Page 5 of Dr. Attending

My sister recently made the decision to start nursing school. I think she wanted to honor our mom who spent her whole careerin the field, but she also has the perfect personality for a nurse. She’s compassionate, enthusiastic, and strong-willed. If anyone can handle the demands of the career, it’s her.

“Hate to break it to you, C,” Parker chuckles and takes a long swig from his water bottle, “but it’s not going to get much better anytime soon . . . not for Beau anyway.”

Claire ignores him and turns to me.

“Doesn’t that make you feel so excited?” she asks, her question muffled by the food in her mouth.

I feel my body stiffen, but I plaster on a teasing smile. “Oh, yeah. Only three years of school left. I can practically taste the freedom.”

If I wasn’t an expert at schooling my emotions into indifference, my siblings would be able to see the truth written all over my face—that I’m drowning. Medical school has been nothing more than a marathon through hell, and I’ve spent most of the past year wondering why I chose this path for myself since every day feels like I’m treading water with weights attached to my ankles, barely able to keep my head above the surface.

My brother must be in a sadistic mood because he replies, “Don’t forget about residency and fellowship. You’re just getting started, baby sis.”

I lean back against the sofa. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

My words come out sounding lighthearted, but they sting a little as I say them because I feel defeated.

Most people in my class talk about how they were called to medicine. They want to help people, serve the community, cure diseases. They talk about passion, purpose, and fulfillment.

But I did it for a different reason—to make my family proud.

It’s not that I don’t care about the things my classmates talk about . . . I do. But if I’m being honest, becoming a doctor wasn’t my lifelong dream. I just fell into it because I was good at school and knew that it would cause the least amount of discoursewhen our mom was sick. And now that things have settled, I’m beginning to wonder if I made the biggest, and most expensive, mistake of my life.

“Maybe you’ll end up with someone who doesn’t work in healthcare,” Claire suggests, giving me a nudge with her elbow. “Oh, but wait . . . isn’t your boyfriend a dumb doctor too?”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers because I should have never told her about George.

God, even thinking about him pisses me off. What kind of name is that?

George.

It kind of sounds like the name of a dog. Or a politician. Or a cartoon character. Pretty much the opposite of what you want to be screaming when you’re getting railed—not that we were doing much of that anyway, because taking my clothes off for him was always the last thing I wanted to do after the way he would treat me.

We met at an alumni mixer where he was on a panel discussing residency options. At the time, I was drawn to him because he seemed like he enjoyed his career choice, and I was hopeful that surrounding myself with someone who was confident in their decision to become a doctor might solidify my own.

But instead, dating him only made me feel more alone.

All he ever wanted to talk about was school—what Ishouldbe doing, how Ishouldbe doing it. When we weren’t together, he would blast me with messages about my “wasted potential,” then go on and on about how I wasn’t confident enough to have a career in medicine.

Because it makes a ton of sense to verbally destroy someone so often that they nearly break, and then tell them that they won’t succeed unless they believe in themselves.

Gotta love doctors and their fucked up culture of degradation.

“He’s no longer in the picture,” I state simply, not wanting to get into it because the situation has been handled.

I don’t remember what the final straw was. But after a few months of his bullshit, I finally ended things and wished him well.

Kidding.

I told him to fuck off and said that I couldn’t wait for the day that machines finally replaced radiologists.

And I’m not at all sorry about it.

Claire shoots me a curious look, like she can see the way my heart has started to pound in my chest. But instead of prodding like usual, she decides to drop it and return to what she does best—poking the bear.

“Well, just know that you could have invited him tonight if you had wanted to,” she offers with a wink. “Even if he wasn’tbrothermaterial, it’s my house. Which means it’smyrules.”

“Actually,” Parker corrects, unable to help himself. “It’s my house,”

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