I can picture it perfectly: sitting here in the early morning, coffee in hand, the world waking up slowly around me.I can picture Amelia too, sitting beside me, her hair tucked behind one ear; that little content smile she gets when she thinks no one’s looking.Shit, I want her to be part of whatever I’m building here.
“What do you think?”Keith asks.
I take one last slow look around before turning to him.“This is great.” I point to the yard.“The space, the land, the view.It’s exactly what I wanted when I moved here.A different start.”
Keith nods.“Yeah.I think this is the one too.”
I turn to look at the realtor before saying, “I’m putting in an offer.”
“Let’s celebrate, then.”Keith grins.
We drive to the tavern, grabbing a couple of drinks to mark the moment.The place is quiet, just the usual locals enjoying a slow Saturday afternoon.The conversation shifts as we settle in, Keith leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says suddenly.“They’ve almost finished construction of your office.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Once they’re done plastering, you’ll have to come check it out.I haven’t picked out desks or anything yet.I figured you’d want to choose what you like.”
I nod.“Yeah, I’d love that.”
The rest of the afternoon passes easily, the kind of rare, peaceful moment I don’t take for granted anymore.When I finally get home, my phone buzzes just as I step inside.
Amelia:Mom’s getting out of the hospital in a couple days.Would you be interested in coming over for dinner on Friday night?Also, it’s game night.As if you could say no.
I chuckle to myself and text back.
Me:I’d love to.And get ready to lose.
The next morning, I step into the hospital and switch gears.Back to work.
My first patient is a high-profile client, someone Dr.Lowell was handling before I took over for this shift.A musician, apparently.I didn’t recognize the name at first, but after looking him up, I had to admit, he’s actually pretty good.Not that it matters right now.What matters is the chest pain he’s experiencing.
I’m in the room with him, reviewing his EKG results and explaining the next steps.Aspirin, nitro-glycerine, but then I don’t finish as his monitor starts alarming.His hands grip the bedrail; he’s sweating, his face going pale.Heart attack.
I’m already moving, hitting the emergency call bell as his vitals plummet on the screen.The emergency alarm blares.Adrenaline spikes as I know exactly what that sound means.
A team rushes in with the crash cart, urgency in their voices.
I signal for meds while we stabilize him.There’s no time to think about his file or the blockage I’d just read about; it’s about acting.He’s still breathing, which is something.We just need to keep him that way until the surgical team gets here.
Once we get him stabilized and the team takes over, my part is done.I watch them wheel him away, then it’s back to the waiting game.
The surgery takes hours.
When it’s completed, I finally exhale, rolling my shoulders as the tension leaves my body.The cardiologist confirms a full bypass was needed, but the prognosis looks good.He’ll make it.
I pause in the middle of the room, looking around at the discarded trash from opening various medications and blankets, I replay the moments of catching his heart attack before it caused irrefutable damage.I suddenly realize, I didn’t hesitate.Not for a second.No panic.No self-doubt.Just instinct.
When I step back into the hallway, I notice something else, too.This place feels starkly different from the city hospital.Things were quieter here, steadier paced compared to the chaos that was New York.Maybe that’s what spoke to me—the settled feeling that this place has given me—the hospital, the town, Keith.Amelia.I’ve met people who have shown me that I don’t have to walk on eggshells or strive to be something I’m not.I even feel that way now with Dr.Patel, Dr.Lowell, and Dr.Wilson as they’ve welcomed me onto their team.
Maybe Amelia’s article helped.Maybe I just stopped letting the past define me.I’m convinced that I have moved past my past, no longer allowing it to dictate my life.
Either way, I know one thing for sure now: I don’t want to leave this town.I don’t want to stop being a doctor.But I owe this change to one person, and right now, I want to give her something back.
I pull out my phone, dialing an old friend.
Evan Lincoln, the owner of Lincoln Media in New York, picks up after two rings.“Well, well, well.To what do I owe the pleasure?”
