Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26444017-20180816045139

Basically, I've been working on this thing for a while, and I'm not even to the reveal yet, but it's stupidly long. Does this keep attention, and does it feel like it's dragging too much. This will help me decide how to proceed from here, and maybe to cut some things down as well. Currently, I'm working on the scene alluded to a the end, but I can't decide if I should get to the important part right after that, or add one more scene in between. I'm curious to hear your thoughts.

"Oh, here they come." squawked Denise as the pack of labcoats rounded the corner. Phoebe looked on from the nurses station, intrigued. It was always fun watching the up-and-coming doctors at work, learning and developing their skills. The flock was rather large this time around and, from what she had overheard, brimming with talent. Phoebe set her chin to rest in the palm of her hand, fingertips against her left temple amidst a thicket of brown curls. A smirk cracked across her face.

"Show time."

The swarm of interns rushed around the bay, stopping at certain bed designated for rounds. Leading the pack was Doctor Marie Harrier, who boasted a double PhD at the age of 23.

"Mr. Mason has been experiencing stomach troubles and occasional blood in his stool. What diagnosis would you put forth, based on his prior medical history?" Harrier gave a quick glace into the crowd. "Bevins?"

"U-uh, my first guess would be Crohn's disease, ma'am."

"And I would be inclined to agree with you, but we do not simply guess here. Take note: Show confidence in your answers to questions of this nature, even if you do not believe them whole-heartedly. Having a straight answer to a patient is far better than beating around the bush because you aren't sure." Each member of the group scribbled onto the pages held by their clipboards. "Now, what sort of treatment would you recommend, Neuberry?"

Hanson perked up from his clipboard. "Normally, I'd say Azathioprine, but given his stomach troubles, he may be more responsive to an anti-inflamatory regimen to begin with."

"He's tryin' to play it safe." Denise chattered in a hushed tone from behind Phoebe. "That's one way to go, but it's less effective. He should have just gone with the immune suppressors."

"Yeah, but Mr. Mason is gettin' up there in years, and immune suppressors may be too much for him." Phoebe offered in response.

"That is a possible treatment plan," Harrier responded, "but there is a good chance that it won't have the desired effect. Patients expect results, and as a doctor it will be your job to provide them."

"Yes, ma'am." Hanson's expression dropped to a downcast state for a split second, before snapping back to attention. The group hurried onward to the next patient in line.

"See. I told you." Denise gave a light slap to Phoebe's arm.

"You say that like I was the one in that crowd putting my career on the line." Phoebe retorted with a vindictive smile. "It's not my problem if they get it wrong, as long as I'm not involved in the fallout."

But her thoughts said otherwise. Phoebe was intrigued by the rounds process, by watching doctors hurry and scurry around. She knew fully well that most of what the doctors did was, in fact, the work of the nursing staff. Still, it was interesting to see their minds at work. Each one had a different style, a different way of talking to patients, of forming ideas, of dealing with decisions. All of that was on display for her and her cohort 24/7, and yet it never seemed to get old. It wasn't the people that intrigued her so much, but rather the clockwork within their heads.

But, alas, the flock had departed, and it was back to work as usual. An uneventful day followed the brief training session, a rarity for Phoebe. The day was almost dull with how little was going on. A few pillows fluffed, pills delivered, and bedpans exchanged, but nothing severe: no codes, no dire admittances, no flatlines. This was the sort of day that left Phoebe sluggish; not drained or exhausted, but slowed and shambling, moving only to accomplish a task and proceed to the next.

When midday came and it was time for a break, Phoebe found that she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Stumbling her way into the cafeteria, she was surprised to find that Denise was nowhere in sight. Confusion crossed through her mind, but was eased by virtue of memory as Phoebe recalled an improptu change in personel around this time that was discussed the day prior.

Her worries put to rest, Phoebe now had the connundrum of where to sit. Normally, it would be with Denise, as they were on the same shift, but her replacement was Garret, someone who had made it a point to be obnoxiously forward with Phoebe at every opportunity. This, of course, was not an exercise that she wished to entertain, and so was at a loss for an alternative.

The room was filled nearly to capacity, as it seemed that the intern conglomeration had all been dismissed at once. Most of the tables were completely taken up, with only sparse occupation of other seats. Phoebe's eye caught one of the interns sitting in solitude, despite the table being large enough to accomodate up to four. He seemed lost in thought, and downtrodden in expression. She decided to introduce herself, and provide a little encouragement.

"Hey there." she said, her tray clacking quietly against the table. She swiveled her chair into place, getting a good look at the man. His hair was layered with black and brown, and despite being in fair order, Phoebe guessed that it was only because of the gel that locked it in place. The rest of his appearance, though in good shape in general, was at this point in time desheveled, radiating exhaustion. Phoebe could tell there were dark rings beginning to form around his eyes from lack of sleep. Still, he clearly valued the opportunity; he was freshly shaven, and a hint of cologne met her nose.

He looked up, seemingly out of his own thoughts, as she sat down. Lifting his head, he was surprised to see anyone choosing to sit with him. "O-oh, hi. Sorry, it's just been a long day, and I'm a bit out of it, and, uh..." he stumbled over his own words. Phoebe let out a small laugh, mildly amused by the charmingly awkward conversation she had forced.

"Don't worry about it. It's pretty common for the interns to wind up like that. It's something you learn to live with, or find a way around. One of the two." She chuckled again. "I'm Phoebe, one of the nurses here." she said as she stretched out a hand.

He took it carefully, replying "Hanson. Neuberry." Her bostonian accent was clearly evident. He surmised that she was probably born and raised in Massachusetts.

"Garrigs." she offered in return, before clarifying, "My last name."

"A pleasure." he offered politely, though the strain in his voice was still apparent.

"Weren't you the one that was supposed to give a treatment for Mr. Mason?"

"Who?" Hanson gave a momentary puzzled look, but remembered. "Oh, the Crohn's patient. Yeah, I didn't really get full marks for that one." he said, embarrased and absentmindedly running his fingers though his hair.

"Yeah, I noticed. But, if it's any consolation, I thought it was a good call to make."

"Yeah?" he said, unconvinced.

"Mmhmm. Some of the doctors here can be really aggressive with their treatments. I get that they want to cure the patient and get 'em out of here, but sometimes there's got to be a limit."

"So, you think an approach like that would do this place some good?"

"Oh yeah. You ask me, we need more people like that."

"Well, how flattering." Hanson retorted in a playfully mocking tone.

There was a moment of silence between the two, each understanding that they had struck a chord with one another.

"So, what are you in for?" Phoebe inquired.

"Huh? In for?" Hanson was once again perplexed.

Phoebe gave a small chuckle. "I mean what sorta field are you going into? What's you specialty gonna be?"

"Oh. Uh, hehe..." Hanson's voice trailed off at that.

"You have picked a specialty, haven't you?"

"Y-yeah, I have. It's just.." Hanson cut off once again.

"Just, what?" Phoebe pressed for more information. Her curiosity was growing as he not-so-tactfully evaded her question.

Hanson took a breath, and sighed deeply. "Surgeon." Phoebe's expression changed, her eyebrows raised as high as she could press them. "I know," Hanson continued, "no chance in hell, right?"

"N-no, no, it's not that. I'm just surprised is all." She tried desperately to backpedal and save face. "I mean, surgery is a major role. It's not something you can just go and do. Surely you know that."

"So, you're saying I can't do it."

"No. Th-that's not what I meant." Phoebe struggled with her words. Her cheeks reddened as she realized how deep a hole she was digging herself into. She closed her eyes and collected her thoughts for a brief moment, before speaking up again. "All I'm sayin' is that if you're gonna go that route, you gotta make sure you're ready."

Hanson did his best to smile through the comment, backhanded as he felt it was. "Yeah. I get it."

Phoebe let out a small sigh of relief. "Good."

"So, how do I know if I'm good enough?"

The question caught her off guard. She hadn't really interacted much with the interns before, and so had never been asked to evaluate their performance, much less on skills she hadn't seen them perform.

"W-well, I guess it all comes down to execution. Can you do the job and keep the patient alive? I'd say that's a good place to start."

"Yeah, I suppose. But that's only causing another problem. We're obviously not permitted to operate on live patients so early into it. How the hell are we supposed to learn anything like that?"

Phoebe glanced around, as though worried that she'd be overheard.

"I think they have some mock-ups somewhere around here that you're supposed to practice on." she said, unsure of whether it was her place to give out that sort of information.

"Oh yeah?" Hanson's head perked up slightly, and he seemed more alert. "Whereabouts?"

"I'm honestly not sure. I guess they'd be near the operating room. Maybe Dr. Harrier would be willing to show you, if you asked."

"Heh. That may not be a bad idea." He stood from the table, tray in hand. Most of the food remained uneaten on it. "Thanks."

"Ooh, are you headed out? Mind if I snag your fries?"

Hanson chuckled at the urgency with which she asked the question. "Sure thing." he said with a smile, setting the small, cardboard carton down onto her tray. "I'll see you around."

"Mmm, you too." Phoebe replied through a mouth full of sliced spuds.

Despite her scatterbrained appearance in that moment, however, her mind was racing to figure him out. How was someone like that going to turn himself into a surgeon? It'd happened before, no doubt, but he just didn't seem very confident in his abilities. She found herself looking forward to what he would become.

Months went by, and the cycle of interns shifted. A new batch was brought in, and the previous flock was set to their own course. Phoebe looked on with great interest as the fresh minds went to work on their rounds.

"So, you got a favorite yet?" Denise crooned into her ear.

Phoebe recoiled slightly, a slight sense of violation sending a shiver down her spine. The feeling passed though, and despite being mildy discomforted by her companion, Phoebe replied, "They all just got here. Kinda hard to pick a favorite out of a nameless swarm of labcoats."

"I'm not talking about them." Denise said through a giggle. "I'm talking about the last set. They've all set out to be full-fledged doctors, saving lives..." She clasped her hands together and turned her head upward in feigned wanderlust. "Surely, by now you've found at least one you like." she said, turning to Phoebe and out of her mock performance.

"Well, yeah, a few. I feel like most of 'em just went along with Harrier, though. They're all too aggressive with treatment, and that's gonna put a lotta strain on a lotta people, includin' us." Phoebe spoke as she moved, organizing a stack of charts that she had been neglecting.

"Well, I happen to know that there's at least one that you're 'interested' in." Denise nudged Phoebe's side, a clear hint of her meaning.

"W-what? What are you talkin' about." Phoebe looked around frantically, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

"Hah! You can't even hide it. I knew it."

"Yeah, say it louder, won't ya." Phoebe whispered through grit teeth. "I think some people in China didn't hear you."

"Oh come on. You know I'm just teasing."

"Yeah, well knock it off."

"So, who is the lucky guy?" Denise asked, her chin resting upon her interlaced fingers.

"I thought you knew all about him already." Phoebe retorted in a somewhat mocking tone.

"Oh, no, not at all. I've seen you talkin' with someone recently, but I got no clue who he is. I was just tryin' to get a reaction outta ya."

"Pfft. Some friend you are."

"Come on, seriously. I wanna know."

"You always wanna know." Phoebe raised her voice, genuinely aggravated with Denise's prodding. "Maybe I just want to keep this to myself for now, at least until I'm sure this is something I actually want."

"Fine." Denise put her hands up in defense. "Fair's fair. I'm mostly just happy you're puttin' yourself out there. It's about damn time."

"Watch your language, ladies. You're on the clock." A stern voice arose from behind Phoebe. Turning to investigate, the pair watched as Dr. Harrier strode quickly around the corner.

"Sorry, Doctor." Denise offered in response. Harrier's pace didn't slow, and seconds later, she was back out of sight.

"Well, in any case, you'll probably get to know him a whole lot better soon. We're really hittin' things off. I'm just waitin' for him to ask me somewhere."

"You don't think that's a little archaic?" Denise asked, skeptical.

"I think it's romantic, and nice." Phoebe retorted, partly in jest.

"Well, just don't wait too long. He might give up if you don't seem interested."

"I don't think I've gotta worry about that." Phoebe replied as a loud tone alerted her to a request for her help. She jogged around the desk before heading down the hall, toward the source of the page.

After brief preparation, Phoebe entered the operating room to find the chief of surgery, Dr. Barlow, and the newly-christened Dr. Neuberry. The patient was an elderly woman, likely in her mid-70's. Her abdominal region was exposed to the room, the rest of her covered with a blue blanket. Bright lights hung from swivels in the ceiling, allowing for each to be adjusted. Surgical instruments were laid out carefully on a rolling metal tray-table. The door clattered closed behind Phoebe as she entered, gloved hands held in such a way as to not contaminate them.

"What have we got?" she asked, her voice muffled slightly by the mask.

"Foreign object in the stomach." The surgeon spoke with a deep baritone, almost stereotypical for his african-american heritage. "It's rather large, and the procedure should be relatively simple. As such, I'm allowing Dr. Neuberry to lead on this one. You and I are here to make sure everything goes smoothly." Dr. Barlow then turned to Hanson. "You may proceed."

"Alright." Hanson said, stretching his hands inside the latex gloves. "DuraPrep." Barlow set a short, sponge-tipped wand/syringe into his outstretched hand. Writing on the handle portion of the wand gave instructions for use, but Hanson went straight to work applying the sterilization liquid to the patient's abdomen. As he went, an amber solution liberally coated the work area.

"Scalpel." Hanson requested, handing the wand back to Barlow.

"Which one, Dr. Neuberry?" Barlow asked, clearly testing Hanson on his basic knowledge.

"A-ah, 10." Hanson considered his options again. "N-no, wait, 20."

"Are you sure?" Barlow's tone was both scolding and questioning at once.

"Y-yes." Hanson replied, uncertain and unnerved.

Barlow retrieved the requested blade and set it gingerly in Hanson's hand. "Thank you." Hanson said quickly. Phoebe could sense that something was off. Hanson's movements had become a bit more jittery, a bit more twitchy. These traits were slight, but present nonetheless. She knew what was going to come next.

Sure enough, as Hanson lowered the knife-point to the woman's abdomen, his hands began to shake ever-so-slightly. He realized it immediately, and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. To no avail, it seemed, and the tremors grew more intense. Soon both his hands were shaking so badly that he could barely hold the delicate handle of the lancet.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?" said Barlow, more telling than asking.

"N-no, no, I'm fine." Hanson replied, but the shaking persisted.

Barlow sighed beneath his mask. "Why don't you step out. I can handle this from here."

"N-no, I want to do this." he almost shouted in response. However, as he turned to face Dr. Barlow, his fingers parted just enough for the scalpel to slip free. The tiny metal blade clinked and clattered loudly on the tile below.

"That's enough." Barlow tried to sound calm and reassuring, but his tone came across as stern. "Clearly, you are not in suitable shape to be performing surgery at this time. Please, step out of the OR."

Hanson fumed, but didn't argue. He turned to leave in a huff, throwing the doors open wide. As they clattered back into place, Phoebe looked to Dr. Barlow.

"You may be dismissed as well. I only paged you so I could have a little help overseeing his first attempt. Obviously, that's no longer the case." Barlow gestured to the slowly-rocking double doors, illustrating his point.

Phoebe also did not argue. Her concerns lay elsewhere. She, too, exited the operating room, carefully opening and closing the door so as not to disturb Harrier further. Once in the prep room, she found Hanson standing over a sink, hair dripping with water. His hands, though pressed to the rim of the sink, were still barely quivering.

"Damn it." Hanson growled through his teeth.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Nerves are a tough thing to overcome."

"Don't give me that. I should be able to do this by now. I'm so far behind. Why can't I just get it?" He was practically shouting at this point, his head now pressed against the mirror above the basin.

"Alright, alright. Calm down. It's not as big a deal as you're makin' it out to be." Phoebe put a hand on Hanson's shoulder. "All it'll take is some more practice with the dummies."

"I do practice. All the time; every free moment, I spend here trying to improve."

"That's great, but all this does is make you better at surgery. It doesn't make you a better surgeon." Phoebe turned him to look at her, and offered a small smile. She knew the best thing to do was to be patient with him. He would come around, she was sure of it. "How's about we clear that head o' yours?"

"Yeah," he retorted, still clearly upset. "how do you plan on doing that?"

"By askin' you where you're takin' me tonight." she said. Hands behind her back, she rocked slowly left and right on one foot.

"Huh? What are you..." Hanson cut himself off, understanding what she was asking of him. "Ahh, alright. I suppose that'll work." he said, cracking a smile. "How about Vennetti's, a few blocks from here?"

"Ooh, I haven't been there in a couple years." Phoebe tittered, excited by what her newly-hooked date had in store for her. Funnily, Hanson was feeling much the same curiosity for what she had planned.

 