She never slept, at least hardly. That was just apart of her life. As a resident of internal medicine, sleep was a luxury she saw very occasionally. Quick cat naps in the on call room, and the refilling of her coffee cup over and over to keep her sharp enough to do her rounds.
Being a doctor was of course what she had always wanted. And in many ways how hard she worked exhilarated her. No wonder she had heard of many doctors getting a god complex. I mean for god sakes, you had to work like a god just to get through; sixteen, eighteen hr days, diagnosing problem after problem, and on top of that you have to able to connect with your patients. You try your hardest to be comforting and understanding of their pain.
It was midnight and her feet ached, her arms could barely hold the clipboard. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she looked about just as shitty as she felt. Her eyes were gaunt, her lips pale, her skin waxy. She looked more like some of the hospitals terminally ill than she would have liked.
Walking down the halls, staring at her clip board she felt herself run into someone. She looked up startled. It was Dr. Edwards her superior. “Wow there, Dr. Ester, How long have you been on?”
Sixteen hrs she replied. “Go home, get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.” “You can’t very well treat a patient when there’s no more life in you now can you?”
“No I suppose not” Dr. Ester mumbled. She was thankful, because, she had honestly been wondering how long her feet could actually hold her body in an upwards angle. The last few hrs she had felt like a puppet somehow walking across the stage without knowing exactly how it was happening.
She drove home, collapsing into her seat and feeling the soreness of her feet as she pushed the gas pedals.
She actually loved her drive home at this hour. No cars were out, and she felt like she owned the town, gliding down the hill from the hospital to the small downtown studio where she lived.
She was thankful for her own space, the little hovel that was hers and no one else’s.
Although she sometimes felt guilty for not having fixed it up better.
For months the only thing put together was her little kitchenette, with a few cute mugs hanging over her stove that had the vintage Morton salt logo on it, and a pantry full of soup. I mean who has time to cook?
The rest of the space consisted of a mattress on the floor, and pictures leaning against the wall. One of these days I’ll get it all together she thought.
And now she was home, well almost anyway, she put her card in the little parking garage reader, and proceeded to park her car. Being a single woman, she had been really glad to find this place. It made her feel safe, being a big old building with an alarm system and a door man. She could have saved a lot more money getting one of those shitty looking apartments where the door face out towards the street, with anybody being able to walk right by, but being in debt a bit longer with the peace of mind of being safe seemed completely worth it.
She realized just how zombieish she was as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. Til she finally got out her keys and began to turn the lock on her apt number 217.
Little did she know what lay ahead for her
To be continued …