Forbidden Diagnosis, Some Wounds Medicine Can't Heal

Anya:

The morning was like any other, but somehow the city felt still. Too still. Like it was holding its breath with me.

It could be any day now, in fact any hour or minute.

Oh Lord! I was so nervous. I felt like my heart will fail due to overload. Technically, a little tachycardia won't kill me.

It's just nerves and I have always had a love-hate relationship with anxiety, especially on the days when something big is about to go down.

Well, nothing could be bigger than the news I was waiting for.

One decision from the selection committee could change my life forever. Take me one step closer to my dreams or back to my hometown. Where I'll be forced to live under my mom's roof and meet Chad and have his kids.

Chad, her childhood best friend's son. Too thin and tall for his big head with greasy hair and sweaty hands. That crocked nose and too big for his face, front teeth.

I shudder at the thought, then remember my mom's still on the line.

We were having our morning ritual call. She enforced this rule when I was leaving for college, no matter what I'd always call her first thing in the morning. And I have been following this rule like a religious obligation.

Like me she's an early riser too. And to be honest, I don't really mind the calls or her overbearing love.

After all, she's all I have.

I love her to the bones, but she can be a bit much sometimes.

Like when she starts talking about Chad, or how our poor old Mrs Hensley left her pet goat whiskey loose, again, and she wandered to my mom's garden, destroying her roses, again.

My mother loves nothing more in this entire universe than her rose garden. Okay, maybe I come a close second or maybe third after her roses and knitting.

I was drifting again. Stop it Anya. I force myself to come back to the present and try to remember what my mom was actually saying.

Was she talking about Chad again? Or was it her rose garden? Shit!! I totally zoned out there...

"Anya? Are you there, Sweetie?" My mom's voice cuts my train of random thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm listening." My voice betrays me, and it doesn't go unnoticed by mommy dearest.

"No, you're not." She states it like a fact and that it is.

I concede easily. "Sorry mom! I was a little distracted. It's just nerves. I'm expecting a response from Ashbourne Memorial any day now, and you know how much it means to me and how hard I have worked. I really hope I get the spot," I tell her honestly.

My mom has always been one of my best friends and confidant.

It ought to happen when your father leaves after hearing about your arrival and never looks back.

I have never met the sperm donor and honestly speaking, the thought never even crossed my mind.

My mom never let me feel the absence of a father figure. She was always enough, always present. From rehearsals to graduations to first heartbreaks to grueling med school years.

Why would I want to meet someone who didn't do anything other than contribute to half my DNA and that's about all there is to it.

My mother's tone instantly changes at my worry, "Oh honey! You will get it. There's no one else more deserving than you, my dear. And I'm not saying this because you're my daughter. No, because I have seen you put in the hard work. Your blood and sweat into preparing for this job interview and even before that. I'm telling you, mark my words. You will be a great surgeon one day," She says with so much conviction that I wanna believe her.

I'm lucky to have her love and support.

But Ashbourne Memorial is one of the top residency programs. Everyone wants a spot there, but you'd be lucky if you even get shortlisted for an interview.

I thanked her and ended the call, pouring myself luke warm coffee.

I'm thinking of going for a run to clear my head when a notification pings on my open laptop.

I leave the half finished warm coffee on the counter and go to my study table.

I log into my email and freeze.

Subject: Residency Placement - Ashbourne Memorial Hospital

My head feels dizzy and legs heavy. I take a seat before they give out.

My hand hovers over the click button. I'm scared to open it. One click and my dreams will either come true or completely shatter.

I had already received a rejection email two weeks ago from my backup option, St. Vincent General and I'm not very hopeful about this one either.

But I am not a chicken, so I push forward through all the self-doubt and fear and click.

The page loads, and it feels like forever. Bile rises in my throat and I wait with bated breath.

The next words,

Dear Ms Briar,

After careful consideration, we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the surgical residency program at Ashbourne Memorial Hospital...

The next words blur with the dampness in my eyes. The happy tears, of course.

Inside, the words are clinical, detached. But to me, they're everything.

I got the spot. I earned this. I bled for this.

And now, I am going to be walking the same corridors that so many legends did.

My dream has come true...