CHAPTER TITLE: Beginnings

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Grey's Anatomy…although I am living in a world parallel to this. Just let me tell you how crazy hospital life can be like.  Please be kind. I may be a graduate of Medicine but I humbly admit that I don't know everything. Medicine can be so compartmentalized.

Life as an intern.

I think 'Alex' phrased it best: And lovin' every minute of it. PLEASE R&R

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Beauty, brains, and body. Everybody thought having all the B's in the world would give you happiness. And everybody thought I lead a charmed life. They can never be farther from the truth.

I grew up in a trailer, moving from state to state, with my mom and younger brother. My father left us as soon as he got my mother pregnant again. I was 4 years old then. We rarely stayed at a place long enough to make friends. Having no friends and little money, the only pastime I had was to read books at the local library. My love for books became a lifelong passion. I read and read about whatever I could take an interest to. I think that's a gist of my childhood.

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I could vividly remember the day when I suddenly realized my calling to become a physician. I was 8 years old then. I had been walking home from the library, armed with some books that I had borrowed from the library. I was about to cross the street when a guy on a bicycle whizzed by and rounded the corner. A sudden screech and a metallic crashing sound reverberated in my ears. The cyclist had a head-on collision with a speeding vehicle. I hurried over, dropping my books on the sidewalk in my haste. A couple of carpenters from a nearby construction site rushed to the scene while a lady in a fashionable yellow dress and hat emerged from a beauty parlor and immediately followed.

The guy looked like hell. He was on his side with his neck was angled like a ragged doll's while the lower half of the body was pinned down by his bike and under the car. His face was unrecognizable because it was full of blood. The lady in the yellow dress kneeled beside the unconscious man and motioned to the driver to move back his vehicle. Taking care not to jostle the body, she placed her arm on the man's back and head. She began wiping the blood oozing to his face and seemingly taking in the extent of the injuries by feeling the man's head.

An elderly man appeared from behind the wheel that crashed into the cyclist. His jaw was hanging open. "I swear to God he came out of nowhere!" He bent over the cyclist and was about to move him when he heard the lady in the yellow dress yell.

"Don't move him! Call the ambulance," the lady starting firing orders to the other passersby. "Get me two small sandbags and a long board wide enough for his body." She kneeled over the cyclist and carefully opened his eyes. "Sir! Sir! Wake up!" The man was unconscious.

The elderly man knelt beside the lady and began sobbing.

The construction workers looked at each other. The beautician from the parlor ran to call the ambulance. One of them spoke up. "Hey lady, you can go back to the parlor now. I think we can handle it from here. We can carry him to the nearby hospital."

The lady in yellow looked up at the men. "I said call the ambulance! I'll take care of him for the mean time. And don't you dare move him or he might become paralyzed. Get the sandbags and board!" She turned to the unconscious man again and tried to wake him up.

"Hey Bill, just follow what the lady says," one of the workers said to the arrogant construction worker.

"I'm not gonna follow some blonde broad who thinks she knows better." And with that, Bill the construction worker crossed his arms over his chest and refused to budge.

Another worker ran to get the board and bags and returned shortly.

The lady in yellow dress began to work immediately. She inserted her small handbag under the man's neck, set the board on the unconscious man's back, and pushed him towards the ground. She placed two sandbags on both sides of the man's head. She placed the back of her hand near the nostrils and felt for the pulse near the man's throat. "Damnit!" She thrust down the man's jaw to open it. Pinching his nose, the lady locked her mouth on the man's and blew air into it twice. Placing her clasped hands over the man's chest, she began pumping. "Two, three, four…where's the ambulance?"

The beautician reappeared from behind the crowd that had gathered, looking frightened. "They said they'll be here in a while."

The faint sound of an ambulance siren gradually became louder. The lady in yellow continued pumping the chest while the elderly man blowing air into the man's mouth alternately. The paramedics have arrived. One of them was carrying a black toolbox and an ambubag; he pressed the mask on the man's open mouth and began bagging rapidly. Another paramedic joined the lady in yellow and took over pumping the man's chest. "What happened?"

Still kneeling on the pavement, the lady in yellow was busy wiping away her perspiration with a white hankerchief. "Head-on collision, around five minutes ago. He was on his right side with his neck hyperextended; lower extremities were pinned down by the bike and the vehicle. There's swelling on the frontal area, probably underlying fracture. Around 3 by 5 cm indentation on the occipital; no blood. Bleeding seems to be coming from scalp, moderate in amount. He's GCS 3." A cervical collar was placed on the man's neck. The lady in yellow stood up and collected her handbag. The paramedic was about to open his mouth to ask another question but was cut-off.

"I didn't get the name. They wouldn't help me." For the first time, she took notice of her surroundings. She glared momentarily at Bill, who shifted his stance uncomfortably. "Go! He doesn't have much time."

The paramedics immediately transferred the unconscious man onto a stretcher and brought him inside the ambulance. "Thank you," the paramedic said, and closed the ambulance doors. Within a few seconds, they were gone.

The lady in the yellow dress sat down on the sidewalk bench and sighed loudly.

All the time, I had been standing on the sidewalk, frozen by what had transpired. I saw my first sight of blood. Crowd dispersed; Bill and his co-workers went back to work. The beautician went back to her parlor and retrieved a glass of ice-cold lemonade for the lady in yellow. "That was quick thinking, Doctor!"

The lady in yellow smiled wearily. "Hmmm." She took a huge gulp of lemonade and fixed her dress. As I remember, she was actually elegantly dressed in pearls and a yellow dress, with her dainty hat askew on her blonde head. She returned the glass to the beautician. "Thank you for the lemonade, Merle. I have to go."

The Merle went back inside her parlor with the glass and left the two of us alone.

The lady doctor fixed her hat and assessed the damage on her stockings; there were large holes on her stockinged knees, so she took them off there on the bench. "Your first sight of blood, my dear?" The doctor looked up at me while placing back her shoes.

"Yeah" was all I was able to answer, still stunned. I stood there, not moving and just staring stupidly.

The lady doctor stood up, smoothed down her dress, and began picking up my books. She handed them back to me. "I can see you like reading. Well, here's an advice. Study hard and follow your dreams; you'll eventually get there." And with that, she was gone.

For all I know, I could've stood there for a few more minutes or hours. I don't remember much anymore of how I was able to go home. But as I lay on my bed that night, I had the vision of myself saving lives.

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The pager beeped, such a loud irritating sound, which jolted me back to. CALL 55.

I was in the callroom, resting for fifteen minutes before I go back to the ER 'jungle' trauma section. I've been assigned there for a week to stitch back trauma patients.

55.

"Dr. Stevens here."

"Doctor, you're needed here. There's a trauma patient waiting for you. 32 year-old male, stabbed on the anterior thorax with an ice pick…"

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When I got there, the patient was gasping in his oxygen mask and wincing in pain. The ice pick protruded from the right side of his chest in an awkward angle. I put on a pair of gloves and called a nurse from the station. "Please assist."

I turned back to the patient, glanced at his nametag, and quickly introduced myself. "Dr. Stevens, Mark. Don't bother to talk just yet. I can't remove the ice pick from your chest yet, lest it does more harm. We'll do a CT scan to make sure of the extent of your injuries then we'll proceed to the Operating room to take it out." Mark nodded in silent assent.

A sterile towel was handed to me by the nurse. I twisted it and looped it around the ice pick to stabilize it. "Please send him to the CT scan. Collect blood for Spec M and give him ATS when he gets back. Get the blood type and prepare 1 pack pRBC for possible OR use." I took off my gloves and wrote it down on the patient's chart.

Mark was wheeled out of the room without delay. I went to the nurses' station and called Bailey. "I'd just like to refer a 32-year old male, Caucasian, stabbed on the right anterior thorax with an ice pick around 30 mins ago. Vitals are stable except for his RR. I stabilized the ice pick and sent the guy to CT. Will relay the results in a while."

The Nazi spoke in a bored voice. "So what's your plan after the CT?" I can hear her chewing her gum from the other side of the line.

I shifted my weight to my right leg. "I'm expecting fractured ribs on the 3rd to 4th, hemothorax on the right, and probably injury to the anterior upper lobe of the right lung. If that's the case, I'll refer him to the TCVS and send him to the Operating room at once."

"Alright, Stevens." And without so much as a goodbye, Bailey hung up.

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Later that afternoon, I was taping the gauze on Mark's chest after doing a CTT insertion. Mark was lucky after all. His lung was spared; the downward angle of the ice pick upon entry made it possible, missing his lung by just centimeters. "You know, you're one lucky guy."

Still breathing rapidly, he smiled. "With you as the doctor, I definitely am." He winked at me.

It turned out that his girlfriend, in a sudden fit of jealousy, was the one who stabbed him. I had guessed correctly. Females usually tend to hold a knife above the head and stab in a downward motion.

"Well, that's that." I had finished taping and had adjusted the tube draining the blood from his lung cavity.

"Thank you, Dr. Stevens."

I smiled at him and exited the room. I bumped onto someone in the hallway and the chart fell from my hand. "Oww." I picked myself up and rubbed my shoulder. I bent to pick up the chart.

It was Alex. Crap.

Just a few days ago, he had photocopied pictures of me when I had modelled for the Bethany Whisper lingerie ad and plastered these all over the hospital. Since then, the male species in the hospital, from the attendings to the orderlies, began giving me furtive glances, snickering behind my back, and even began texting me anonymous lewd messages. Internship was hard enough as it is; having horrible interpersonal relationships makes it much worse.

"Heya Stevens. How's your day going?" Alex had his signature smug expression on his face.

I began walking furiously towards the callroom and ignored him. He walked beside me. I stopped at the nurses' station and returned the chart to the rack. Alex stood there, waiting for me.

I sighed. I was tired and I wanted to go home. "What do you want?"

"What are you guys doing tonight? I feel like watching the Saturday movie special on tv tonight, except that my tv got busted. Just wanted to ask if I could crash in your place to watch it," Alex replied, again walking beside me to the callroom.

Opening the door, I went to my locker. Alex followed me with the tenacity of a bulldog. I raised my brow quizzically at him. "Well, it's Meredith's house. Ask her. I don't care." I turned my back on him and opened my locker.

"I already did and she said it's ok. It's just that you're the only one who's going to be left. Meredith says she'll be out of town since she's not on duty tomorrow. O'Malley will be visiting his parents and he's on duty tomorrow."

I had forgotten that it was the Fourth of July on Sunday. Whenever there were holidays, those of us not on duty were not required to report to the hospital. So it was weekend-off for me.

"Alright, you can go." I dumped my things inside my overnight bag and went inside the changing room. I stepped out wearing my casual clothes and adjusted my belt.

Alex had my bag slung over his shoulder. "I forgot to tell you. You don't have a ride home. They've already left before you finished the thoracostomy. C'mon, I'll give you a lift."

Too tired to argue, I followed Alex to his car in the parking lot. It was a beautiful, silver Porsche; I admired it reluctantly. He opened the passenger door and placed my bag at the backseat. He gestured for me to go inside and shut the door when I got in.

I must have dozed off as soon as the car pulled out of the parking lot. The next thing I knew, we had arrived at Meredith's house. Unlocking the door, I went inside still groggy with sleep deprivation and left my bag on the floor. "Just make yourself at home. There's some more beer left in the fridge. I'm going to take a bath." I left Alex at the foyer while he situated himself at the living room and opened the tv.

I went straight to the bathroom and opened the faucet in the tub. Hot steam began to fill the room, misting the mirror. Finally, I thought, I could have some peace and quiet. I quickly peeled off my clothes and poured the bath salts and oil into the bath. Gingerly testing the water with my hand, I was satisfied with the temperature and closed the faucet. Turning on my mini I-pod to full blast and lighting some aromatherapy candles, I eased myself into the bubble bath and closed my eyes.

Mary Black was crooning softly Moon River in the background.

Thoughts that I've been holding off while being at the hospital suddenly came back. Things aren't going on so great with Hank. Although I can say that we don't argue that much, I honestly believe that there's something wrong. We do have our differences and similarities. We both came from the same background---we worked to support ourselves to be able to study and pursued our dreams. I guess that's why we clicked in the first place. Being far enough from each other as is and with a schedule as crazy as mine, I can sometimes feel his sadness whenever I have to put down the phone and rush off to do hospital work.

Yes, I know he understands me. And I can feel that he honestly tries not to mind. But I guess even I feel that I don't deserve such a great guy like him to just hang around all day and wait for me. That was an unspoken agreement that both of us won't try to hinder the other in pursuit of one's dreams. We know we've worked so hard and sacrificed so much for these. I don't want the burden of someone waiting for me to get on with his life.

Crossroads. We meet people everyday, not knowing if these people are the ones who'll walk the same roads with us throughout our journey or if they'll be the ones whom we'll just come across with along the way. It's sometimes sad to see those whom we expect to be with us throughout our lifetimes to be the ones who'll end up just 'passing by.'

There was a knock on the door. Alex's voice was muffled as he shouted. "Stevens, I'm hungry. What's for dinner? You want me to order pizza?"

My stomach suddenly grumbled. I had forgotten to eat lunch again as usual, running all over the hospital today. "I can whip up some pasta and you can order pizza. Be right out in a few minutes."

I had to smile. Even company as sinister as Alex can comfort me in these times. At least, I'm not alone with this kind of lopsided life.

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To be continued.

Well, how was it? Hope it turned out all right. I must admit, English is not my primary language. So if you think I write funny, I have an instant excuse.  It's just hard to describe certain medical procedures in layman's terms. Here are some so you won't get lost:

Occipital – part of the skull which is the back of one's head

GCS 3 – Glasgow coma scale rating consciousness, eye opening, and movement of

extremities. GCS 3 is the lowest rating one can give to an unconscious patientwho doesn't respond to verbal nor painful stimuli

CT scan – you probably wondered: Why not an xray? Yeah, well this is fiction. And I just wanted to place importance to the danger Mark would've been if the ice pick had punctured his lung. CT scan can be used to visualize the soft tissues, unlike the xray which is more used to visualize bones. In reality, Izzie should've ordered the xray and took out the ice pick at the OR, then do a CT scan post-op for the damage to Mark's lung. You can't do a CT scan without taking out the ice pick because the CT scan is sort of large magnet that takes pictures of the specified areas. But hey, that's creative writing for you.

Spec M – this is just a short cut for lab tests: complete blood count, et al

ATS – this is anti-tetanus since Mark's chest was pierced by a foreign object

pRBC – packed red blood cell for transfusion since Mark lost some amount of blood

OR – Operating room

RR – part of the vital signs; respiratory rate

Hemothorax – blood in the lung cavity; the reason why Mark's breathing pattern was shallow and rapid. His right lung can't expand fully in its cavity because of the blood that's taken up space

There you go, I hope you'll forgive me for whatever typos and grammar problems you've seen here. Please be kind; it's my first fanfic. Will update soon…