Blinded by Color

Chapter 6 Tiffany

My pager goes off constantly, and right now, I am on autopilot from working so many hours. I am currently working at Jackson Park in southside Chicago. I just completed med school, and my residency is another four to seven years to becoming an actual doctor. I love what I do with a passion. I love helping people. I always have. I wanted to be placed at Jackson Park. I knew the ER there would be filled with lots of cases that would teach me the ins and outs of surgery and complicated medical diagnosis. It is busy. It is never a dull moment. I work under Doctor Mychal. His name is spelled very uniquely, but it is pronounced just like Michael. He is from Pakistan. He is the most brilliant and amazing man I have ever encountered. He loves his job, and I swear the man never leaves the hospital. I want to be like that. I found out at a young age I couldn't have children. It's something that I learned over many therapy sessions with myself to let go of. I believe everything happens for a reason, and the reason I am not meant to have kids is that I am meant to help them. I see cases of extreme child abuse to gunshot wounds and gang green. It never ceases to amaze me what comes through that door. I graduated top of my class and was honored when I won an award for most successful medical president. I had a full scholarship when I started at my junior college, where I majored in pre-med. I attended Northwestern. It's a prestigious school and hard to get accepted, but I made it. My mother is beyond proud of me. She would never let anyone forget that her baby girl was going to be a doctor. She brought it up every chance she got.

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I hear the intercom calling for Doctor Mychal, and I know that means me. I run to room 441, where I am met with him and several bystanders screaming, "Is he going to be okay? That's my baby. Save my baby. What are you doing? DOOOO SOMETHING!" This happens a lot when family is involved. I am in the hallway, pulling back the curtain, asking them all to move please so we can do our job. I try to be as polite as possible, but there is a life on the line, and the blood is on our hands. I follow the doc's orders, calling out vitals and what I see, which is several gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen. I move faster than the speed of light, hooking him up to different machines and trying to talk to him. "Can you hear me? Hang on to my voice, stay with me. My name is Doctor Hamilton. Please try to stay calm and breathe in and out." I do my best to yell commands to the nurses who come to assist and stay attentive to the vitals airing on the machine. I focus on that sound which lets me know the heart is still in communication with us...beep...beeep...beeeep, and I stare at the lines going up and down, making peaks and valleys to assure me he is still alive. Quickly, I am dressing the wounds and holding pressure while screaming for nurse Linda to take my place. I rush to the sink and begin washing my hands for the total time of two minutes, making sure I am clean from fingertip to elbow. I assert myself gloved up in between the nurses and Dr. Mychal. I look at him, and he asks me, "What is next?" I take a long look at the victim. I know the time is ticking, and time is crucial, so I begin my analogy and say I need to operate, but first, I need X-rays to make sure I can safely remove the bullets. I begin delegating the tasks and calling up to the OR for a room. I need it prepped because I am about to perform surgery on a twenty-two-year-old man who was shot seven times in front of his mother!

When surgery is over, I can finally relax and tell the parents of the young man that he will be okay. He may never have full function again of his kidneys, but he will be able to walk, talk, and survive. The police are always involved in these situations, and before I get the chance to check on a patient, I normally have police asking if the patient is well enough for an interview. I make my rounds every day, and this patient will be in the ICU for a while. I am glad that I can tell his mother, "He is coming home; we just do not know when." I see these situations every day, and I think, maybe I am the lucky one that I will never carry an infant. I will never have a baby that I will have to worry about or a son who might be shot in the street. Those fears for me are far off and hard to imagine. My fears are so different from this mother. My fear begins with failing someone and losing a life because of my mistake. I have a lot on my plate, and the rush of adrenaline when in the ER is my drug of choice. I can't get enough even when I have a bad experience of losing a life. I want right back on the front line to deal with the next case. This is why they say I was born to be a doctor.

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I pull up to my high rise, and I am so excited to take a hot bath and just relax. I live in downtown Chicago, and my views are indescribable. I love my condo. It is my safe haven, and I never feel stressed in here. I worked really hard to buy this condo and all of the stuff in it. I decorated it myself. I have really made a life for myself, and the only thing that is missing is someone to share it with. I've dated here and there and had the occasional fling, but I am incredibly busy trying to become a doctor, and time is not on my side. I would love to make time to date, but I am currently working upwards of ninety hours a week at the hospital. Sometimes, I don't get to come home; I literally shower there and nap in an empty room or on a lounge couch. My free time consists of catching up on sleep and having time to respond to my mom since she is the only one who texts me. I do have friends, but right now, our lives are just headed in different directions. Lots of people my age are looking for "the one," and I am looking for my career. As I walk up the long sidewalk in the lighted path, my shadow follows me. I feel like every step I take weighs a million pounds. I use my code to buzz myself in and head for the elevator. I push the button for the thirty-sixth floor and wait patiently for my stop. The hallway to my door is quiet like always, and I pull out my keys and unlock the door. I enter my condo and just breathe in the fresh scent of empty and lavender. I always have lavender scents about my place since it is supposed to soothe you and create a calm atmosphere. It is something I have needed to cope with my strenuous job and schooling for the last eight years. I literally kick my shoes off and begin undressing myself; home is so familiar. The beauty of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows surrounds me. I can see the Chicago skyline and the lights of the city. It is amazing to be up here, looking out naked and vulnerable, knowing no one can see me. I walk into my master bath, turning on my jacuzzi tub and filling it with hot water and bubbles from a basil-scented bath bomb. I light some candles and turn on some Motown. I grew up on Motown. It reminds me of my favorite past times. I slowly enter the water while singing to the Temptations when I hear my cell ringing. Of course, it would ring right now, and I know it is none other than my mother wanting to see how I am doing. She will have to wait; this bath is more important right now. I am in my Zen, and not even my mama can take that from me.