We keep telling ourselves everything is going to be the last. The last day you're going to go without running, the last day you're going to procrastinate, the last time you're going to pine over the same guy, the last time you're going to romanticize about your idealistic future. It was always going to be the last; but it never is the last. We always think we have more time, but we don't have anything at all. When it finally hits you, you don't want to say things will be the "last" anymore. You don't think the last conversation will be the last conversation. You don't think that seeing someone's face would be the last time you'd ever see it again. There was always a next time. You'd always think you'd have more time.
Meredith Grey adjusted the collar of her pristine lab coat and exhaled before turning to the new interns that waited anxiously before her. Step by step, she slowly strolled across the room, her white sneakers squeaking against the newly waxed hardwood floors. She stared at them. Analyzed them. With her calculating, blue eyes, eyes that had such a remarkable, deep past they were almost void of emotion.
She was dead inside. So dead, every reference to an accident, a trauma, a death, she was almost indifferent, as if the fragility of her mind was not really present at all, unlike Cristina Yang, who suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Silent, Meredith took it all in. The light blue scrubs of the interns, their grinning faces on their hospital name tags, her navy blue attending scrubs.
For seven years, she had been waiting for this moment. She had been waiting to become an excellent surgeon, to wear these navy scrubs, to finally be a Neurosurgery consult like her gifted husband, Derek Shepherd. So why was it that, despite the status she had gained after her board exams, she felt like she was in the same place a year ago? She still felt like the girl in the bar. She wanted to drown herself, to stop treading this flood brought upon Lexie Grey's death. She was still dark and twisty.
She took a deep breath and began her speech, "Each of you comes here today, hopeful. Wanting in on the game. A month ago you were in med school being taught by doctors. Today, you are the doctors. The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you – say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty, five of you will crack under the pressure, two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play, that's up to you. Our former Chief, Dr. Webber, gave this speech to me, us, when we were just like you. His words stuck by me ever since. The hell you suffer from your residents, your peers, and your cases, will test your potential to become a surgeon. I fought. These three attendings that stand behind me, they fought. This is what Seattle Grace is all about – fighting. Fighting for your job, fighting for your patients' lives, fighting for your life."
