Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I raise an eyebrow. “Everything all right there, Ralph?”
He glares at me for just a moment. But then his eyes soften as he realizes who he’s talking to. “Sorry, Dr. Lansing. Just a little overexcited, I guess.”
I pat him gently on the shoulder. “We all react differently on the first day. Not a problem, Ralph. Just keep yourself focused.”
He nods, his eyes narrowed at me. “I will, Dr. Lansing.”
“Call me Jason, please.”
“Right. Jason.” He exhales sharply, nodding as he finally pushes down with just enough force to make a clean incision.
“There you go. Perfect,” I say. “Keep going like that.”
As I move back toward the center of the room, I glance at Angie again. She’s leaning over the cadaver, her hair tucked neatly under her surgical cap. She’s not cutting. So far she’s letting Tabitha do everything.
If it were any other student, I’d put a stop to it, tell them they both need to share the burden equally.
But I can’t. Not today. The idea of standing there, close enough to catch the faintest trace of whatever perfume lingers on Angie’s skin, feels dangerous. Unprofessional. I continue walking, keeping my distance, focusing on the others.
Next time, I’ll make sure Angie cuts.
Next time.
“Linda, how’s it going now?” I ask, circling back.
“Better,” she mutters, her voice tight with concentration.
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”
As I circle back to Tabitha and Angie’s table, I linger despite myself. Tabitha is focused, her brow furrowed as she carefully deepens her incision, the tension in her shoulders giving away how hard she’s concentrating. But it’s Angie who catches my attention—or, more specifically, her stillness. Her gloved hands hover above the cadaver, the scalpel poised but unmoving, as though the blade weighs a hundred pounds.
“Tabitha,” I say, my voice steady, “you’re doing well. Just follow the natural line. Smooth, even strokes.”
Tabitha nods, offering a quiet, “Thank you.”
Angie still hasn’t said a word, her body stiff, her face pale. She’s staring down at the incision, not with curiosity or focus, but with something else—something closer to dread.
This time I have to say something.
I force myself to keep my tone neutral, professional. “Angie, is everything all right?”
She nods quickly, but it’s unconvincing. “Yes, I’m fine,” she says, her voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
I know she’s lying.
The room is alive with the sound of scalpels slicing through preserved flesh, whispered conversations, and the occasional clink of instruments being set down. But at this table, there’s a heaviness, a tension that feels like it’s drawing my attention no matter how much I want to ignore it.
“Tabitha,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “you’re doing great. Time for a break.”
She widens her eyes but then puts down her scalpel, clearly okay with stepping away for a minute.
I step around the table, moving to Angie’s side. I shouldn’t. I should let her figure it out on her own or pair her up with someone else later. But something in me—something I don’t want to name—won’t let me walk away.
“Angie,” I murmur. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Her shoulders tighten, and for a moment, I think she won’t answer. But then she exhales, her breath shaky. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she says, her words rushing out in a quiet, desperate tumble. “I thought I could, but… I just… I don’t want to cut into someone.”
I nod slowly. “I know this is hard, especially if you intend for your focus to be psychiatry. But this part of your training isn’t just about learning anatomy. It’s about understanding the body as a whole, even if your work someday focuses on the mind. You don’t have to like it, but it’s important.”
She swallows hard, her gaze fixed on the untouched scalpel in her hand. “I understand that,” she says, barely above a whisper. “But it feels…wrong. Like I’m disrespecting them.”
Her words hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting. “You’re not disrespecting them, Angie. This person chose to donate their body to help you learn. To help you become the kind of doctor who saves lives. What you’re doing here honors that choice.”
It’s nothing I haven’t said before. She knows that as well as I do. I don’t expect my words to change her attitude now if they haven’t already.
She doesn’t respond right away, her jaw tight as she stares down at the cadaver. I want to tell her she can step back, let Tabitha take the lead—but that won’t help her. She needs to find her own way through this.
“Start small,” I say gently. “One shallow cut. You don’t have to rush or go deep. Just get a feel for it. You might surprise yourself.”
She glances up at me again, and there’s a flicker of trust in her eyes now. She nods, her movements hesitant, but she sets the blade against the cadaver’s pale skin. Her hand trembles slightly as she presses down, the scalpel gliding over the surface. It’s a small cut, almost tentative, but it’s a start.