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Authors: Freida McFadden
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love to see Sexy Surgeon chew out the guy who’s clearly been avoiding me all night. Maybe tomorrow.
I wander down the hall, passing the OB/GYN call rooms, until I get to a room labeled “Medicine Resident.” My feet are barely holding me up at this point, so I open the door to the room.
The call room is very quiet and dark. It’s warm—like a womb. There’s no window, a single bed that’s been recently made up, and a desk next to the bed with a phone on it. There’s also a small attached bathroom. The room has pretty much everything I could need for the next two hours. It’s perfect.
I set the alarm on my phone for 6:15 a.m., which is the latest I could possibly contemplate waking up the next morning. Then I kick off my shoes, and pull off my white coat and stethoscope and dump them on the desk. I slide under the covers of the bed. For a few moments, I worry that I’m going to get paged and woken up, but the lack of sleep quickly overcomes me, and I’m down for the count.
_____
Uninterrupted, I probably could have slept for the next two hours. Hell, make that 24 hours. But that isn’t in the stars. Less than half an hour after I drift off, I’m awakened by the sound of the door to the call room creaking open and cold air flooding my cozy little womb.
For a second, I have no idea what’s going on or where I am. Then it comes back to me: I’m an intern, I’m on call, and I’m in the call room. And the person at the door is Alyssa, for some reason.
“What are you doing in here?” she nearly screams at me.
I blink at her, and rub my eyes, squinting at the flood of light that’s rushed in from the hallway. I don’t get it. She told me to go to the call room to get some sleep. Did she mean she just wanted me to store the sleep for later, like for example, in three years from now?
“Huh?” I manage.
“Jane,” she says. “What are you doing in my call room?”
“Oh,” I mumble. “It said ‘Medicine Resident’ on the door, so…”
“Right,” she says. “ I’m the medicine resident. You’re the intern. You take one of the intern rooms.”
“Oh,” I say. I add, “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“Get out of my call room,” she says.
I blink at her. What? “What?” I say.
“This is my call room,” she reiterates. “Go to your call room.”
“What’s the difference?”
“This one has a private bathroom.”
Considering we have only about an hour left to sleep, I don’t see how much it really matters, but I can tell Alyssa’s not going to let this go. At this point, it’s easier to just move. I shrug on my white coat, grab my stethoscope, and slide my feet back into my clogs. I trudge past Alyssa toward the door.
“Excuse me,” Alyssa says. “You’re just going to leave your dirty sheets on the bed?”
“I…” Baffled, I just shake my head. “What do you want me to do?”
“There are clean sheets in the hallway linen room,” Alyssa says.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Alyssa is dead serious.
So at five in the freaking morning, I go out in the hallway and grab a new sheet and blanket from the linen room, and I make Alyssa’s bed. I even change her pillowcase, because I know she’ll be horrified if I don’t. The whole thing feels incredibly surreal.
“Fine,” she says when I’m finished. My shoulders sag in relief. I was half-expecting her to make me retrieve a mint for the pillow. “You can go find a dirty linen bin to throw the old sheets.”
I nod, even though I have no intention of doing so. When I find the call room that says “Medicine Intern,” I’m going to throw the sheets on the floor. Someone else who’s slept more than one hour can deal with this tomorrow.
“By the way,” Alyssa says to me. “Did you get those sticky notes yet?”
Hours awake: 22 (give or take)
Chance of quitting: 83%
Chapter 9
I stumble out of bed the next morning, my one remaining hour of sleep having been interrupted by a call to inform
I wander down the hall, passing the OB/GYN call rooms, until I get to a room labeled “Medicine Resident.” My feet are barely holding me up at this point, so I open the door to the room.
The call room is very quiet and dark. It’s warm—like a womb. There’s no window, a single bed that’s been recently made up, and a desk next to the bed with a phone on it. There’s also a small attached bathroom. The room has pretty much everything I could need for the next two hours. It’s perfect.
I set the alarm on my phone for 6:15 a.m., which is the latest I could possibly contemplate waking up the next morning. Then I kick off my shoes, and pull off my white coat and stethoscope and dump them on the desk. I slide under the covers of the bed. For a few moments, I worry that I’m going to get paged and woken up, but the lack of sleep quickly overcomes me, and I’m down for the count.
_____
Uninterrupted, I probably could have slept for the next two hours. Hell, make that 24 hours. But that isn’t in the stars. Less than half an hour after I drift off, I’m awakened by the sound of the door to the call room creaking open and cold air flooding my cozy little womb.
For a second, I have no idea what’s going on or where I am. Then it comes back to me: I’m an intern, I’m on call, and I’m in the call room. And the person at the door is Alyssa, for some reason.
“What are you doing in here?” she nearly screams at me.
I blink at her, and rub my eyes, squinting at the flood of light that’s rushed in from the hallway. I don’t get it. She told me to go to the call room to get some sleep. Did she mean she just wanted me to store the sleep for later, like for example, in three years from now?
“Huh?” I manage.
“Jane,” she says. “What are you doing in my call room?”
“Oh,” I mumble. “It said ‘Medicine Resident’ on the door, so…”
“Right,” she says. “ I’m the medicine resident. You’re the intern. You take one of the intern rooms.”
“Oh,” I say. I add, “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“Get out of my call room,” she says.
I blink at her. What? “What?” I say.
“This is my call room,” she reiterates. “Go to your call room.”
“What’s the difference?”
“This one has a private bathroom.”
Considering we have only about an hour left to sleep, I don’t see how much it really matters, but I can tell Alyssa’s not going to let this go. At this point, it’s easier to just move. I shrug on my white coat, grab my stethoscope, and slide my feet back into my clogs. I trudge past Alyssa toward the door.
“Excuse me,” Alyssa says. “You’re just going to leave your dirty sheets on the bed?”
“I…” Baffled, I just shake my head. “What do you want me to do?”
“There are clean sheets in the hallway linen room,” Alyssa says.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Alyssa is dead serious.
So at five in the freaking morning, I go out in the hallway and grab a new sheet and blanket from the linen room, and I make Alyssa’s bed. I even change her pillowcase, because I know she’ll be horrified if I don’t. The whole thing feels incredibly surreal.
“Fine,” she says when I’m finished. My shoulders sag in relief. I was half-expecting her to make me retrieve a mint for the pillow. “You can go find a dirty linen bin to throw the old sheets.”
I nod, even though I have no intention of doing so. When I find the call room that says “Medicine Intern,” I’m going to throw the sheets on the floor. Someone else who’s slept more than one hour can deal with this tomorrow.
“By the way,” Alyssa says to me. “Did you get those sticky notes yet?”
Hours awake: 22 (give or take)
Chance of quitting: 83%
Chapter 9
I stumble out of bed the next morning, my one remaining hour of sleep having been interrupted by a call to inform
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