The Devil Wears Scrubs: A Short Comedic Novel (Dr. Jane McGill Book 1) by Freida McFadden

Author:Freida McFadden [McFadden, Freida]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hollywood Upstairs Publishing
Published: 2013-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The decision of whether or not to take a nap post-call is a complicated one. Many factors go into this decision.

I hate taking naps. When I was a kid, I really hated it. I remember being forced to lie on the mat in kindergarten, my tiny fists clenched tightly at the indignity of it all. I never slept. I just find it hard to sleep in the middle of the day. I also find it completely disorienting to wake up from a nap.

If I don’t sleep at all on call, such as during my last call, I pretty much am forced to take a nap, because I just feel too damn exhausted. But now I’m on the fence. I slept a solid three hours. I could probably make it till tonight without sleep. On the other hand, I am pretty tired.

Finally, I lie down in my bed and stare up at the ceiling, deciding to let my body dictate what it wants to do right now. After 30 hours of being in the hospital and having to bend to the whims of Alyssa, my pager, the nurses, and my patients, it feels decadent to just be able to do whatever I want right now.

A few minutes into my potential nap, my phone starts ringing. I check the number, hopeful it’s someone I don’t recognize. Really, I’m hoping it’s Sexy Surgeon, having tracked down my number. But instead, it’s the opposite of Sexy Surgeon: namely, my mother. I see the area code of her apartment in Queens and hesitate only a second before picking up.

I pick up. “Hi, Mom,” I say.

“So how’s it going?” she asks with breathless anticipation.

When I was young, my mother decided for me that I was going to be a doctor. The decision was not made lightly. She dropped out of college because she was getting married and hadn’t been particularly good at school anyway. She was a housewife, then a stay-at-home-mom, then she came to realize that her husband was an alcoholic compulsive gambler who didn’t particularly want to reform. They got divorced, he took off, and then she was left with a small child and not too many career options.

I can’t remember a time in my childhood when my mother wasn’t working at least two minimum-wage jobs. She was always shuttling me off to my grandparents for free babysitting because paying for a sitter was just out of the question. But when she took me to my pediatrician for my annual visits, she saw a woman who made a great living, was well respected, and in no position to have her entire life wrecked by a deadbeat husband.

And that’s my secret. I didn’t become a doctor because of some great love of medicine and healing. I did it mostly because my mother convinced me that it would be a secure, stable career. Don’t tell the admissions committee at my med school.

“It’s going… okay,” I say cautiously.

“That’s great,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”

I bite my tongue.

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