Page 15 of Love Sick

The Red Hot Chili Peppers play in the background and ESPN is on mute while I stare at the massive textbook on my coffee table three days later. My one-bedroom apartment is furnished with hand-me-down items I obtained from Facebook Marketplace, but the large Samsung TV and Bose sound system I bought new—because,obviously. Not that they get much use with the twelve—usually thirteen—hour days I work.

I’m supposed to study.

I know this.

Everyone knows this.

Doctors study. That’s what we do. We’re the nerds who abandoned our social lives in college to become awkward med students and rack up hundreds of thousands of dollars in student debt.

After eight years of forcing myself to read the same information over and over again and still not retaining it the way other students do, I’m running on fumes.

Fumes with four more years to go.

Williams Obstetricsis more than a thousand pages of information I’m supposed to know and it doesn’t encompass even one-half of my specialty.

I take a swig of IPA and briefly wonder why I didn’t become an accountant.

You wanted this, remember?

The spine cracks when it opens for the first time, the smell of paper and ink wafting over me. I shudder at the fragrance, one that takes me back to long nights in a lonely study cubicle above my med school library.

I’m three paragraphs into the chapter on maternal physiology when a growl ripples in my chest and I hop off the couch. Pacing in my living room, I whip out my phone, Googling whether the book has an audio version—no—and if there’s an app—also no.

My fellow interns don’t share my distaste for textbooks and lectures and studying in general. Not that I’m surprised. Again, doctors are nerds.

Me:Did everyone but me read these assigned chapters?

Sapphire:probably

Me:Do you speak for the group now?

Kai:I read them

Raven:Me too. Twice.

Alesha:I did too, juju. sorryyyyyy

Sapphire:Told you

I scowl at the screen. Even in texts she’s annoying. Her prim tone filters through the screen into my amygdala, firing all the neurons dedicated to anger. I switch to Maxwell.

Me:Do I really need to read this stuff?

Maxwell:They assign the same shit every year. You read it this year, you won’t have to next year.

Maxwell:Or maybe you will. You got a thick head.

Me:good hands though

Maxwell:surgery aint everything, bro

Me:Chance to cut is a chance to cure

Maxwell sends a gif of Derek Shepherd fromGrey’s Anatomydoing his surgeon thing, and I laugh, but the smile fades fast as the behemoth on my coffee table beckons. A sip of IPA and a narrow-eyed gaze don’t stop its silent taunts. I finish my beer, playWordleand three levels ofCandy Crush, text my sister, and manage six more paragraphs of the chapter.

Only four million to go.

Fuck this.

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