Forbidden Diagnosis, Some Wounds Medicine Can't Heal

Anya:

Everything around me fades away.

All I can focus on is the man in scrubs, no, scratch that... the Greek god in scrubs.

I've seen plenty of attractive men at college, rotations, even conferences, but no one has ever set my whole body on fire like he just did.

Oh my God. I really need to stop my wayward thoughts. Five minutes ago, I was thinking about his mother and how stunning she is and how I might have a professional crush on her. Not that kind of crush, okay? It's not the same.

I force myself to breathe.

I've worked too hard to be here; I can't ruin this with some ridiculous crush. If he ever found out, he could fire me on the spot. He has the power, after all, this is his world, and I'm just the new resident standing in it.

I'm so distracted I don't even realize the director has stopped talking until she calls on Dr. Felix to address us.

My pulse spikes again. My face burns; I'm probably pinker than I'd like to admit. I blink too fast and bite the inside of my cheek, anything to calm my racing heart.

Zara elbows me and whispers, "Isn't he a sight for sore eyes? You're drooling next to me."

I can't answer. I don't even try to look at him again, but I can't not hear him when he starts to speak.

And when he does, I want to scream like some unhinged groupie at a concert.

Something is definitely wrong with me.

Stop it, Anya. You'll embarrass yourself if your ovaries explode right here, I scold myself silently.

His voice is deep, smooth, and steady, the kind of voice that knows exactly who it belongs to.

He and I live in different worlds, and the thought is enough to douse the hormones currently rioting in mine. I'm worse than a teenager.

This isn't a Taylor Swift song, and no matter how much it feels like the awkward nerd meeting the star quarterback, but he does not belong with me.

It's good, actually. I'll need that reminder next time I see him walking the same corridors. He's my senior attending, might be my supervisor, and I have to remember respect not how his voice somehow soothed an old ache I didn't know still existed.

Like his mother and every other speaker, he doesn't talk long. When he finishes, I'm equal parts relieved and disappointed.

The crowd begins to scatter. As our program's assessment in-charge, he asks us to collect our assigned rotas and follow the chief resident of each specialty for a tour of the hospital.

Thank God he won't be in the same group as me.

Zara and I are both placed in the core-surgical program along with twelve others.

Our chief resident is a woman named Kelly Montgomery, not much older than me, tall, with an air of authority, dark glowing skin, the most beautiful shade of curly brown hair, and eyes to match. For a second I'm confused.

Are all the doctors in this hospital this gorgeous?

I feel like I'm living inside an episode of Grey's Anatomy, except I'm no legacy and my mother isn't a doctor. No one in my family ever has been. I need to pinch myself, wake up, and concentrate.

I glance at my rota. One look and I already know how this intern year is going to go. We'll be working thirty-six- to forty-hour shifts twice a week, and I'm on call for thirty-six straight tomorrow.

Well, congratulations, Anya, I mock myself and snicker quietly.

Zara notices and gives me a questioning look. I mouth nothing as we slip out the back door of the hall.

The tour lasts an hour and a half. The hospital is a maze. I'm probably going to get lost on my way to, well, anywhere.

Walking those corridors, illuminated by white fluorescent lights, smelling of bleach and disinfectant, watching the mix of hope and despair on patients' families' faces, it's overwhelming.

But my resolve doesn't waver for a second.

Life is like that: happiness and sadness, hope and despair, sickness and health, all come in pairs.

So I vow to myself again: I'll give it everything I have, because I'm not a quitter. This is what I was meant to do. I believe in it.. in myself.

All thoughts of the sexy sin in scrubs fade from my mind... until the day is about to end.

Zara wears the same expression I do, equal parts awe and resolve, laced with the weight of new responsibility.

She asks where I'm living, snapping me out of my internal monologue. I tell her about my situation, and just as quickly as she took the seat next to me this morning, she offers to be my roommate.

She hasn't found a decent apartment near the hospital and is renting a room at a motel.

Well, that's settled sooner than I expected.

We decide to move her in tonight, because starting at 5 a.m. tomorrow we begin our first thirty-six-hour shift.

Zara and I will be on call for the ward patients, supervised by a fourth-year resident named Luke Wilson.

After the tour ends and the paperwork is finished, we climb into her beat-up Camaro and drive to the motel to collect her things. Moving is harder than expected, most of her furniture won't arrive until next weekend but by eight we're done.

The evening is spent in easy chatter and laughter, from where we grew up to favourite comfort food and everything in between.

We go to bed early, waiting for the next day with that good kind of nervous excitement.