Forbidden Diagnosis, Some Wounds Medicine Can't Heal

Anya:

The morning was like any other, but somehow the city felt still. Too still. Like it was holding its breath with me.

It could be any day now, in fact any hour or minute.

Oh Lord! I was so nervous. I felt like my heart will fail due to overload. Technically, a little tachycardia won't kill me.

It's just nerves and I have always had a love-hate relationship with anxiety, especially on the days when something big is about to go down.

Well, nothing could be bigger than the news I was waiting for.

One decision from the selection committee could change my life forever. Take me one step closer to my dreams or back to my hometown. Where I'll be forced to live under my mom's roof and meet Chad and have his kids.

Chad, her childhood best friend's son. Too thin and tall for his big head with greasy hair and sweaty hands. That crocked nose and too big for his face, front teeth.

I shudder at the thought, then remember my mom's still on the line.

We were having our morning ritual call. She enforced this rule when I was leaving for college, no matter what I'd always call her first thing in the morning. And I have been following this rule like a religious obligation.

Like me she's an early riser too. And to be honest, I don't really mind the calls or her overbearing love.

After all, she's all I have.

I love her to the bones, but she can be a bit much sometimes.

Like when she starts talking about Chad, or how our poor old Mrs Hensley left her pet goat whiskey loose, again, and she wandered to my mom's garden, destroying her roses, again.

My mother loves nothing more in this entire universe than her rose garden. Okay, maybe I come a close second or maybe third after her roses and knitting.

I was drifting again. Stop it Anya. I force myself to come back to the present and try to remember what my mom was actually saying.

Was she talking about Chad again? Or was it her rose garden? Shit!! I totally zoned out there...

"Anya? Are you there, Sweetie?" My mom's voice cuts my train of random thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm listening." My voice betrays me, and it doesn't go unnoticed by mommy dearest.

"No, you're not." She states it like a fact and that it is.

I concede easily. "Sorry mom! I was a little distracted. It's just nerves. I'm expecting a response from Ashbourne Memorial any day now, and you know how much it means to me and how hard I have worked. I really hope I get the spot," I tell her honestly.

My mom has always been one of my best friends and confidant.

It ought to happen when your father leaves after hearing about your arrival and never looks back.

I have never met the sperm donor and honestly speaking, the thought never even crossed my mind.

My mom never let me feel the absence of a father figure. She was always enough, always present. From rehearsals to graduations to first heartbreaks to grueling med school years.

Why would I want to meet someone who didn't do anything other than contribute to half my DNA and that's about all there is to it.

My mother's tone instantly changes at my worry, "Oh honey! You will get it. There's no one else more deserving than you, my dear. And I'm not saying this because you're my daughter. No, because I have seen you put in the hard work. Your blood and sweat into preparing for this job interview and even before that. I'm telling you, mark my words. You will be a great surgeon one day," She says with so much conviction that I wanna believe her.

I'm lucky to have her love and support.

But Ashbourne Memorial is one of the top residency programs. Everyone wants a spot there, but you'd be lucky if you even get shortlisted for an interview.

I thanked her and ended the call, pouring myself luke warm coffee.

I'm thinking of going for a run to clear my head when a notification pings on my open laptop.

I leave the half finished warm coffee on the counter and go to my study table.

I log into my email and freeze.

Subject: Residency Placement - Ashbourne Memorial Hospital

My head feels dizzy and legs heavy. I take a seat before they give out.

My hand hovers over the click button. I'm scared to open it. One click and my dreams will either come true or completely shatter.

I had already received a rejection email two weeks ago from my backup option, St. Vincent General and I'm not very hopeful about this one either.

But I am not a chicken, so I push forward through all the self-doubt and fear and click.

The page loads, and it feels like forever. Bile rises in my throat and I wait with bated breath.

The next words,

Dear Ms Briar,

After careful consideration, we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the surgical residency program at Ashbourne Memorial Hospital...

The next words blur with the dampness in my eyes. The happy tears, of course.

Inside, the words are clinical, detached. But to me, they're everything.

I got the spot. I earned this. I bled for this.

And now, I am going to be walking the same corridors that so many legends did.

My dream has come true...

Anya:

The month after the acceptance email was a blur of excitement and jitters about moving cities. Mom came to visit after hearing the good news. She couldn't stay long, but she kept her promise to help me move.

The new apartment I rented was a cozy two-bedroom. The rent was not cheap, and I could afford it on my resident's salary, but that would mean I'd be surviving on cereal for half the month. It also meant no savings, and one thing my mom had taught me was how to prepare for worse days, because you never know what life might have in store for you. So I'll have to find a roommate and fast, but for now, all I want to do is ride the high of getting placement at my top-choice hospital.

The day of the joining came too soon. All the paperwork that needed to be filled out before joining felt like I was signing my rights away. And I did all that with a smile on my face.

Honest to God, if they had asked me to sign my life away I'd still happily do it. Because this has been my dream program for as long as I can remember. Some of my idols in medicine have worked here.

I always wanted to be a doctor, no scrub that, I always wanted to be a surgeon. I think I was six or seven years old when my mom gifted me my first anatomy doll one Christmas. It was a hideous little thing, but playing a surgeon at 7 years old stuck with me and turned into my biggest dream.

Most of my friends and classmates wouldn't even look at that thing, but I would always carry it with me and when I was old enough to understand, my mom got me my first anatomy for dummies book.

I was not a dumb kid by a long shot. My grades have always been good, and I have worked hard to maintain them. You could say I was a nerd of sorts.

Standing here today at the front stairs of Ashbourne Memorial Hospital, I can't contain my excitement. All that daydreaming, studying my ass off and sleepless nights of pre-med, then med school finally paid off.

The weight of the ID badge feels heavy around my neck, but the good kind. The kind where you feel pride and responsibility that comes with the job.

I'm not nervous at all, at least not yet, and I repeat my mom's words to me.

"If anyone can do it, it's you, Dr. Anya Briar."

The name gives me a surge of pride as I move towards the entrance. I catch my reflection in the glass, looking back is the girl in a crisp white coat and a surge of emotion takes over.

I deserve it.

I bled for it, and now it's time to do the work to become one of the greatest surgeons. That's the goal.

I reach the orientation hall, and its already filled with so many faces. I take a seat in the middle. There's another girl sitting two seats over. She looks at me and waves enthusiastically. I smile and wave back. Then, without any invitation, she moves to the seat next to me.

"I hope the seat wasn't taken?" She asks after she takes the seat.

I just smile brightly, telling her, "Not at all. Be my guest."

She extends her hand with the biggest smile, "Hi, I'm Zara Thompson. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, fellow resident."

I laughed, taking her hand, "Pleasure is all mine. Anya Briar."

She asks, still holding my hand, almost squeaking, "Isn't it exciting? Oh My God, I feel like my heart will explode out of my chest".

I laughed again. I like this girl. She's the kind of person who befriends you at the first meeting and never lets go.

We are still having our moment when the announcer opens the mic and requests everyone to take their seats.

There are around fifty residents inducted, some for core surgical training like me and others have completed their core surgical rotations and are here for major specialties.

Ashbourne has one of the widest ranges of sub-surgical specialties and all ranked among the top in the country. It's one of the reasons it's such a sought-after residency program. When I was doing my research, I read somewhere that the number of applicants that try their luck every year is in the thousands and not just locals but all over the world and only a few are selected.

'The chosen ones', some forums had called them. Sitting here among these geniuses, I feel like an imposter but I quickly reprimand myself. And repeat my mantra in my head.

I deserve to be here. I am as smart as any of my peers. And being given this spot proves that.

The announcer, a junior fellow from plastic surgery, introduces himself and welcomes us all to the program. His words are polite, precise and clinical.

It reflects the efficiency expected of everyone who works here.

Quality over quantity.

He requests the director of the clinical training program to say a few words. She is sitting among other faculty and senior doctors in the front row.

I know this woman more than anyone. I have read every article she has ever published, every surgical technique she uses. She is my idol. Plain and simple.

Dr. Elizabeth S. Ashbourne

She is sophistication and competence packed with elegance in a fifty-six-year-old woman who doesn't look a day over forty. She is wearing a dark maroon pantsuit with a white silk shirt. She's smart, about an inch or two taller than me and really gorgeous.

I think I'm drooling looking at her. God, if someone was to hear my thoughts they would think I'm some psycho with a crush on the hospital director.

Well, I do have a crush, but of professional sorts.

When she speaks, I hold my breath. She talks about the history of AMH but does not linger on for longer than necessary. While she is telling us what kind of effectiveness and diligence is expected of all of us, the door to the hall on her right opens and a man in scrubs walks in.

Dr. Felix Ashbourne,

The heir to the Ashbourne legacy, the director's son and, oh god, so sexy that my heart skips a beat.

I know him and I have read about him and all his work. He's an exceptionally gifted surgeon, but the pictures on the internet do not do him justice, because that man is six-foot-two sin and he does not have the right to be this gorgeous, wearing scrubs.

His sharp features are etched with exhaustion that shows he just finished some major surgery and why he was late for the orientation.

His mother, the director, gives him a look that is full of fake reprimand and pride at the same time, but starts speaking to the audience again. I stopped listening.

He walks towards the empty seat in the front row with the ease and confidence of someone who has been doing this all his life.

Before he takes the seat, I think he feels someone staring, that someone being yours truly. his gaze sweeps the audience, and when those deep ocean-blue eyes meet mine, the rest of the world quiets down.

His gaze lingers for a second too long, face totally unreadable, before he takes the seat.

And I'm left hyperventilating for no reason with every nerve ending on fire....

Felix:

The light above the operating table is too bright and unkind to the headache I'm nursing, courtesy of last night's whiskey.

There is a man in front of me with his chest open and that is all that matters at this moment. He came in with a gunshot wound and at the brink of death and now the weight of responsibility falls on me and my team's hands to save his life.

I'd met his family briefly before we came in. He's got a wife and a son waiting for him to survive this.

I feel a pang behind my own chest at the memory of my own father. His loss is a wound that refuses to heal. He was my guiding star. And he left me and my mom so quietly one morning that I still have difficulty accepting it despite it being 2 years since his death.

I force my attention to the person losing his life in my hands and everything else fades away. My pain, my loss, my grief.

All that remains is the responsibility and the skill in my hand that took years to hone to perfection.

The bullet had just grazed his heart and his chest cavity was full of blood. I had already removed the bullet and all that remains is the final steps to close the bleeder. My first assistant, Jonathan, a junior fellow, is sweating. I can feel it even without looking up.

He is always a nervous wreck whenever there's a major surgery, but that never hinders his ability to perform under intense pressure, no matter how sweaty he gets. That's why he's been my first assistant for 3 years.

My focus shifts to the vitals of the patient, stable. The bleeding has stopped and all that is left is the closure part and I know Jonathan is capable of doing so, but I just stay long enough, moving away from the table, giving him the chance to close up, to go see the patient's family.

Telling them the good news that he'll live and the expression of gratitude on their faces like I'm some God send, is almost too heavy for me.

I tell them he will be shifted to CCU for the next 24 hours, but he will be alright and go to my office on the 15th floor where the executive offices are.

Before I can step in, my assistant, Ana stops me, "Dr. Ashbourne"

"Ana," I greet her, "and how many times do I have to tell you, I'm Felix to you, Dr. Ashbourne was my father."

She doesn't respond to that, reminding me about the orientation meeting going on this second. "Your mother asked me to remind you that you have to attend the meeting" I'm about to refuse when she adds, "She also said you might try to get out of it but as the future heir and director of the hospital you have to and your dad would have wanted you to, and I quote" she ends with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

She knows I can't refuse when she uses my dad's name like that. "Mother is not coming slow, is she?"

I reluctantly turn around. I hadn't changed out of my scrubs, hoping to get a shower in my officer suite.

"At least change out of those scrubs first. She'll be angry." She calls after me.

"Well, it was her idea to use the big guns, so she'll have to be okay with the dress code," I say over my shoulder and go towards the elevator.

The last thing I want to do right now is sit through a whole session of baby residents staring at everything in awe like a child visiting the zoo for the first time. The exhaustion from a hangover and long surgery this morning has definitely dampened the mood.

But my mom would be disappointed if I didn't go and that is the last thing I want.

After dad, she's the only family I have, and I don't want to put too much on her plate when she's already been doing so much. Since dad died, she took over as the hospital director, and she has managed it as well as my dad did despite grieving herself from losing the love of her life.

The elevator door opens to the 12th floor where the ceremony is happening. It's the academic block. I cross the library and a small cafeteria for doctors and medical students on this floor, along with several classrooms to enter the hall.

It's already packed to the brim, with faculty and senior fellows in the front row along with several department heads. My mom gives me the look and I shrug unbothered due to exhaustion and the weight of everyone's expectation and envy heavy on my shoulders.

I walk towards my seat when I feel like someone is staring, but that is nothing new. I have been gawked at, especially by newly inducted residents for as long as I have been a doctor, some with admiration, others with envy.

This feels different. I look up, scanning the faces and that's when i see her.

Soft features: dark brown hair tied neatly, face free of any makeup and eyes the color of forest after rain.

I stop breathing for a second. She is beautiful, not the most beautiful woman I have seen, but the kind that doesn't need any layers to shine. Her beauty has this pull to her.

And her eyes, they could take you hostage and I forget for a second I'm surrounded by so many people.

Taking back control over my thoughts, I take the seat.

It takes immense restraint for me to not turn back and steal another glance.

This has never happened to me. I have always been surrounded by beautiful women. Some were attracted to my name and status, others to my looks. There was never a shortage. But something about her pulled at me in a single glance.

I've spent years mastering control. But under the light, with her eyes on me, I felt it slipping.