medicine {h.s.}

CHAPTER SIX

august.

"No, no, absolutely not."

As Styles had smugly suggested the night before, Dr. Keffer did not show up at the hospital the next morning. Like TJ had then implied, the entire department had blacklisted him overnight. Halfway through our neuro rotation, we are forced to undergo a reassignment to a new resident. Naturally. I mean, ours was fired. Enter in the dilemma: by association with Styles, we have been blacklisted as well. No one wants to take Styles on their service. Us interns travel in something of a pack. Not wanting one means not wanting all. One by one, residents, fellows, and attendings alike all turned their backs on us—on Styles.

Our last hope is chief of neuro.

She, like the rest, stands in front of us, arms crossed with the expression of someone who is unprofessionally pissed, but is professionally trying—and failing—to hide it. "He lost me my best neuro resident. No. I'm not taking him." Dr. Sutherland's grayish green eyes are hard as she remains stern in her conviction. A very kind looking woman, she looks anything but as she stands in front of us now. Now, she just looks cold. Sympathetically, her glance shifts towards the other four of us; the ones who are suffering from the consequences of actions that weren't their own.

"Dr. Sutherland," Vargas attempts, patience wearing thin. Everyone in neuro has blacklisted Styles from their service out of solidarity to one of their own.

Annoyed as I am with the entire situation, I can't help relish in the feeling of knowing that no one in the department wants Styles. Already, he is making more enemies than friends. In med school, this is the one thing we were told not to do. Everyone is competition. Making friends in the industry will be hard at first. This is the time when you are fighting for your right and for your place. When you are fighting to make a name for yourself, making enemies will be easy. The best thing you can ask for as an intern is to make acquaintances. People who know your name but can care less what happens to you.

"Vargas." Despite the coldness to her tone, there is still a heavy amount of respect.

"Need I remind you, this is a teaching hospital," there is an emphasis on the word teaching that Dr. Sutherland can't even pretend to miss.

There is a set to her angular jaw. She is clenching her teeth, preventing her from prematurely voicing her opinion. Neurosurgeons tend to have a God complex, and it is rare for someone to challenge the word of God to their face. Never has someone so publicly dissented from Sutherland's opinion, I presume. Though, Vargas is a God of her own sort. Anyone in the hospital can tell you that much.

A silent stand-off ensues.

Dr. Sutherland stands just above Vargas. Though, Vargas holds her own—she holds herself as the taller of the two. "I'll take them," she points her finger in a circular motion between me, Ruth, Monty, and TJ. Audibly, I can hear Ruth's exhale. She's been in a panic, worrying she wouldn't get her time to experiment in neurosurgery. That would have been the icing on the cake of reasons for her to hate Styles. "He," she refuses to even address Styles by name, let alone look him in the eye, "can find himself elsewhere. I don't ever want to see him working in neuro again."

There is a moment of silence as the implication of her words settles in around us. The silence is deafening. Ruth has a smile on her face as she seems to grasp the words first. Encouragingly, she looks between the other three of us. Her eyebrows are raised, and she dares to quirk her lip into a small smile.

Finally, it is official. Officially, Dr. Sutherland has blacklisted Styles from neurosurgery.

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