medicine {h.s.}

CHAPTER THREE

july.

"You've got to be kidding me," I hiss in disbelief, the lights flickering as I make my way towards the last room for my pre-rounds. At seven in the morning, the hospital is still mostly empty. Busier than it was when I arrived, I still know the worst is yet to come. When I had left my house this morning at four thirty, it was still pitch black outside. At the time, I had assumed that the dark sky was as a byproduct of the sun not yet having risen. Now, somewhat more awake, I realize that I hadn't seen the moon, either. For about a week now, a storm has been rolling in. I could see it in the sunless days and the thick raindrops that all seemed to be whispering: and the worst is yet to come.

Now, on my first day of internship, the storm is finally about to hit.

Chart in hand, and head buried in it, I am prevented from entering the room of a Lisa Morris by walking straight into a tall, messy haired man right in front of me. We are at an awkward intersection, my body pressed tightly against his—but, I am not willing to compromise my optimal position. "No way, I was here first." I say firmly, holding the chart as though it is proof. Whether I am speaking about my physical position, or the fact that I arrived two hours earlier than the rest of the interns, I hardly think it matters. The facts still stand: I have authority and precedence in this situation.

Styles shakes his head adamantly, pointing down to his foot which is just slightly more over the treshold of Lisa Morris' room than mine. Larger strides and all. "Are you sure about that?" He says, his British accent thick and smug as he cocks his head to the side out of amusement—as though this is all a game to him. I suppose it could be. After all, I was the only intern to display so much dedication as to show up to the hospital at five am. I went through the rounds then, slowly. I took my time on each case and made sure I was up to speed on everyone. I conversed with nurse after nurse and made sure that I knew what was happening with each and every patient. Not only that, but I made a personal connection with each patient that I poked and prodded. In med school, I had a professor who told me that I could be as cocky as I wanted, but I have to realize that no matter how much I think I know, the nurses will always know more.

Annoyed, I wave the chart in front of him. So long as I have it, that means he doesn't. "Do you even know the patient's name?"

His upper lip curls down in his own form of annoyance. "Seriously?"

"Well?"

He rolls his eyes, clearing unamused with me. Well, I think bitterly, that makes two of us. Though, I hardly have time to entertain the thought or defend my insistence for his exemplifying his skills in patient care before his hand swoops down, swiftly snatching the chart right from my hands. The manilla folder is ripped right from between my fingers, the only leg up I had in this argument. I whine instantly, annoyed that he was so willing to play so unfairly. I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked. Enemies are easy to make in this business. From the first moment he made no attempt to hide that he was not in this for the idea of a family. I suspect he is just as much looking for a marriage to medicine as I am.

Green eyes scan over the chart lazily taking in the information there. "Lisa Morris," he reads smugly, shamelessly reading directly from the chart that I had forced myself to memorize.

"Congratulations," I hiss, now taking the time to roll my eyes at him, "you can read."

"Post-op day four," he drawls on, not paying any mind to my unnecessarily snarky remarks. He continues to read all about the curative surgery she had had in order to cure her of her pancreatic cancer, sharing the details with me that I already know.

On the first day, already he is so willing to prove himself as a backstabber. He is a snake, and is proud of it. Surgery is a dog-eat-dog kind of world. There are so many people willing to do whatever they can to get a leg up. I know I am: after all, I was the only one to show up at five in the morning. But, the difference between myself and Styles are that I wouldn't purposefully do anything to knowingly screw over another one of my fellow interns in the process. Whether or not we like each other is besides the point: intern year is meant to be medical hell. We'll be getting shit from everywhere else we go, I find it rather pointless to get it from each other. Not to mention, interns look out for other interns. No one else is. That's just the way it goes. My options for dealing with this type of competition are few: I can either take the high road and go find something else to do after having completed my pre-rounds already, or I can be just as much of a snake.