Chapter 3

The evaluation entered its assessment phase. The focus was practical skills.

The director had set the rules. It was theory combined with hands-on skills, and the practical portion accounted for 40 percent.

I worked the ER during the day and memorized IV insertion and CPR procedures at night. Outsiders could never imagine how busy the emergency room really was.

A gurney would come flying through the doors with the patient already flatlined. Everyone crowded in, and I would be kneeling at the bedside doing chest compressions, one push after another, over a hundred times a minute.

By the time I finished with one patient, I could barely catch my breath before I had to run to the next bed to swap out an IV bag or take someone's blood pressure.

One time, two patients came in at the same time. One had swallowed poison. The other was bleeding out from a car accident.

Janet's voice went hoarse from shouting as she split us into two teams.

I had blood on my arms, running to one side to push medication, then sprinting back to the other to pass off a unit of blood. My shoes skidded on the floor.

By the time both patients were stabilized, I was crouching outside the trauma bay, unable to straighten my back for a long time.

The hem of my scrub top had been torn open. Someone had yanked it while we were lifting a patient onto the bed.

I looked at the tear and sewed it shut myself the next day.

That had been my life for three years. That was over a thousand days and nights.

There were times where my legs felt like rubber after a night shift.

At 11:00pm, I sat in the break room eating a cup of instant noodles while reviewing clinical material with my head down.

The noodles were the cheapest kind from the store, around two dollars a cup. I could not even bring myself to add anything extra.

My phone rang.

"Honey, are you still up?"

It was Mom. I could hear the beeping of a checkout scanner on her end. She must have just gotten off work.

"Yeah, just going over some stuff."

"Don't stay up too late. You mentioned being dizzy last time. I've been worrying about it ever since."

"I'm fine, just a little longer."

I paused for a moment, then made my voice sound lighter on purpose.

"Mom, that award I told you about. I applied for it. If I win, it's 50,000 dollars. That would cover Dad's treatment."

There were two seconds of silence on the other end.

"Do you think you'll get it? I'm afraid you'll do all that work for nothing and just end up catching grief from people."

"I will." I squeezed the plastic fork.

"I've submitted everything, and I'm practicing for the practical exam. Don't worry."

The truth was, I had no confidence at all. However, I could not tell her that.

She was holding the family together on her own. She earned a measly two thousand dollars a month, split between my father's medication and my sister's tuition. That was already more than enough weight for one person.

Right before we hung up, Mom asked in a quiet voice, "Honey, have you been going hungry at the hospital?"

My throat locked up.

"No, the cafeteria feeds us. I eat well."

"Good." She sniffed.

"This family's going to need you to hold it up. You've got to take care of yourself first."

After I hung up, I stirred what was left of the noodles. They had gone cold. The noodles were clumped together in a soggy lump.

I ate every last bite anyway. I did not want to waste it.

Whitney and Tara pushed the door open right then.

Tara glanced at my instant noodles and laughed.

"All this for one little award? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were cramming for the bar exam."

Whitney nudged her gently. "Don't say that. Blair's trying to make the most of this opportunity. It's not easy for her."

She set an unopened carton of milk on the table beside me.

"Instant noodles have zero nutrition. Think of this as brain fuel before the exam."

"Thanks, but I'm fine."

"I get it. You want to win. But clinical skills take years to build. A few all-nighters cramming won't necessarily make a difference."

She pushed the milk a little closer, her voice as soft as a sigh. "And if you don't get it, please don't blame Janet or the department."

I pushed the milk back toward her.

"I'm not blaming anyone. However, for someone who supposedly stepped aside, you sure seem more worried about the results than I am."

The warmth on Whitney's face vanished for a moment.

Tara slammed her hand on the table, nearly knocking over my noodles.

"Whitney came here because she's worried about you. She's trying to be nice and you throw it back in her face?"

I picked up what was left of my noodles and stood. "Then tell her to save the kindness. Right now, all I want is to get my skills sharp. I don't need someone who already walked away telling me how to lose."

The room behind me went quiet for a moment.

I walked out of the break room, but I could still hear Tara's voice, low and soothing.

"Why are you letting her get to you? Once the results come out, she'll quiet down on her own.

"The whole department voted for you. Unless the director's lost her mind, there's no way that spot goes to her."

I heard every word, but I did not share their certainty.

All I could do was clench my fists and tell myself, over and over, that my application was in, and the practical exam still had to go well.

Just a few more days. A few more days, and it would be over.