Laughter—some of it nervous—echoes throughout the lab.
“And when it does,” I continue, “you’ll realize that you’re not just here to learn about parts and pieces. You’re here to learn about life and death, about beginnings and endings, about the delicate balance that keeps us breathing. This is not just an anatomy class but a life lesson. What we start today will shape you as individuals and as medical professionals.”
Elijah raises his hand.
I nod to him. “Yes?”
“How will we be graded?”
I chuckle. “There’s always someone who asks that. You can find all of that information on the school’s learning management site on the page for this class. Copies of my syllabus as well as my grading rubric are readily available to you there.” I move to the side and lean against my desk. “Let’s take a break for ten minutes. Use this time to get yourself acclimated if you need to. When we return, we’ll dive deeper into the thoracic cavity.”
A collective exhale fills the room, followed by some hushed chatter and movement. Most of them make their way out of the lab, but a few remain behind, huddled in small groups or studying their textbooks.
Angie Simpson makes her way toward the door. I stop her.
“You seem troubled,” I say.
She inhales. “I’m fine.”
“Take a break. Join your classmates. You’ll feel better.”
“None of this matters,” she says. “I’ll never see the inside of an OR. Psychiatry is my calling.”
I tilt my head. “Are you sure about that?”
I want her to say she’s not sure at all. That psychiatry is nothing to her.
Because it sure as hell is nothing to me.
But she raises her chin slightly. “As sure as my name is Angela Daphne Simpson.”
Angela Daphne. A gorgeous name. Daphne was a beautiful nymph pursued by Apollo. She became a laurel tree to escape him. Angela, of course, comes from angel.
She indeed looks like an angel.
I rack my brain for a diplomatic way to get my thoughts across. “If you don’t like the lab portion of medical school, you could have pursued a doctorate in psychology. You don’t need an MD to practice.”
“Tabitha just said the same thing to me.” She rubs at her forehead. “Why doesn’t anyone get it? I want to be able to heal the physical as well as the mental. I want to?—”
“Then you need to be here, Angie,” I interrupt her. “You need to understand the physical in order to adequately address the mental. The mind and the body are naturally linked, and you can’t hope to heal one without understanding the other.”
My words surprise me.
I believe them wholeheartedly.
I just don’t believe psychiatry is the answer.
Angie stares at me for a moment before she nods. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “I’ll manage. It’s just… It’s a lot more real now than it was on paper.”
I smile, resisting the urge to give her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. And remember, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes. That’s part of being human.”
She gives me a small smile, turns, and leaves the room.
I turn toward the wall to discreetly adjust my groin.
Fuck.
Chapter Three
