Hey guys! Thanks for reading. A few things I wanted you guys to know before you start reading.
First, I have already finished writing this fanfiction. After the first five or so chapters are posted, I will plan on posting a new chapter every couple days.
Second, I incorporated a lot of quotes/scenes from Grey's Anatomy. Many of the scenes and lines I used are not even Calzona moments, but I made them such for the fanfiction. So, keep an eye out for them!
Lastly, any and all comments and criticisms are appreciated.
Oh, and obviously all characters/lines/scenes/etc. are not my own. They are property of Shonda Rhimes and her writing crew. I own nothing!
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There was a time when I knew exactly what I wanted in my life. Better yet, I had it. Life passed by simply and purposefully. Looking back, my focus was narrow; my perspective limited by the expectations I had set for myself. Yet, I thought I had so much, family, friends, a successful career, money, a husband… And as I lie in this bed, drawing what seem to be my last breaths, I realize how utterly clueless I was to what was to happen next. But who could have predicted such a thunderstorm. A relationship (if you could call it so, I still struggle to define what she, we were) that seemed so consuming in the midst of the lightning and looming thunder, but when the sun finally came up and the clouds had quieted, appeared to never occur at all. Except to maybe the tree, which had lost a branch or two, or occasionally a neighborhood, which lost power for some mere hours, only to return fully functionally and its brief absence, forgotten.
In this moment I question everything I once knew, the only parts of my life I was ever able to admit to. If everything you ever desire can be altered by one event, one person, did you ever truly desire anything at all? Or was it all a fallacy; a construction of what everyone else wanted you to want, wanted you to be. Or did some people just have an illusionary effect, a consuming presence, that they could just minimize everything you once deemed important prior to their arrival? I struggle to define what was most real to me in this moment.
What I know now, as I watch every bump on the monitor, listen to every beep of my alarm, that I unfortunately can decipher with frightening knowledge (sats in mid 80s, PVCs, V tach..it goes on…), is that I am a shell of myself. Without her.
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I, Arizona Robbins, probably the best scribe in the history of medical scribes.
Okay, maybe this isn't completely true. But I am damn good for being so new. I have been working at Seattle Grace Hospital on the surgical floor for the last week. I am assigned to a different physician every day during my first two weeks here. After these two weeks, I will be assigned to a doctor permanently. I will work every hour of every day that he or she works. I will follow his or her every move, write down everything he or she says, and do every stupid ass task he or she asks of me. When they have call, I have call. When they aren't sleeping, I am definitely not sleeping.
Thus far, I have worked with Dr. Bailey, a general surgeon and Dr. Shepherd, a neurosurgeon. I would like to say they find me funny, charming and extremely intelligent, but in all honesty, I haven't spoken more than a few sentences to them. I diligently follow in their shadow, creating their notes, running their minor errands, with the vain hope that they wouldn't humiliate me in public. A fellow scribe warned me of Dr. Yang, a cardiothoracic surgeon who read this scribe's less than accurate surgical note aloud to the entire surgical team. Though this scribe was not fired, she was the laughing stock of the cardiovascular surgery team for a period of time.
Luckily for me, I had received nothing but positive reviews, even if they were as minimal as "good HPI" after spending a half hour writing a thorough history or "not bad" after accurately dictating the surgical procedure. I am anxious to be assigned to a surgeon permanently, to be chosen by someone who finds me worthy of his or her presence. I realize I perceive these surgeons as godlike, perhaps undeservingly so. But when you are an aspiring medical student, you would almost rather have a smart surgeon on your side than Jesus Christ himself.
I approach the surgical locker room, where I am told to meet Dr. Calliope Torres, the head of the orthopedic surgery department; I can't help but feel some nervousness. While meeting new people doesn't scare me in and of itself, meeting the head of the orthopedic surgery department, who I could potentially be spending a great amount of time with over the next year or so, does give me some feelings of anxiousness.
When I am about 20 feet from the door of the surgical locker room, I see the door fly open, and a tall Latina woman burst out. She is walking quickly, almost running, and I am sure this is THE Dr. Torres I have been told so much about. Nurses love to gossip about their doctors, and so far I have heard this much: she is a fierce surgeon with an intense personality. She is fearless yet graceful in the operating room. She is passionate to the point of fault about her patients. She is married to trauma surgeon (rumored unhappily, but really, how unhappy could two surgeons be together?) to Dr. Owen Hunt, chief of surgery. I can tell immediately from the strut in her walk, the way she holds her head up high, that this woman believes she is the shit. This reaffirms my assumptions that she is in fact, Dr. Calliope Torres. Her aura, her strong willed presence, takes my breath away initially until I am able to sputter out half a sentence.
"Hi, I am Arizona Robbins, your medical scr.."
"I'll meet you in front of OR 4 in 10 minutes with a large iced chai in hand. I'll give you the low down on the procedure then and what I want included in the surgical note you will create". She hands me her credit card and continues walking, before I get a chance to respond. I smile to myself, knowing fetching coffee is part of the job. Frankly, the mindless task is a relief from the constant assault on my brain that has occurred the last few weeks.
As I pay for the chai, I notice the card is a platinum visa credit card. Probably has a hundred thousand dollar limit. Figures, I think to myself, with two successful surgeons married to one another, there is bound to be some serious money between them. With the realization that they likely make fifty times as much as I do an hour, I sigh and begin my brisk walk back towards the OR.
Dr. Torres is waiting for me when I arrive in front of OR 4. She takes the iced chai from my right hand, rips the lid and straw off, and gulps down three fourths of it. "Want the rest?" she asks me. I look at her, confused, and she tosses the remainder of the chai into the garbage. Apparently I didn't answer her question quickly enough. As I try to hand her credit card back to her, she waves her finger in my face "Keep it, I will need something later. It is going to be a long day…."
"Arizona. Arizona Robbins." I say in response to her pregnant pause.
"Arizona. Right. I assume you're new?"
"Yeah. I started my on site training three days ago"
She nods and she gestures towards the sink.
As we scrub into surgery, I can't help but watch Dr. Torres out of the corner of my eye. She is, in fact, quite pretty, beautiful even. She has her hair up in a tight bun, with minimal eye make up and some sort of lip gloss that makes her lips shine just enough to notice but not obnoxiously so. I find myself not only envious of her lips, but lustful. I shake my head, trying to think else where, but I continue watching her. She stares intensely through the peering window into the OR, like she is thinking about something important. I find myself wondering what preoccupies the mind of someone as brilliant as Calliope Torres...
"Are you ready?" She says, holding her hands up in the air. I realize I have been somewhat gawking at her and I flush.
"Yes, yes of course. Sorry" I say, fumbling over my words.
She smiles at me "Good, let's get started"
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Stepping out of the OR after a 10 hours of surgery, a pace or two behind who I was convinced, the greatest orthopedic surgeon in all Washington, felt fucking good. I was exhausted beyond the point of sleep. My fingers were sore from typing and my legs hurt from standing. But man, watching Dr. Torres all day may be my new favorite thing to do. Her surgeries appear effortless. A lot of orthopedic surgeons look like butchers in the OR, pulling on this and yanking on that, but not Dr. Torres. She is smooth in every movement, every cut, with strength not visible to the naked eye. And being able to sit back and watch her, document her every move, was not only gratifying but damn near pleasurable.
I follow her back to her office, just a step behind her. When she opened the door, I was surprised to find a simple office with few photos. I noticed one photo that appeared to be of her family when she was much younger, maybe in elementary school. Another photo was on her wedding day, her and Dr. Hunt's arms wrapped around each other. The photo looked stiff to me, borderline posed.
"So, are all the charts complete?" she asks me as she sits down at her desk.
"Yeah they should be. Look them over to make sure they are accurate and what not" I say quietly, "Is there anything else you need from me?"
"No, that should be all, thank you..." She looks at me, pressing on her forehead in an attempt to remember my name"
"Arizona" I say with a small smile.
"Yes I knew that! I totally knew that. I hope I see you around soon, Arizona."