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Sick people enter the hospital not knowing of their future. In some cases, the sickness goes away, cleared up by medicine and surgeries and rest. In other cases, the sickness stays, feeding off the ill and, in the end, destroying its host, who has no other choice but to succumb to the gaping jaws of death.
Sick people, injured people, and dying people all come here for one thing: to get better. And the people that help them get better? Well, those are doctors.
Fifteen years ago, if you asked me what I wanted to be, I would have told you five different answers, none of which had anything to do with the medical field. Fast forward three years, and I'd tell you that I wanted nothing else but to be able to save lives with just a swipe of a knife.
I wanted to be a surgeon.
Several loud conversations around me cloud my hearing as I follow the resident in front of me, whose blonde ponytail swings back and forth behind her head.
Our resident, Izzie Stevens, grips her clipboard tightly as she surveys the emergency room with a keen eye before she turns to us, a small frown tugging at her lips.
"Okay," she begins, "this is what's called a trauma situation. There's going to be a lot of activity and a lot of patients, so if you guys have any questions at all, just ask, okay?"
She starts to head off, presumably to talk to one of her fellow residents, and a male intern beside me begins to smirk.
"I heard she, like, freaked out and killed a guy and had to go on probation."
I roll my eyes at that, shooting him a disinterested glance.
"Great," another intern snorts, "we're stuck with a dud."
"How about you shut up and give her a chance?" I suggest venomously, crossing my arms and staring blankly at the two.
"Yeah guys," a brunette pipes up from behind me, "besides, I think she heard you."
Our argument quickly ends as we're shoved to the side by a stretcher being rolled in. Wide eyed, we watch as they enter a separate trauma room, and the rude one from before lets out an amazed, "whoa."
"Over here," Stevens beckons to us, and we all file into the small room.
"This is trauma room one," Stevens announces to us, "As you can see it's... there's a trauma."
She sighs, glancing at another resident desperately.
"Hey guys, do you need some help? Please tell me you need some help."
"It's a little crowded in here already, Iz!" She snaps, moving over as a tall, scruffy haired doctor steps in, flexing his hands.
"Who is that?" The brunette intern whispers as I'm shoved to the back of the crowd.
