From Aliya to Hafiz

Twenty-nine.

Aliya.

"Hey, newbie, the patient in room 301 wants to take a dump, take care of it."

I looked up from my phone to find Jane smiling spitefully at me. She was a cardiac nurse, dozen of ranks below me. Her black hair was pulled in a bun and the pink and white nurse inform she worse clung to her curvy body.

Her expression and derision made a familiar feeling of irritation rear up its head, a feeling I had been putting up with for a week plus now.

Endure, Aliya.

Even though my lunch break only began, I still stood up with a sigh, shoving what little is remaining of my sandwich into my mouth in the process. I dusted the crumbs off my pink scrubs and pulled my lab coat on before brushing past her to room 301.

Along the way, I ignored the sneering stares from both patients and doctors alike, I had learned to tune them out and just do what I needed to do. About a week ago, my license was mailed to the Hakimi estate along with my results. I had passed and successfully became a cardiologist recognized by the American states.

Yay!

Not.

The day after, Nikita brought me to Hope Medical Care, the most renowned hospital in Jersey City, and among the top five in the country with more than twenty branches across America. 

I had been here for a week now, and it was not what I was expecting. My first day here, a woman refused to be diagnosed by me, demanding the police be called as she didn't feel safe with a 'terrorist' in the building.

Because she kept raging while having a weak heart, she fainted, earning me a query from the department's chief who didn't even care to listen to what I had to say.

"I had qualms about hiring the likes of you, but it isn't my hospital and I don't have the final say. If it were up to me, you and your terrorists kind will be deported back to your poverty stricken countries."

His words still remained fresh in my memory. At that moment, I was tempted to tell him the Saudi Arabian royal family was probably the richest in the entire world and that Dubai and Egypt weren't actually deserts even though the American television industry portrayed them as such.

I knocked on the door to room 301 and pushed it open after a moment. The woman laying on the bed was frail, hair a very dull grey. She looked up when I entered, eyes straining to focus on me.

"Good afternoon Annie, I was told you needed to use the bathroom?" I walked over and checked her monitor, frowning slightly. "How are you feeling?" I checked her eyes before laying a gentle palm on her chest.

"It's...you again," she wheezed, taking short painful breaths in between words.

"Yes, Dr. Suleiman," I gestured at the name tag on my white coat. "But you can call me Aliya."

"I said...I wanted ano...ther doctor...to attend to me..." she whispered.

"Why is that?" I tinkled with her drip, frowning when I saw what was being administered. "You don't trust my knowledge and skills?"

An Amphetamine.

"You're...too young..." she coughs, body rocking from the force of it. "I want...someone more...experienced..."

I stared at her for a moment before smiling. "Thank you."

She looked confused, breaths coming out in short bursts. "...what for?"

"For believing in me. Even experienced doctors were once like me, trust me," I said. "On that note, who's your attending doctor? I think his diagnosis is wrong."