicine or surgery.
“Because children are the future. And besides, they’re adorable, aren’t they?”

After a short pause, he added,
“Looking back, I’m really glad I became a pediatrician—especially a neonatologist.”

In the autumn of his second year of high school, he told his father he wanted to go to university to study history. His father replied that he wouldn’t be able to make a living that way and told him to become a doctor instead.
When he heard that a new medical school was being established at a university in Kanagawa, he applied and was accepted. He considered taking another year to aim for a more prestigious university, but his father encouraged him: “You’ve been accepted—why not go?”

At first, he regretted it.
Perhaps because it was a newly established faculty, many of the students seemed eccentric, and the professors were unusually young. But over time, he grew accustomed to his surroundings, and inspired by the passion of those young professors, he began to find medicine fascinating.

Above all, it was his encounter with a mentor—a neonatologist—that ignited his passion. Determined to become like that doctor, he joined a university hospital. For the next twenty-five years, until he opened his own clinic at the age of forty-eight, he remained deeply involved in the care of newborn lives.

“It’s a wonderful job,” he said.

There were moments when children in desperate condition were saved through their split-second decisions and treatment. Sometimes, he and the nurses would raise their hands in celebration. And when he later met those children again at outpatient visits after they had been discharged safely, the joy was immeasurable.

There were also times when, despite their best efforts, disabilities remained, and he felt a deep sense of regret.
There were painful farewells with parents who said, “We wanted you to save our child no matter what.”

Even so, he continued working as a neonatologist because he wanted to bring children out of the intensive care unit—to let them feel sunlight and the gentle breeze.
He wanted to show them that this world is beautiful.

After opening his clinic, he established a developmental outpatient service for children who had been discharged from intensive care, drawing on his experience at the university hospital. Although it operated at a loss, he hired clinical psychologists and provided consultations for parents of children with aftereffects or autism. He personally saw new patients after regular hours, often spending as much as an hour with each one.

Feeling that insurance-based care alone was not enough, he rented another floor in the same building and, together with his nurses, created a community space for child-rearing. As for those nurses—every one of them had shared both triumph and disappointment with him at the university hospital. When he reached out to them after they had left, they were all delighted to join him again.

Last year, marking fifty years as a pediatrician, he closed his clinic. He wanted to retire while still in good health and enjoy the years ahead.
The nurses who had supported him all those years felt the same way.

And yet, his work continues.
There is “Aozora Republic,” a residential facility for children with serious illnesses and disabilities. Contributing to its development is his final mission as a pediatrician. It is also a continuation of the work passed down from the mentor who once inspired him as a medical student.
After fifty years, his passion has not faded.

By Takeshi Kikkawa