Chapter 3 — First Day, First Impressions
Jaclyn
The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, ushering me into a world alive with energy and purpose. The muted shuffle of sneakers on tile, the clipped tones of doctors exchanging hurried instructions, and the faint whoosh of oxygen tanks all combined into a relentless rhythm that was both familiar and foreign. The sharp scent of antiseptics filled the air—a mix of alcohol and something faintly medicinal.
This should have felt like home.
But as I stood there, gripping the strap of my leather tote a little too tightly, I wasn’t sure I believed that anymore.
A nurse brushed past me, her ID badge glinting in the fluorescent light. I adjusted my bag, my fingers flexing against the strap, and glanced at the directory mounted on the wall. My new office was on the fourth floor, near the cardio wing—my domain. My sanctuary. At least, it used to feel that way.
Taking a steadying breath, I stepped forward, my nude heels clicking against the polished tile. The sound was deliberate, controlled, a rhythm I could rely on. *Blend in. Look like you belong.*
The elevator ride was brief but suffocating. A young resident in scrubs stood beside me, fiddling with his stethoscope. He kept glancing at me, his expression a mix of nervousness and excitement, before he finally spoke.
“Wow, you’re Dr. Aatakni, right? The new attending in cardiology?”
“Yes,” I replied with a polite smile.
“I—I read your article on post-MI recovery. It’s amazing work. I mean, groundbreaking. It’s such an honor to meet you.”
“Thank you,” I said, the words automatic but gracious. “I appreciate that.”
He grinned, the kind of grin that might have once filled me with pride. Compliments like his used to mean something—small affirmations of all the nights I’d spent poring over research, the sacrifices I made to earn a place here. Now, they felt distant, hollow, like echoes bouncing off walls I’d fortified too well.
When the doors opened, I stepped out with a nod, leaving the eager resident behind.
The cardio wing greeted me with familiar sounds—the steady hum of monitors, the soft beep of heart rate sensors, and the faint murmur of conversations behind closed doors. It was a symphony of order, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself breathe just a little easier.
At the end of the hall, a door stood slightly ajar. The nameplate read “Dr. Elena Cruz.” I knocked twice, then pushed it open to find her seated at her desk, poring over a thick stack of charts.
“You must be Dr. Aatakni,” she said without looking up, her voice warm but sharp, carrying the authority of someone who had long since earned her place. When she finally lifted her gaze, her sharp green eyes locked onto mine, appraising me with the precision of a surgeon sizing up a scalpel.
“That’s correct,” I replied, stepping inside.
Dr. Cruz rose smoothly and extended a hand. Her grip was firm, her smile measured. “Welcome to St. Vincent’s. I’m Elena Cruz, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery—and apparently, your mentor.”
The title carried weight, but I managed a genuine response. “It’s an honor to be working with you.”
“Good. Let’s skip the formalities, shall we?” She gestured for me to sit. “You came highly recommended, but recommendations don’t hold a scalpel. Show me what you can do, and we’ll get along just fine.”
I nodded, appreciating her candor.
Her lips curved into a faint smile as she leaned back in her chair. “First impressions are everything around here. The staff is sharp, but they’ll test you. Don’t flinch.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
“Good.” Her expression softened, just slightly. “But this job—this place—it has a way of peeling back layers. It’ll expose things you’d rather ignore. How are you settling in? New city, new job—it’s a lot all at once.”
“It’s been… an adjustment,” I said carefully, my fingers brushing against the strap of my bag.
Elena tilted her head, her gaze narrowing as though she could see straight through me. “Adjustment. That’s a polite word for drowning, isn’t it?”
My breath caught, and I blinked, unsure how to respond.
She smiled faintly. “I don’t mean to pry; it’s not my style. But take it from someone who’s been where you are: You can’t fix other people’s hearts if your own is out of sync.”
The words hit harder than I’d expected, and for a moment, I was lost in a memory: Noah’s laugh, warm and unguarded, echoing across a summer afternoon. The image burned away as quickly as it came, leaving only the sharp edge of loss behind.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.
Elena nodded, handing me a chart. “Your first case. Fifty-six-year-old male, post-MI complications. He’s stable for now, but his angiogram shows some concerning blockages. Let me know your approach before rounds.”
I took it gratefully, needing the distraction. “Will do.”
As I walked down the hallway, Elena’s words clung to me like an echo, refusing to fade.
---
The day passed in a blur of names, faces, and introductions. I met nurses, residents, and a fellow attending who greeted me with polite professionalism but a faint edge of curiosity, as though reserving judgment. Each interaction added another layer of noise to an already chaotic symphony.
By the time I reached the breakroom, I felt like I’d been holding my breath all day.
The small space was empty except for the coffee machine sputtering out the last drops of a fresh brew. I poured myself a cup and leaned against the counter, the warmth of the mug grounding me. The bitter aroma filled the air, sharpening my senses.
The door creaked open, and Elena stepped in. Her silver teardrop necklace caught the light with each movement, a subtle shimmer against her deep blue blouse. She grabbed a mug and joined me by the counter.
“Survived your first day?” she asked, her tone lighter now.
“Barely,” I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips.
“Good. If it were easy, I’d question your commitment.”
She took a sip of her coffee, her sharp green eyes softening as they studied me. “Jaclyn,” she began, using my first name now. “You’re good. I can see that already. But you’re carrying something heavy. Whatever it is, don’t let it fester. This place—it magnifies everything inside you, good or bad.”
I stared at her, unsure how to respond, but she continued without waiting.
“This,” she said, tapping her necklace lightly, “was a gift from my husband. He passed away seven years ago. Not a day goes by I don’t feel his absence, but I learned to carry it without letting it consume me. You’ll have to do the same.”
Her words settled over me like a weight, heavy yet strangely grounding.
“Thanks,” I said softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She nodded, her expression kind but knowing, and left me there, her footsteps fading into the corridor.
---
Back in my office, I sank into my chair, the potted plant on my desk mocking me with its vibrant, unyielding life. I flipped open the chart Elena had given me, but the words blurred on the page, refusing to focus.
Her advice played on a loop in my mind: *You can’t fix other people’s hearts if your own is out of sync.*
Reaching for my phone, I hesitated, then opened the hidden photo folder. There he was. Noah. Smiling, alive, and so achingly familiar.
The memory came unbidden: the feel of his hand brushing against mine, the sound of his voice—low, warm, and steady—filling a space I hadn’t realized was so empty.
A knock on the door jolted me, and I snapped the phone shut, my heart pounding.
But it wasn’t Noah. It was a nurse, offering an update on my patient’s vitals.
I nodded, thanked her, and watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her. Alone again, I glanced at the clock. Time seemed to stretch unnaturally, the seconds dragging as if mocking me.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow would be easier.
But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t.
