Residency, where Doctor Robert Chase actually has to put what he's learned from books into practice, is full of surprises. Patients generally have no idea who his father is. They're grateful to him, and that's a first. His confidence grows; he really can help people, his efforts aren't in vain. He goes from one floor to another, plenty of good will in his wake, because he's conscientious and polite. He speaks up if it's important, but mostly he's quiet and listens, because the senior doctors have the experience he still needs and there are things you can't learn from books.
Clinic duty is his first assignment. It isn't horrible, but it's not what he wants to do for the next thirty or forty years. Surgery is interesting, but not to practice on a daily basis. Likewise, internal medicine is a bit of a grind. Obstetrics and gynecology are educational for a guy who hasn't had time for ladies, but it's impossible for him to maintain the necessary clinical attitude about the fairer sex. The only rotation he has real trouble with is Psych. He feels sympathy for the patients, some of whom are nice enough people, but he keeps having massive nightmares about being over-medicated and drooling, strapped down and given ECT, being locked away in darkness forever. This is definitely not the career for him; although he gives it a fair go, he's relieved beyond words when he's transfered out.
When he and Skinner get paired up for ICU rotation, that's when things get interesting. Skinner has already settled on dermatology for advanced training (Robert snickers at the irony), and is waiting for an opening in that department. Their first day, they've been on the ward for less than an hour, when a post-op patient starts vomiting. As they bolt into the patient's room, Skinner freezes. Robert feels the tingle of adrenalin in his veins and a sense that time has slowed down. He grabs the suction device and aspirates the airway and it's easy, really. Christ, he's done this for Mum more than once with just a hand vac, it's nothing to go to pieces over. What the hell is Skinner's problem?
By the time the attending doctor has arrived in response to Skinner's frantic page, the patient's vital signs have stabilized. Fortunately, the surgical incision hasn't been compromised. Robert gives a crisp outline of what he's done for the woman as the attending nods. Afterward, he doesn't feel gratified, or elated, just...centered. That's only the first crisis of what proves to be a very busy shift, and with each successive incident the sense of focus sharpens. Even though one of their patients doesn't make it, he accepts that---he already knows you can't save them all---and goes on to another bedside, another moment of clear intensity.
This is it. This is what he wants to do. It calls on all his brains and training and reflexes and it gives him such a buzz and yet it's curiously peaceful, like those long ago moments of transcendent prayer when he felt a connection to something greater than himself.
Skinner struggles for four days, and then flees into the safe, dull haven of dermatology. Doctor Robert Chase is too busy to say good-bye.