medicine {h.s.}

CHAPTER SEVEN

september.

All kitchen appliances are working now. For a while, the back left burner on the stove top didn't heat, and the sink wouldn't put out hot water. Only some of the outlets were working, and one of the overhead lights wouldn't turn on, no matter how many times we changed the lightbulb. We managed to find a new sliding door for the pantry—the old one had been torn off the hinges and had a nasty crack down the middle—and the breakfast nook has been completed in its entirety. Two and a half month's worth of paychecks and rent from my friends were directly funneled into the kitchen and ensuring that it would be able to function properly. Now, all that is left is the entire rest of the house.

As I sit in the kitchen now, I am the only one ready. Monty and Ruth are running around upstairs, trying to get ready on time for pre-rounds. Directly below them, I can hear the stomping and pattering of their feet as they move with the clumsiness of a caffeine-dependent doctor who has yet to have their morning cup of coffee.

Mentally, I make a list of all of the things that still need fixing. The downstairs bathroom is in relatively good shape. Realistically, all I think it needs is a fresh coat of paint and some new lightbulbs. The ones that are currently installed are rather dull. Aesthetically, I think it could do with a new mirror as well. There are some cracks in the old one and some mysterious stains that I doubt will come out in this lifetime. Otherwise, I think the room was left in relatively good condition. The sun room could do with some remodeling, as well. White shiplap lines the walls of the room and there are these beautiful, huge windows that peer outside. Aside from that, the room was left in disarray. My mother never had any use for the room. It is the type of room you read books in and play boardgames and spend idle time. Idle time was something my mother did not have an abundance of. Presently, all of my mother's shit is out in the sun room. I've never known what to do with the space. Ruth frequently comments on how nice the space could be if only we actually put some furniture out there. I am inclined to agree, but am terrified to actually go through my mother's stuff.

We need a new dining table because ours has a long crack through the center of it. If I had to guess, I would say it came from my mother. But I would never tell my roommates that.

When he moved in, Monty was helpful enough to bring what is now the communal TV. One had been left in the house, but it would be considered something of a miracle if that thing managed to operate. Not only was it exceptionally outdated, but I don't trust my preteen ability to hook up a television by myself. Even with Monty's kind gift, I still want to get another television. His is rather small. While he has never said it, OI know this is the one that used to be in his teenage bedroom in Manhattan.

The list of things we need is seemingly never ending. And these are just the things on the base floor only.

I'll be honest. I'm slightly victimizing myself. Monty and Ruth frequently offer to chip in more money for things. Each time it is my own conscious choice to wave them off and turn them down. The majority of the house is still in good condition. More often than not, something just needs some love and fixing up. Besides, I already know they won't live with me forever. The less stuff they buy for themselves, the less stuff I have to rebuy later.

"Morning, Gracie," Monty says, stumbling into the kitchen. One look at him and I can tell he is exhausted. We all are. The hospital is working us to the bone. Of course, we are no exception. Intern year is supposed to be this tedious for everyone.

Even with this in mind, I'd be a fool to not notice the additional pep in his step this morning.

"Someone's rather chipper this morning." I tease him, taking a long sip of my tea. Monty shrugs his shoulders, but he doesn't deny the claim. I can tell I've embarrassed him. Since coming to this hospital, Monty has proved to be one of the best friends that I could have asked for. He is the type to remain calm and in the shadows at most all times. His alert and active energy this morning is still minute in the terms of most people, but it is odd to see him in this way. Had it been any day other than today, I would have pressed him on it more. Today, I don't have to; I already know what has him so excited. "You excited to start your ortho rotation?"