“Fucking. Medical. School.”
I’m really beginning to question everything—endlessly performing surgeries in this remote, resource-strapped hospital. It’s relentless, being the only anesthetist across this entire hospital. None of this should’ve happened, yet somehow, here I am.
And don’t even get me started on my partner—she passed out an hour ago, exhausted. Just after the other doctors from the previous shift left for the airport for a conference, a chain accident brought in sixty casualties, eight of whom needed immediate surgery. It was just the four of us: me, the internist, the EM, and the surgeon. Four people, barely holding the emergency room.
“Catch!” The surgeon tossed me an energy drink, and I caught it just in time.
My hands were shaky as I cracked it open, chugging it in a desperate attempt to keep going. “This is some hellish luck, don’t you think?”
He grunted, a half-hearted chuckle slipping out. “I think we’re cursed.”
I took in the sight of the blood-slicked hallway, stretchers crammed in every possible corner, injured patients sprawled on whatever empty floor space we could find. The bus had flipped, colliding with a gas tanker, but by some miracle, no one had died on impact. Yet. Dilla, our emergency physician, was among the chaos, passed out from sheer exhaustion on one of the makeshift hospital beds lining the corridor, her breathing shallow but her eyes were vigilant, somehow.
My pay had been cut, all because this state-run hospital couldn’t afford to support us. And residents like me—we’re cheap labor here. That’s how I ended up trapped in this relentless cycle. Attendings showed up occasionally, supposedly to “challenge” us in high-stress situations. But this? This was beyond that, and it was killing us slowly. I could feel it in every bone, every aching joint, the weight of the place pressing down until I could hardly breathe.
“Could be worse,” the surgeon mumbled, as if trying to convince himself as much as me.
“Eric!” I snapped, a bitterness seeping into my tone.
“What? I’m just joking, Ella,” he replied with a tired smile, flipping up his surgical mask to sip his own energy drink. “Anyway, I think we’re finally done for the day. I think.”
“If more patients suddenly come in, that’s on you,” I muttered, trying to hide my frustration as I glared at him.
“Haha, fair enough.” Eric laughed, the sound hollow, almost manic. I couldn’t understand how he kept his spirits up through all of this, how he could somehow laugh it off. He was unhinged, to put it lightly. Brilliant, sure—he could breeze through a one-hour surgery in half the time, like he was on autopilot. But I’d seen him, too, hiding behind a surgical curtain to pop anti-manic or antidepressant pills when he thought no one noticed.
And yet, somehow, he kept going. I couldn’t decide if it was sheer resilience or if he’d just lost touch with reality altogether. Either way, it was both impressive and a little terrifying, especially here, where survival seemed to depend on us pushing the limits of sanity. Then again, nobody was sane in this hospital, really. We were just good at hiding it.
Dilla was running on Adderall the last time I asked her, Eric was… well, whatever that was. I was on Alprazolam just to take the edge off, and the internist had his own struggles—a full-on psychotic episode last time he was away from the hospital, or so he said. Yet somehow, we were holding it together, piece by fractured piece.
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Why nobody was here? Well, for starter, this was a shitty region with a shitty infrastructure. No one would come here if not forced to. We were promised huge salary, but we should have known better about the deal offered.
In the end, we made a solid team, dysfunctional as it was. Proof of that? No one had died on our watch today. Despite the chaos, the pills, and the sleepless nights, we were still here, pulling off miracles, somehow and somewhat.
The energy drink fizzed in my hand, its metallic tang mixing with the stale air of the overcrowded hospital. I took a long gulp, feeling the bitter rush jolt through my system. The hallway was a mess—blood splattered tiles, stretchers scattered haphazardly, and patients lined up, moaning softly in pain. Dilla lay passed out on a hospital bed nearby, her face pale against the stark sheets, the deep circles under her eyes matching mine.
“Hey, think we’ll even remember any of this?” I asked Eric, my voice barely a murmur, lost in the hum of the overhead lights and the distant groans from patients down the hall.
He shrugged, a slight grin on his face. “If we don’t die of exhaustion first.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I replied, and though it wasn’t really funny, we both chuckled—a dry, hollow sound that barely reached our tired eyes.
“So, what’s next?” Eric asked, his gaze drifting toward the blood-streaked floor and the makeshift beds crammed into every corner.
“Well, we’ve still got sixty patients, and… two hours until the others get back,” I said, glancing at my watch as if time had any real meaning here. “I need to monitor the post-op patients and probably keep an eye on the emergency room. Lars… well, he might actually start hallucinating soon if he doesn’t take his meds.”
“Guess I’ll grab another energy drink for Lars, and for you too, while I’m at it,” Eric said, forcing a weak smile.
“Thanks,” I murmured, watching him disappear down the hall.
I gulped the whole can then threw it at the nearby trash can. I could feel my heart pumping up from the energy drink, but well, we still had a long way tonight. If the exhaustion doesn’t kill me, then the student debt would, or even, my parents’ debts.
I continued down the hallway, moving from bed to bed, pushing each one toward the intensive care unit, ventilators trailing behind, hissing softly with each shallow breath they sustained. Lars was doing the same, maneuvering beds into cramped spaces that should have been theirs hours ago, if not for the chaos keeping us on our feet. The patients deserved better, a real ICU setup rather than this makeshift holding area we’d created, but we were stretched too thin.
The energy drink was… different. I didn’t even remember its name—Aether, maybe? But somehow, it was keeping me upright, keeping me moving, even after nearly 72 hours without sleep. It wasn’t like the usual rush of caffeine. This felt stranger, as if it were burning through the last reserves of energy I didn’t know I had, and I could already feel the crash that would follow.
“This stuff can’t be good for me,” I muttered to myself, but right now, survival took precedence over sense.
“Your eyes shot red, are you alright?” Suddenly Lars interrupted.
“Huh?” I didn’t even realize it.
Gradually, I felt the strength drain from my hands. The bed I'd been pushing came to an abrupt halt as my fingers slackened their grip. The hallway seemed to stretch and warp, the fluorescent lights above blurring into streaks. Lars noticed immediately, reaching out to steady me as my knees began to wobble.
"Ella, hey—are you alright?" His voice sounded distant, muffled by the sudden ringing that filled my ears. It was as if I were underwater, every sound distorted and far away.
"I... I don't know," I whispered, my chest tightening. My heart pounded erratically, each beat echoing loudly in my ears—thump, thump, a relentless rhythm that only added to the dizziness swirling in my head. The blood felt like it was rushing too fast through my veins, each pulse a wave of pressure and pain.
The edges of my vision darkened, tunneling until all I could see was a narrow path ahead. I tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in my throat, shallow and unsatisfying. "I'm so tired," I murmured, my eyelids heavy.
I heard a loud thud, then everything shifted. A warm sensation washed over me, soft and all-encompassing, like a gentle blanket wrapping around every inch of my body. The pressure on my chest faded, my racing thoughts drifted away, and I felt… nothing. No pain, no fear, just a weightless calm.
It was light, so unbelievably light. A quiet, blissful release that left me floating, free from the relentless noise, the endless strain. I slipped away, feeling nothing but a gentle, almost euphoric calm—a departure so soft, so full of release, it was almost… pleasure.
In the first time of the last twenty years, I felt happy.