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Medical Center.
The new physician training program officially kicked off. Rounds went full-on "Japanese medical drama" style—except for Adam. Every resident with interns trailed their attending physicians, swarming the halls and flooding into patient rooms under the surgical director's watchful eye.
Adam didn't join the chaos, but he sent one of his four interns to tag along each day. The other three? One handled outpatient duties, one tracked malignant glioma patients and updated the screening list, and one stuck with Adam in the ER. They rotated. Since Adam dabbled in everything—pretty much every surgery—his "Four Little Ones" got a taste of all specialties.
The director didn't meddle with Adam's teaching. After six months of intense training, his crew was already turning heads. Especially now, with the new group rounds, whichever of the four joined in, they shone.
Today, it was Lexie's turn.
"Barry Patemo, 63, severe pain for seven years," Meredith began, briefing the crowd of dozens. "He's tried heavy-duty anti-seizure meds, antidepressants, antipsychotics—nothing's helped."
"Mr. Patemo, how bad's the headache today?" Shepherd stepped up. "Scale of 1 to 10?"
"Eight," Mr. Patemo said, staring blankly at the group. "Always eight. Seven years, not a single day without it."
"This is Mr. Patemo's last consult," Shepherd explained. "It's why we're suggesting a bilateral cingulotomy…"
"Hold up," Lexie cut in, raising her hand. "A bilateral cingulotomy for headaches?"
"Too loud!" Mr. Patemo snapped, eyes shut. "Can you stop that buzzing?"
"Sorry," Lexie softened her voice. "But that surgery could cause seizures, cognitive issues, or behavioral changes."
"That's why we haven't jumped in," Shepherd said. "We don't go for extreme, irreversible options until we've tried everything else."
"More tests, over and over," Mr. Patemo muttered with a bitter laugh.
"I've got an idea," Lexie raised her hand again.
"Go ahead," Shepherd said, glancing at Meredith with a smile. "The new training program encourages everyone to pitch in—think big!" The director, lurking by the door, swapped his poker face for a grin. All eyes turned to Lexie.
"Uh, I read this article about swelling and anterior ethmoidal nerve compression," Lexie said, unleashing her photographic memory. "British ENT Journal, 1964, issue 47, page 19, illustrated edition. We could slide a catheter up his nose. If he reacts, it's anterior ethmoidal nerve syndrome. A simple middle turbinate resection could fix it."
"Could that work?" Mr. Patemo's eyes flicked open, a faint spark of hope in his apathy. "Seven years, 16 ENT docs—none mentioned this."
"We'd need to test it," Shepherd said. "Why didn't other ENT docs bring it up? It's super niche—published once in '64. None of us have seen that journal or heard of it. But Little Grey here's got a steel-trap memory. Since she's confident and it's a low-risk check, I say we try."
"Let's do it," Mr. Patemo said, voice shaky.
"I've got this," Mark Sloan stepped up, flashing Lexie a dazzling smile. "Believe it or not, I'm an ENT doc too. Cool idea!"
Yep, Mark Sloan—famous plastic surgeon and certified ENT guy. Plastics paid the bills; ENT was for cred. On the medical prestige ladder, plastics ranked low. ENT wasn't top-tier, but it beat plastics. Too bad he'd leaned so hard into plastics he'd nearly forgotten his ENT roots.
When the tools arrived, Mark slid the catheter into Mr. Patemo's nose. "Tell me if it's uncomfortable."
"AH!!!" Mr. Patemo yelped instantly, but the excitement in his pained cry was unmistakable. "That's it! My God, that's where it hurts! Oh, God—Little Grey, you're an angel sent from above!"
"Nice work, Dr. Little Grey!" the director praised. "We need more docs like you here."
"I just read a lot," Lexie said, blushing at the hype.
"Knowledge is power!" the director grinned. "Dr. Duncan's a big reader too. You and Dr. Melendez have a bit of his spark—keep it up!"
"Yes, sir!" Lexie beamed, thrilled to be compared to Adam.
"See that, everyone?" the director said, scanning the room. "That's an intern's smarts at work. Study hard, think sharp, and even interns can crack cases that stump top attendings. Dr. Duncan paved the way, now Little Grey's following. Living examples right here—don't they inspire you to step up?"
He turned to Lexie with a smile. "Dr. Little Grey, assist Dr. Sloan on this surgery."
"Smart call," Mark said, eyes glinting at Lexie. "Reward the good, punish the bad. Looking forward to fixing Mr. Patemo's pain with you—changing his life."
Lexie nodded, but her smile faded. Mark's look wasn't teacher-to-student admiration—it was a guy checking out a girl. Fresh off a broken bone, too? Gross. 😒
"…" Mark, a lifelong ladies' man, read her vibe instantly. His charm faltered. Last time, a high school girl called him "uncle," saying he was as weathered as her dad. Am I really that old? he wondered. Or have women's tastes flipped upside down?
(End of Chapter)