A/N: Hey there! This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction in quite a few years, so here are two very short chapters to get my rusty writing back in swing. I promise that the chapters will get longer eventually, I just tend to start out with short chapters. Also, I apologise in advance for boring you with medical detail, feel free to call me out on that. I just really, really love my field of expertise. The rating is subject to change at some point or other, we'll see.
These two chapters here are un-beta'ed and English is not my first language, so if anyone feels like looking over future chapters for all my bigger and smaller mess-ups, shoot me a message! Also, drop by my tumblr and say hi! I love talking to people :) projectilevomitingrainbows (.) tumblr (.) com
Chapter 1 - Santana
I removed the thin layer of sweat that had formed on my forehead with the sleeve of my lab coat. The minute our daily afternoon conference had ended, I leapt up the stairs back to my ward. Today had been a crazy day so far and somehow, my hopes of returning to my pile of work having magically disappeared were rather slim.
Usually, two doctors would split a ward between them, thus splitting the workload. My colleague, a young female physician like me, was out sick today, though, leaving me to do both our work.
To make matters worse, it was Friday - so a lot of people that were not to stay the weekend were pushing to be let home. That required me to do the part of my job I hated the most: writing letters to the doctors that would continue to take care of the patients after their stay here. Our letters would outline to them why the patients had gotten here, with which ailments, in which physical and mental state, what we did with them here, how we recommended their treatment be continued.
As often as possible, I'd make that process easier for me by dictating the letter and then having one of the secretaries write it. But that process took its sweet time - too much time for the people I could see pacing around the ward right now, anxious to go home.
I walked past them and into the few square meters of dark chamber that we referred to as the doctor's office, giving my best 'busy doctor on a mission'-look on the way. Common sense apparently didn't tell people that every minute they spent asking me when the letter would be ready was a minute I couldn't work on readying the letter, so I had adopted a very brisk manner of walking and a permanently furrowed brow when navigating the ward. It made me look like I was about to break horrible news to a family or something equally dramatic and it made people shy away from talking to me.
With a sigh of relief, I let myself collapse into a chair in the doctor's office. For a second, I closed my eyes to collect myself and focus on the task at hand. The first point on my to-do list for the rest of the day was writing preliminary letters for five patients that could leave once these were typed.
I let out an exasperated sigh as the door opened. A nurse silently slipped into the room, slowly walked to where I was still sitting in my chair in a rather unflattering position and offered me a cup of coffee. With a tired smile, I accepted the offer and thanked her for being so thoughtful. I took a sip of the hot black liquid. Hospital coffee would usually make me gag and this cup, too, had me fighting its contents down my throat.
Without letting my soft smile falter, I turned back towards my computer and the nurse left as silently as she had arrived. I really was thankful for her bringing me coffee, even though I didn't like it and the message that she really conveyed with her action was that I looked like I needed coffee. Then again, she was pretty correct in that assumption and it felt nice to have somebody look out for me, at least a bit.
Slowly sipping on my coffee, I managed to overcome my unwillingness and began typing the first letter. Most of today's letters would be pretty standard fare, nothing that would have me pondering my wording for hours. Two middle-aged men that were proven not to have had heart attacks. Somebody with an acute crisis of high blood pressure. An old lady with pneumonia that wanted to get back to her nursing home. Lastly, an elderly man with a weak heart.
This was the only letter that gave me a bit of trouble. People usually developed a weak heart slowly, over many years. For the longest time, they either failed to notice or actively ignored how challenges of everyday life, such as climbing stairs, would become increasingly difficult for them. When the weakness of the heart progressed to more severe stages, there were a few tell-tale symptoms that would often bring the patients to the hospital for the first time. The two most prominent of those were water in the legs, resulting in bloated legs and feet, and water in the lungs, resulting in increased difficulty breathing.
Said man had come with both of these signs, his legs so bloated that you could see little bubbles of water right under his skin. We began the standard treatment of heart weakness - removing the excess water, regulating the heart activity and blood pressure to get the most out of the strength the heart had left. He had come in yesterday and despite being a bit weird, had caused little problems. This morning, though, he announced to us that being in hospital was bullshit and that he wanted to go home, treatment be damned. After a couple of doctors unsuccessfully tried to convince him otherwise, we agreed to let him go home - under the condition that he acknowledged that his now untreated heart disease might kill him soon, very soon. He said he preferred that over being treated and so I was now writing him a letter in order to send him home. I didn't think I would have acted the way he did had I been in his place, but he made an informed decision and I ought to respect that.
When I had finished the letters, I printed them, signed them and then handed them to the nurses that would eventually see the people out of the hospital. I went to pour myself another coffee. One of the nurses kept insisting I ate some of the sweets a patient had left for us.
"You've been getting so skinny lately, Santana. Eat something before you vanish!"
"Thanks," I popped some sweets into my mouth "I've just been working a lot recently. I'll see to it to that I don't vanish."
She had a point. Recently, I had been putting a lot of time and effort into my work - both my eating and sleeping habits had suffered from that. My work was very important to me, tough. I had successfully fought my way through college and med school and then landed this job shortly after receiving my MD. This job and I had just clicked - being a general physician in a middle-sized hospital wasn't the stuff medical TV series dreams were made out of, but it was exactly what I wanted to do. Finding your true calling in life was a highly underrated feeling.
The coffee machine announced its success in brewing another half-gallon of disgusting coffee with a beep and it startled me slightly. Realising that I had zoned out, I shook my head to clear my thoughts and quickly downed the last of my now mostly cold coffee.
I tried to straighten my lab coat a bit and then proceeded to the next entry on my to-do list: talking to relatives of patients. This had always been a bit of a double-edged sword for me. Some of them were really sweet, so thankful for the job we did, and tried to help wherever they could. Some on the other hand were not as easy to handle - they worried too much or cared too little, made things harder for the patients and/or us, and some were just plainly annoying. A lot of them were like the patients, though, in that they really only wanted to be given the time of the day. Even if I didn't really have anything to tell them, they were often glad to have talked to the doctor.
After exchanging at least a few words with all the relatives that were currently here, I went to search my direct superior. He was very young for the position he held and I got along really well with him. Even if I didn't have any direct questions for him, I liked taking about all my patients with him every day because it was at the same time a reassurance and a lesson for me - my superior would often point out more differential diagnoses, diagnostic means and treatment options to me.
After completing my discussion with him, I returned to my ward for the next coffee fix. A glance at the clock there told me it was 5.30pm. Not bad, I shrugged, seeing as it was a Friday alone at the ward and I had already checked off most of my to-do list.
"Anyone new come in this afternoon?" I asked one of my favourite nurses. His name was Kurt; he had a flamboyant manner to him and managed to carry out even the least dignified tasks in health care with a certain grace. Upon meeting him, my gaydar had completely overheated and when I finally plucked up my courage and asked him about his sexuality, he had more than happily laid out his entire love life in the most vivid detail to me. Out of all the people in the hospital, he was one of the few I talked to about my personal life with; at least a little.
"Just one young woman. She fainted, neighbours saw it and called 911," Kurt answered.
"Hmm, okay," I took a bored sip from my coffee, "maybe I'll check on her before I continue with the letters. She's in stable condition now, I assume?"
"Oh yes yes, just fine. Has a little cold, maybe, but that's all. You should definitely 'check' on her though." Kurt wiggled his eyebrows at me.
"Are you implying something?" I groaned. I didn't like this impish look he sported.
"Ohh, noo, just that she's hot and proooobably your type."
"That's highly unprofessional, Kurt, and you know it."
"I know, Santana. I also know that it highly pleases you when I'm being unprofessional."
I rolled my eyes at the implication only the two of us could understand. Maybe being open with Kurt hadn't been the brightest of decisions. Usually, I would keep most of my private life to myself. It had given me the reputation of being distant and/or having no private life but it also gave people little opportunity to tease or mock me. One could describe me as a guarded person, which mostly stemmed from high school experience.
Kurt's friendly teasing didn't really bother me, though, if I was being honest with myself. It was moreover endearing to see him have a genuine interest in my life but never resort to prying, like somebody only interest in gossiping about me later would. In contrast to me, he actually tried to improve my love life whenever he saw the chance to, whereas I lacked motivation to do that. And I still couldn't help it - I loved it when people seemed to care about me. Not about me as a cheerleader or about me as a doctor but about me as a person.
Once again, I rolled my eyes at Kurt's smirk and left for my office. Silently, I thanked my dark complexion for hiding the blush I had felt creeping onto my face. The only sign of me blushing was the tips of my ears turning red, and I usually had those hidden under my hair. My face generally seemed to jump at every opportunity to turn hot and - invisibly - red. Had it not been for my tan skin tone, I would have made a terrible poker face: every sort of emotion would have made me turn as red as a tomato.
But so I stood, complexion as even as ever, in front of a small mirror that was mounted over an even smaller sink in my office. As much as I hated to admit it, Kurt's comment had perked my interest, if ever so slightly. I lamely tried to fix my hair that felt streaky and damp after a day spent in an environment that smelled and tasted like disinfecting agent. After lamely trying to re-establish a side parting in my hair, I gave up and concluded that my hair was a lost cause until it saw a shower.
There were probably better places to get a date than the hospital anyway, I thought, and decided to put an end to my pathetic attempts at looking good. I swiftly straightened my lab coat and reorganised the contents of its pockets. At least, I could try to look the doctor part decently. With my best professional face on, I stepped out of my office.
Stopping by the ward overview to gather the patient's name and room number, I made my way to this supposedly hot girl.