Anya:
The month after the acceptance email was a blur of excitement and jitters about moving cities. Mom came to visit after hearing the good news. She couldn't stay long, but she kept her promise to help me move.
The new apartment I rented was a cozy two-bedroom. The rent was not cheap, and I could afford it on my resident's salary, but that would mean I'd be surviving on cereal for half the month. It also meant no savings, and one thing my mom had taught me was how to prepare for worse days, because you never know what life might have in store for you. So I'll have to find a roommate and fast, but for now, all I want to do is ride the high of getting placement at my top-choice hospital.
The day of the joining came too soon. All the paperwork that needed to be filled out before joining felt like I was signing my rights away. And I did all that with a smile on my face.
Honest to God, if they had asked me to sign my life away I'd still happily do it. Because this has been my dream program for as long as I can remember. Some of my idols in medicine have worked here.
I always wanted to be a doctor, no scrub that, I always wanted to be a surgeon. I think I was six or seven years old when my mom gifted me my first anatomy doll one Christmas. It was a hideous little thing, but playing a surgeon at 7 years old stuck with me and turned into my biggest dream.
Most of my friends and classmates wouldn't even look at that thing, but I would always carry it with me and when I was old enough to understand, my mom got me my first anatomy for dummies book.
I was not a dumb kid by a long shot. My grades have always been good, and I have worked hard to maintain them. You could say I was a nerd of sorts.
Standing here today at the front stairs of Ashbourne Memorial Hospital, I can't contain my excitement. All that daydreaming, studying my ass off and sleepless nights of pre-med, then med school finally paid off.
The weight of the ID badge feels heavy around my neck, but the good kind. The kind where you feel pride and responsibility that comes with the job.
I'm not nervous at all, at least not yet, and I repeat my mom's words to me.
"If anyone can do it, it's you, Dr. Anya Briar."
The name gives me a surge of pride as I move towards the entrance. I catch my reflection in the glass, looking back is the girl in a crisp white coat and a surge of emotion takes over.
I deserve it.
I bled for it, and now it's time to do the work to become one of the greatest surgeons. That's the goal.
I reach the orientation hall, and its already filled with so many faces. I take a seat in the middle. There's another girl sitting two seats over. She looks at me and waves enthusiastically. I smile and wave back. Then, without any invitation, she moves to the seat next to me.
"I hope the seat wasn't taken?" She asks after she takes the seat.
I just smile brightly, telling her, "Not at all. Be my guest."
She extends her hand with the biggest smile, "Hi, I'm Zara Thompson. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, fellow resident."
I laughed, taking her hand, "Pleasure is all mine. Anya Briar."
She asks, still holding my hand, almost squeaking, "Isn't it exciting? Oh My God, I feel like my heart will explode out of my chest".
I laughed again. I like this girl. She's the kind of person who befriends you at the first meeting and never lets go.
We are still having our moment when the announcer opens the mic and requests everyone to take their seats.
There are around fifty residents inducted, some for core surgical training like me and others have completed their core surgical rotations and are here for major specialties.
Ashbourne has one of the widest ranges of sub-surgical specialties and all ranked among the top in the country. It's one of the reasons it's such a sought-after residency program. When I was doing my research, I read somewhere that the number of applicants that try their luck every year is in the thousands and not just locals but all over the world and only a few are selected.
'The chosen ones', some forums had called them. Sitting here among these geniuses, I feel like an imposter but I quickly reprimand myself. And repeat my mantra in my head.
I deserve to be here. I am as smart as any of my peers. And being given this spot proves that.
The announcer, a junior fellow from plastic surgery, introduces himself and welcomes us all to the program. His words are polite, precise and clinical.
It reflects the efficiency expected of everyone who works here.
Quality over quantity.
He requests the director of the clinical training program to say a few words. She is sitting among other faculty and senior doctors in the front row.
I know this woman more than anyone. I have read every article she has ever published, every surgical technique she uses. She is my idol. Plain and simple.
Dr. Elizabeth S. Ashbourne
She is sophistication and competence packed with elegance in a fifty-six-year-old woman who doesn't look a day over forty. She is wearing a dark maroon pantsuit with a white silk shirt. She's smart, about an inch or two taller than me and really gorgeous.
I think I'm drooling looking at her. God, if someone was to hear my thoughts they would think I'm some psycho with a crush on the hospital director.
Well, I do have a crush, but of professional sorts.
When she speaks, I hold my breath. She talks about the history of AMH but does not linger on for longer than necessary. While she is telling us what kind of effectiveness and diligence is expected of all of us, the door to the hall on her right opens and a man in scrubs walks in.
Dr. Felix Ashbourne,
The heir to the Ashbourne legacy, the director's son and, oh god, so sexy that my heart skips a beat.
I know him and I have read about him and all his work. He's an exceptionally gifted surgeon, but the pictures on the internet do not do him justice, because that man is six-foot-two sin and he does not have the right to be this gorgeous, wearing scrubs.
His sharp features are etched with exhaustion that shows he just finished some major surgery and why he was late for the orientation.
His mother, the director, gives him a look that is full of fake reprimand and pride at the same time, but starts speaking to the audience again. I stopped listening.
He walks towards the empty seat in the front row with the ease and confidence of someone who has been doing this all his life.
Before he takes the seat, I think he feels someone staring, that someone being yours truly. his gaze sweeps the audience, and when those deep ocean-blue eyes meet mine, the rest of the world quiets down.
His gaze lingers for a second too long, face totally unreadable, before he takes the seat.
And I'm left hyperventilating for no reason with every nerve ending on fire....