Lisa and I were watching one of our favorite series last night, a Japanese manga called “The Way of the Househusband” and I could barely keep my eyes open. I went to bed at a decent hour (11:30) but when I got in bed, I couldn’t sleep, I just laid there. It was rude and caused me to oversleep.

I don’t mean to brag, but I can go from oversleeping, to bushed and showered in less than 15 minutes, I’m really a marvel of efficiency (with still wet hair), especially since we wear scrubs.
I grabbed my iPad, stuffed it in my rucksack, and hey, I was ready to go.

In the living room, it took me a moment to situate myself - it was a very noisy and disorienting environment - what with Lisa yelling at me for running late, but soon we were off.

Just a girl, her lemon ginger Kombucha, and her angry roommate, ready to face the world.

We stepped out into the morning and.. Ughh! I’d forgotten my AirPods. I double checked, not there.
Lisa gives me a threatening look. “PLEASE,” I begged, desperately, “MY AIRPODS!”
“OH, my GOD!” Lisa said, glancing, irritatedly at the Apple Watch I gave her for her birthday.

I ran up the stairs and was back in NO time, really, really ready to go.
Just a girl, her Kombucha, AirPods and angrier roommate, ready to face the world.

My sister’s apartment is about 7 walking minutes from the hospital. As we were walking, I had my AirPods in and was rolling with Kanye. I in NO way endorse his CrAzY. But If I start the day out, with “Through the Wire” and “Jesus walks,” I’m tweaked for whatever gamut Rebecca (my surgeon) has in store for me. I paused the slaps, momentarily, as we passed a herd of boys, but I was bouncing again in a blink.

Lisa and I are in the second week of our two-month, summer fellowships - shadowing surgeons (different surgeons) for “clinical experience.” The first thing I do every workday morning is bring Rebecca a large coffee (from the cafeteria). She comes in at 5:30am every morning of the week and leaves God-knows-when - certainly, well after we do at 4:30pm.

She spends the three hours before I come in, reviewing patient notes and surgical plans. I gently rapped on her open door. She doesn’t look up, but she knows it’s me.
“Good morning,” I whisper, Rebecca’s seated at her desk, working on her laptop. I set the coffee on her right side and after I remove the pre-existing empty cups, I hesitate.

“What’s up,” she says, leaning into her screen to check something as she keys to enlarge it.
“I have a small question,” I say, “Are we supposed to be filling out timecards?” She doesn’t say anything, continuing to examine the - whatever. After a few seconds, I added:
“Quinn said we have to fill out timecards.”

“Did he?” Rebacca asked, rhetorically, after a bit. She’d stopped studying the screen and gotten a faraway look. Then, after another moment, she said, “Well, bless his heart,” which made me chuckle, because we’re both southern girls and that’s shorthand for “f**k him.”

“Thank you.” she says (for the coffee). I’d been dismissed.
We have rounds in twenty minutes.

I’ve only been at my fellowship gig a week, but It’s official, I’m a candy-striper. Sort of, I wear a blue vest, not the old, red-striped dress, but it’s the same job. I shadow my surgeon (Rebecca) most of the time, like when she does her rounds but otherwise, I study or try to be helpful by delivering specimens to the lab, messengering things from Rebecca to other doctors or assisting the nursing staff with very minor, mundane things.

My training, so far, has consisted more of what-nots than anything else. “You are not a doctor, you don’t comment, don’t advise, don’t touch anything, don’t perform CPR and if a medical emergency occurs, get out of the way - put your back against the wall.” I made up the “back against the wall” part but that’s the soul of it. I’m just an observant pair of eyes and ears or a Yale lampshade.

When Rebecca (my surgeon) does rounds, she usually has five or six interns in tow (medical school graduates who are first-year residents). The interns review patient charts and get quizzed about symptoms, their meanings and possible treatments. It’s very interesting to watch the process up close - these people are wicked-smart (that’s a Boston saying).

Growing up, my parents were both doctors. I found myself standing, listlessly, a million times, waiting in hospital corridors or by nurses' stations for one or both of them to break free so we could leave. I was exposed to 17 years of medical jargon, as they discussed treatments with other doctors or passed on their final instructions for the night. I’d roll my eyes impatiently, but I guess I absorbed more than I realized. I can pretty much follow the consults as they do the rounds.

I met two new people last week, who I think I’ll see a lot of - Jammie and Quinn. They’re both rising-juniors and fellows, from other schools, working with other surgeons. Jammie’s a handsome, gay, black man from Georgetown University (my brother Brice’s Alma mater). He’s loud, fun and smart, very smart.

Quinn, on the other hand, seems like a short, officious little ****. When we were introduced, he cast his eyes over me slowly and deliberately like a frat-boy or an experienced stock ******* and from the way he talks, you’d think he owned the place. He’s from some second rate, local college, called Harvard.

Funny story, Jammie and I had just met and we were looking-up some fellowship information, on his laptop, I was looking over his shoulder and as he flipped around - his computer files and folders were SO organized - there wasn’t a stray file anywhere - not one. As we were huddled closely together I said, conversationally, because where I come from it means nothing and I guess I have no filters, “Are you gay?” He cringed, shocked, and laughingly said “SHHH!” He wasn’t “out” at work. I swore his secret safe and we became fast friends.

Jammie, besides being a molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major (pre-med track), is an observational comedian and as he’s thinking out loud - at a hundred miles an hour - I wish I could record him, so I could play him back later, slowly and deliciously to take it all in. We had lunch together in the cafeteria Friday and when our time was up, I discovered I hadn’t eaten anything. I’d been too busy listening to him open-mouthed or laughing.

I also realized I’m spoiled and not used to working indoors all day. We come in at 8 and we're released at 4:30. It’s almost a shock to see the sky isn’t fluorescent-lit and the breeze isn’t tainted with antiseptic smells. That was fellowship week 1.

we each walk our paths, many did not find theirs
rushing here and there, heeding voices and examples
the company of others comforting but void
and without you becoming the whole is marred

The arbutus is brave
sheds itself in long, showy
strips, aflame
leaving the fair frailest
skin exposed, willing
knife’s tip of lovers’ claim
standing
even
still
holding earth together, scar tissue
marking life
line, root’s depth
patient power

I remember my infant skin
cut, the drowning, breaking surface
with half a breath remaining, and the hollow
I scratched out and burrowed into
that day, undone

Now, underneath the heat
and itch, the crust
my skin inflamed
the fair frailest part of me
thirsty for that cooling breeze, willing
fellowship with sun and knife
to shed and bump against
a tangled life

How else will roots reach down
and down
to find the source
of ancient power?