Kevin Sweeney felt as nervous as he looked, scanning the room, briefly resting on the faces of the other nineteen Interns sitting around the folding tables arranged in a rough circle. The fuck am I doing here? he thought, looking down and shaking his head. They all look like they belong here . . . confident, self-assured . . . I feel like a poseur . . . I am a poseur. He had not graduated in the top half of his class, barely out of the bottom 25. He had felt lost in Medical School at the University of Washington in Seattle until his Pediatrics rotation in Third year. At last, he told himself, he’d found his calling. For some reason, a Pediatric Cardiologist had taken him under her wing. He still had no clue why. His grades from the first two years had been less than stellar.

       He was a little fish in a big pond in med school. UW undergrad had been crazy competitive with everybody and their brother . . . and his girlfriend in pre-med. But once Kevin was bitten by the “being a doctor bug” he excelled. He got all A’s in his premed courses but in Med School he’d almost flunked First year Physiology and had considered dropping out. 

       He was miserable. His marriage was a . . . he didn’t know what. He just knew there was something wrong, and he kept hoping Miranda would decide to end it or cheat on him or do something to end it. They married young, at twenty and nineteen. Way too young for those two. He felt like he should be on probation given his disaster with Physiology. And he loved Physiology. He didn’t take a leave of absence, or talk to his Advisor, but Miranda knew how miserable he was, how he thought it likely he was going to drop out. She just didn’t know how their marriage played into his misery. He decided he would give it the summer, but held out little hope his mind would change.

       But working at his college job at the Dollarwise Grocery chain that summer reminded him why he’d hated that job in the first place. His father, Glen, had drunkenly and tearfully pleaded with him to go back to school so he wouldn’t end up like him, a laborer, all his life. Miranda had convinced him to give it at least one more year after all the years of hard work to get there and the spot he had taken from some other person with dreams of Medical glory. So, in the end, guilt won out. He finished med school, the worst four years of his life and here he was in Oakland.

       “Dr. Sweeney, would you like to introduce yourself and tell us where you are from and . . . why you’re here?” asked Dr. Guilderson, the venerated Medical Director whose opinion the Acceptance Committee had respected in regards to the 40th ranked spot going to Kevin. The candidates did not know how the hospitals ranked them just as the hospitals did not know how the candidates ranked them. That’s how The Match worked. And that’s how Kevin ended up at Oakland Hospital for Sick Children. He looked up, still surprised people were addressing him as “Doctor.”

       “I’m, uh, Kevin Sweeney . . . mmm, from Seattle, U dub. Umm, looking forward to the year,” he lied but smiled and shrugged, looking down. He didn’t see that most of the other Interns were smiling back at him. He knew people liked him. He had no clue why.

                                                            __________________________________________

       “Mickey O’Taney-Koen. Good to meet you,” Mickey said, offering his hand.

       “Oh, uh, Kevin Sweeney. Umm, could you say your last name again?”

       “O’Taney-Koen, it’s hyphenated. Most people, after they get to know me and get tired of trying to remember the whole thing just call me Mickey O-K,” he said, smiling, then quietly in Kevin’s ear, “Are you as nervous as I feel right now?”

       “You have no fucking idea,” he whispered back.

       “I’m kind of waiting for someone to check my ID and send me back to Portland, like, Oh, there’s been a terrible mistake, Dr. O-O, whatever . . .” Mickey had graduated Number 1 in his class at U of O Med. He was a charismatic, friendly, brilliant individual whose grades, evaluations and recommendations would have all but guaranteed him a spot in any Pediatric Residency in the country. He ranked OHSC number one . . . two . . . and three. And he was scared shitless.

       Kevin laughed for the first time in days. There was something in Mickey’s delivery that made him instantly like the young man. “Portland, huh, U of O?”

       “Guilty.”

       “I guess we’re representing the great Pacific Northwest,” Kevin said.

       “I don’t know, man. Seattle? That’s almost like . . . I don’t know . . .  Canada . . . with pretensions.” 

       “What? What? What is it about me that gives people license to give me shit like, five minutes after they meet me?” He said, shaking his head, then barely cracking a smile.

       “I don’t know, man. Some people are just shit magnets.”

       “Yeah, fuck you,” he muttered with a slight smile. They advanced in the cafeteria line and by the time they reached the food they both realized this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship..

                                                              _______________________________________

       They’d received their rotations by mail three weeks before the beginning of the year. A2 (Adolescent Ward): Whitfield, Palacek, Sweeney, Makadongdong. I wonder what new and wonderful ways they’re going to find to murder my name, Sofia thought as she was making her lunch for the next day, her first actually caring for patients. 

       “My favorite is ‘Makalongshlong’,” her boyfriend, Nate, had said one night as they were lolling in bed.

       “My best friend in Fourth grade, Lilly, had to explain that one to me,” she said, laughing. “Nine-year-old me had no idea what a shlong was . . . I’m pretty sure the hospital operators won’t use that one over the PA.”

       “Was that traumatic for you, finding out what a shlong was?” he asked, playfully.

       “Nate,” she said, looking at him over her glasses, “I have brothers. I knew what a penis was. I just didn’t know it was also called a shlong. I have since learned many interesting names for it . . . dick, cock, tool, pink torpedo, peter,”

       “Peter? I’ve never heard that one.”

       “Seriously? Now who’s the sheltered one?”

       “I’ll show you sheltered,”

       “No, you will n . . . oh . . . oh . . . oh . . .”

                                                           _________________________________________
       Maggie looked at her nametag, “Margaret Greene, M.D.” and remembered wanting to change it when she was in college, back to Grinfeld, the family’s name in Germany before her great grandfather emigrated to America. She had acquiesced to her mother’s wishes in the matter, not wanting to offend her father, who she dearly loved. He died the following year, but by then, she’d applied to Medical School and her Advisor counseled her not to change her name to avoid confusion with school records, transcripts, etc. It wasn’t that she was an observant Jew. In fact, she wasn’t sure she even believed in God. She just wanted to own who she was. She was proud of her heritage. Since then she’d met several Jewish Greene’s, not relatives, none of whom had any problem with their identity or their name. She’d finally accepted it. “I’m Maggie Greene. I’m a Jew. Deal with it!” she said to her mirror defiantly, shaking her fist then dissolving into laughter at her reflection.

       Maggie was running around Lake Merritt late in the afternoon, her last afternoon of freedom and as she overtook a young man who was running at a snail’s pace, she glanced over and recognized him from the Intern orientation that day. She slowed. “You were at the Intern thing today, right?”

       “Yeah, I thought I recognized you. Kevin Sweeney,” he said, reintroducing himself.

       “I’m Maggie Greene,” she answered and resisted the urge to add . . . I’m a Jew . . . Deal with it! She laughed at her private weirdness.

       “What’s funny?”

       “Nothing. I . . . it’s. I’m just weird.”

       “Ok, weird Maggie.” Weird Maggie, he thought . . .  good name for a band? 

       Slowing her pace, “Did you meet, umm, get to know any of the others?”

       “Yeah . . . I met Mickey O-O . . . O-K. Seems like a nice guy, funny . . . and uh, George, uh,”

     “George Ryan, yeah . . . Big guy!” Maggie was 5’2”. George was 6’6” and not skinny. He was a big Irishman . . . from Sacramento.

     “Yeah, funny as hell . . . really bright.”

       “Yeah, he seems like a sweetheart,” Maggie said.

       “Hey, I don’t wanna slow you down. You’re obviously in better shape than I. Go ahead if you want.”

       “This pace is just fine, Kev. You from Seattle?”

       “Just north . . . Big clan up there, mostly my dad’s brothers. Okies.”

       “Okies?”

       “People from Oklahoma who lost their farms or whatever in the Depression. Travelled up and down the West Coast, Southwest, farm work mostly.”

       “Ah . . . Okies . . .” She remembered reading The Grapes of Wrath in High School but had never met an actual Okie.

       “You?” Kevin was conserving his breath, having increased his pace to match Maggie, who had resumed her former pace and who had captured his attention.

       “Philly mostly. Cincy for Med School.”

       “Undergrad?” He really wanted to keep up with her, but was becoming increasingly short of breath. He cursed his indolence.

       “Oh, uh, Brown,” she said almost apologetically. “You?”

       “U dub . . . pretty much . . . whole life . . . Washington . . . I gotta stop.”

       She stopped with him. Breathing easy. He was not. “Sorry, I guess I picked it up after we started talking.”

       He was sweating, breathing hard. He just looked down and waved his hand to dismiss her concerns. “No . . . it’s ok . . . Just . . . really . . . out of shape . . . you should go ahead . . . I’m just gonna . . . start back up again . . . at my turtle pace.”

       “What the fuck, Seattle? I thought everybody on the West coast was into Marathons, veganism . . . fucking yoga.”

       “Nah, I’m a musician . . . was . . . into sex . . . drugs . . . rock and roll . . . and of course . . . fucking yoga.”

       “Ha!” She laughed. She started jogging in place. “I gotta work out this knot in my stomach.”

       “Jesus, I know.” He didn’t want to say more about his growing apprehension. He didn’t want to seem a loser . . . in her eyes. God, she’s hot! He thought. He kept looking up every few seconds to see her dark brown eyes, aquiline nose, long, thick, wavy raven-colored hair tied back in a ponytail. Every time, she was smiling back at him. He didn’t want to push it . . . didn’t want to appear too eager. “Go ahead, Maggie. We’ll work out our knots at our own pace.” 

       “Ok, see you tomorrow . . . doctor.”

       “Oh, God.” he said, with dread.

                                                           ____________________________________

       Mickey found Rivka in the kitchen, alone. They kissed passionately. “Hey.”

       “Hey, yourself,” she answered and kissed him again, moaning softly.

       “Where are the monsters?”

       “With Mama. They went to the Zoo . . . just left . . . probably gone at least two hours . . . I missed you.”

       “I missed you.” They kissed again, more insistently. “Marina’s still in New York, right?” he asked. 

       Marina was their Nanny, Housekeeper, they actually weren’t sure how to describe what she did for them. She had an innate sense of who needed help, what needed to be done, and she seamlessly integrated into their routine, their lives, from the first day she came to live with them after the birth of their first daughter, Hava, in New York City. Stayed with them through the move to Portland, so Mickey could attend Medical School there, the pregnancy and delivery of a second daughter, Yael, and now with their third baby on the way, she was indispensable. Luckily, Rivka’s mama, Rakhel, had come to stay with them in Berkeley for the last part of her daughter’s pregnancy or neither Mickey nor Rivka could imagine how they could manage life with Mickey starting his Internship.

       “Da, baby,” she said slowly as she undid his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled everything down around his ankles, then began working on his already rigid member with her hands and mouth. Finally, she stood, reached under her short dress and pulled off her panties, dropping them to her bare feet, then kicked them off. He picked her up and sat her on the counter and began working on her wetness with his tongue and thumb, pulling her dark red auburn bush back with his other hand. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she moaned. “Put it in, Misha . . . please . . .”

       “Are you sure it will be alright?” he asked breathlessly.

       “As long as you’re not too rough . . . big boy,” she added with a smile.

       “Oh, Ri, I don’t want you to go into premature labor,” he said, worry on his brow.

       “Misha . . . just be gentle with your pregnant nympho wife.”

       “Oh, alright,” he said, fake resignedly.

                                                                 ___________________________________

       “Did you have a good time at the Zoo with Bubbe, Hava?” Mickey asked his older, five-year-old daughter.

       “Da, Papa. We saw baby chimpanzees, Papa . . . and elephants . . . and snakes . . . we had fun, Papa. And Bubbe bought ice cream.”

       Mickey looked up at his mother-in-law, Rakhel, with a questioning, mildly fake disapproving look. She smiled at her son-in-law, who she loved dearly and said, “It was only one scoop, Misha. And they were running everywhere . . . they needed fuel.”

       “Did you have ice cream at the zoo, my little sun?” he asked his younger daughter, Yael, sitting in his lap.

       “Da, Papa, Bubbe gave us ice cream,” answered his precocious almost three-year-old.

       Hava held up a pair of bikini panties. “Mama, why is your underwear under the table?”

       “Yes, daughter, why is that?” asked Rakhel, trying to keep a straight face.

       “Oh, there they are. I was folding laundry here and they must have fallen off the table. I’ll take them. Thank you, little star.” Rivka was also trying to keep a straight face and was avoiding looking at her mother.

       “Mama . . . I’m a big star!” she exclaimed seriously.

       “Oh, I beg your pardon, your big starness!”

       “Maybe that’s how all the socks get lost,” offered Mickey, shrugging with his eyes. “What do you think?” he asked Yael with a funny voice and face. “Mmm? Mmm?”

       “Papa!?” she giggled, pushing his face away, then jumping off his lap to chase her sister, who was running around the living room with Rivka’s panties, stopping periodically to put them on her head as a hat.
                                                                ___________________________________

       A twenty-something, slender, dark haired, immaculately coifed man dressed in a white shirt, thin dark tie and tailored vest approached the knot of new Interns. “I’m David Ferraro. Welcome to C2. I’m your second year Resident,” he said crisply.  “It’s a little slow right now. We only have fifteen patients on the floor. We have four Interns. I’ve divided the patients up randomly. Three of you will get four patients, one will get three.” He handed out the lists to each Intern. “Familiarize yourselves with your patients this morning. I’ve already rounded with the outgoing second year and there are no pressing issues. Take your time but be efficient. Over time you’ll all figure out a way to keep track of your patients and the patients of the other members of your team. I keep this clipboard with the patients on the left and columns for pending labs, x-rays, procedures, miscellaneous, etc. Questions? No? Good! We’ll meet up again right here in the hall outside the Family Room in two hours at 9am. Who’s on call tonight?

       “I am, Doctor,” answered Mickey O’Taney-Koen.

       David looked closely at Mickey’s nametag, then his face. “Michael O’Taney-Koen . . . Irish Jew?”

       “Pretty much describes me. And call me Mickey, please. My mama doesn’t even call me Michael.”

       “How about I call you Mickey OK?”

       “Might as well. Everybody else does.”

       “Oh, also . . . Everybody, when it’s just us, call me David. Around patients, Dr. Ferraro.” He held his hand out like it was a huddle. Mickey reflexively put his hand on David’s. “You guys gonna leave us hanging?” The other Interns quickly put their hands in. “Ready . . . BREAK!” All throwing up their hands as David laughed hysterically all the way down the hall.

       “Huh,” said George Ryan. “That is one funny PL2.”

       “Charts,” said Maggie and started for the Nurses’ station. The rest followed.

       “Which one of you is Dr. Acker?” asked a Nurse who appeared to be in charge . . . of everything.

       “That would be me,” said Philip, clearly from New York City.

       “Your patient Santiago needs an IV.”

       “Ok, I’ll get to it in just a bit, Nurse . . .” he was looking for her nametag.

       “It’s Thornton. Nurse Connie Thornton. Santiago needs the IV now. He came in last night with ‘Diarrhea & Dehydration’ and the IV’s been out for an hour. He’s NPO. He needs it now, Doctor.”

       “Oh . . . ok,” said Philip. “Umm . . .”

       “His nurse will bring him to the Treatment Room. You can meet her there,” said Nurse Thornton as she executed a precise about-face and headed to her next order of business.

       Philip looked around. “You want some help, Philip?” asked Mickey.

       “Yeah . . . actually, I’ve never put an IV in on a baby. The nurses did the IV’s at Einstein. I get the feeling from Dr. Ferraro that this is a sink or swim situation.”

       “I’ll give you a hand . . . if you want . . . or Maggie or George if  they have a burning desire . . . I’m easy.”

       “You go right ahead, Dr. OK. I’m pretty sure there will be plenty of opportunities in the coming months to start IV’s,” said Maggie with a smile.

       George said, “I’ll tag along.”

       “Alrighty then,” said Philip, and started down the hall then stopped abruptly. “Uh, where’s the Treatment Room?”

       Little Santiago’s nurse was waiting in the TR, gently cooing at the baby, trying to console him. She looked up as they entered. “It’s about time,” she said, clearly irritated, then seeing the procession of three Interns entering, “What is this? A f-umm, a parade?” She, by her accent, also clearly from New York.

       “We just got our orders, Nurse . . . ” he squinted at her nametag, “Alvarado. Geez, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

       Mickey and George looked at each other and mouthed the words, “New York!”

       “So, how many Interns does it take to start an IV?” she asked with her head tilted down like she was looking over her nonexistent glasses.

       “Umm . . . ” began Philip and turned to Mickey and George.

       Mickey stepped forward and, seeing her name tag said, smiling, “Angela, how about you let us see some extremities?” She looked at him like, What? “The baby’s . . . for the IV,” he said, almost laughing.

       She scoffed. “Yes, Doctor,” she said, smiling. She unwrapped Jesus partially, showing one limb at a time.

       Mickey looked at each hand and arm in turn, showing the others each time and shook his head each time. “I don’t see anything here. The antecubes,” veins in the inner part of the elbows, “are . . . trashed . . . Let’s see the feet, Angela . . . please.”

       He regarded the left foot. “Here’s something here, Phil. You see it?”

       “Not really.”

       “It’s not great. You see it, George?”

       “Yeah, I agree, not great.”

       “Let’s look at the saphenous . . . Oooh,” he murmured appreciatively as he squeezed the baby’s leg above the ankle like a tourniquet, touching the skin over the vein running down the inner ankle. “You can’t see it, but you can feel it, right?” He showed Philip and George what he was feeling and they felt.

       “I’m gonna have to take your word for it, Mickey. I don’t feel sh- I don’t feel anything,” said Philip.

       “I feel what you’re talking about, but . . . mmm,” said George, giving the extremity a dubious look.

       “You wanna let me try it, Philip?” said Mickey.

       “Oh, fuck yes . . . shit . . . sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

       Angela choked off a laugh and rewrapped little Jesus Santiago, only exposing the left leg and lying him down on the gurney, preparing to hold him still for the IV.

       “I think the two most important things for this are . . . one, the holder,” Mickey said as he began taping the leg and foot to the padded IV board, briefly looking up at Angela who looked back at him neutrally, “and . . . two, taping the limb so it doesn’t move around. Sometimes, you have to tape it really tightly initially until you get the IV in and secured, then you can loosen it on the IV board if you need to. Sound about right, Ange?”

       “If you say so, Doc.”

       “Ok, Staten Island.” He finished taping down the leg and foot, exposing the inside of the left ankle. He wiped the site with alcohol, allowing it to dry before picking up a 22 gauge IV from the tray Angela had prepared.

       “That’s a big IV, Doc,” Angela said, registering her concern.

       “I think this vein will take it,” he said, took a deep breath, murmured a prayer in Hebrew and passed the needle through the skin.

       The baby screamed. Angela whispered in Jesus’s ear loud enough for all to hear, “I’m sorry the mean doctor is hurting you, sweetheart, but he’s just trying to help.”

       “Mean doctor,” Mickey said under his breath, stifling a laugh. “Ok, clean miss. Must’ve been beside it.” He looked at George and Philip. “I’m gonna just aim about 2mm to the left, right on top of it and . . .” blood came back into the barrel of the needle. “So, we just flatten it out a bit, so we don’t go through the back of the vein . . . and advance a skosh . . . don’t wanna get greedy . . . and advance the catheter which is advancing easily . . .” He flushed the catheter, attached the IV tubing and made sure it was dripping freely, then secured the whole apparatus. He turned to his colleagues and said, “Better to be lucky than good . . . Thank you, Angela. You were awesome.”

       As the three Interns left the Treatment Room Philip gushed, “Wow, Mickey, you’re like a vein whisperer.”

       “Teach me stuff, Obi-Wan,” laughed George, slapping Mickey on the back, causing him to wince.

       “Fuck you both, twice,” he muttered, shaking his head.

       “Seriously, Mick, where’d you learn that shit?” asked George sincerely.

       “I got a fair amount of experience during my two Peds clinical rotations and I hung out around the Peds ICU when I wasn’t doing anything else. They got to trust me and they were more than happy to delegate the scut.”

       As they got back to the Nurse’s Station to familiarize themselves with their patients, Angela came by with little Jesus and stopped to murmur something to another nurse. Mickey overheard the words “vein whisperer”. Oh, fuck me, he thought.

       “Ooh, did you guys bond?” asked Maggie, her eyes wide with feigned excitement.

       “Bite me, Philly,” Philip said quietly. Maggie giggled quietly.

                                                              _____________________________________

       “This is Jamie Whitfield. She’s our Three. I’m Maria Palacek. I’m your Two. The adolescent ward is pretty sparsely populated right now. In fact, we only have three patients. Kevin, I’ve arbitrarily given you two, and Sofia one. Don’t thank me, Sofia. It’s a complicated one. Check out your patients and report back at 8:30 this morning, right here and you can present them to us. OK? OK! . . . Why are you still standing here?”

       “She seems nice,” Kevin said quietly to Sofia while rolling his eyes. They were walking down the hall to the Nurse’s Station.

       “Yeah . . . for a drill sergeant.” 

       “I know we got oriented yesterday but I can’t remember where anything is,” he confessed.

       “I did a couple of rotations here as a student. I’ll keep you from getting lost,” she said, looking at him over her glasses.

       “Really? Are you from around here?”

       “Sort of. I went to Cal, Med School at UCSF.”

       “Ah. Ok.” He thought, God, she’s hot . . . I wonder if she has a boyfriend . . . I wonder if she’s straight. Shit, Kevin . . . focus!

       They spent the next half hour doing chart reviews on their patients. “Golly, she wasn’t kidding. My patient’s plenty complicated. Sickle Cell, Type 1 diabetes and asthma . . . wanna trade?”

       “No . . . thank you . . . I’m a bit tired.”

       Sofia laughed. “Alright, Gene . . . doesn’t hurt to ask.”

       He thought, Smokin’ hot Asian chick, and she knows her Mel Brooks . . . Shit, focus!

                                                              ____________________________________

       “Hey, Sam. Thanks for calling me back, brother.”

       “No sweat, Kev. How was your first week?”

      “Oh, man. I’m . . . kind of lost. I feel like all the other Interns just seem to know what’s going on. I mean, it’s weird . . . when my Resident asks me a question, it seems like the words are . . . I don’t know . . . distorted.”

       “Sounds like a bad acid trip, little brother.”

       “I know, right? I’m just nervous and uptight like, all the time. I was on call for the first time on Tuesday. I was so worried I was gonna miss something I drank coffee all day and into the evening. I drank so much coffee I puked.”

       “Anything bad happen? I mean, besides puking?”

       “That’s just it. Nothing happened at all. I was up all night for nothing . . . all night . . . nothing . . . just waiting for something bad to happen, then I puked.”

       “Hey, little brother . . . you’re a smart guy. Your problem has always  been you just get so wound up you think you’re not smart, but you are, Kev. I have always known you are. You are the best and the brightest of this family.”

       “Dude, that’s a low bar. And you’re way smarter than I.”

       “Ok. You’re right, I am smarter . . . but you’re plenty smart enough. Take deep breaths. Focus. Try and keep your mind off pussy.”

       “Sammy, that is easier said than done. You would not believe the chicks down here. Every color. Every variation of gorgeous. Sexy as fuck!”

       “Focus!”

       “And I have not seen a drop of rain in two weeks. I don’t think it rains down here. There’s this strange object in the sky . . . like really bright and warm. And it’s there every day.”

       “Oh, fuck you. It just rained three days straight, middle of fucking July.”

       “Sorry, man.”

       “It’s alright. Look, it may take some time for you to get your sea legs. But I know you’re gonna be ok, Kev. I know it, little brother.”

       “Ok. Thanks, man. I appreciate your confidence in me. You’ve always had my six, Sammy.”

       “I will always be there, little man. I love you, Kev.

       “I love you too, brother.”