Grey's Anatomy: The Intern Formerly Known as Steve

The Girl Who Lived

It’s been quite a ride.  How are you holding up?  Tired?  Disoriented?  Pupils dilated?  Seeing purple?  Does pizza taste to you like cotton candy smells? 

Time travel does that to people.  Or so I’ve heard.  Or read.  In various science fiction comic books.  Okay, Okay.  I’ll admit it.  I sent you on a journey through time when I myself have never actually time traveled.  Minor detail I neglected to include on the invitation. 

But, hey, it was cool, right?  You got to be a fly on the wall for the greatest cafeteria fight that never happened.  You got to experience the wrath of Dr. Yang when woken by an intern with a medical question.  You got to fill your nostrils with that beautiful hospital smell. You got to learn all about the Seriouslys, and catch a minor case of them yourself. Plus you got to be there for the forming of the greatest surgical intern band ever.  Pretty rad. And you are still alive, right?

Well, there is someone else who is still alive.  Only she didn’t do any time traveling.  And she wasn’t exactly supposed to live.  Kind of like my good friend, Harry Potter.  Except He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn’t cast the Avada Kedavra curse on her. The thing that was supposed to kill her didn’t come from an external force.  It grew inside her.  It made her lose control of her arm and her leg, and then the whole right side of her body.  This thing inside of her was about to take her life when…

Oh, have I not mentioned Dr. Derek Shepherd yet?  Do you remember him?  Or is your memory just a bit foggy from all that time traveling? Well, let me refresh your memory.

Dr. Derek Shepherd: Neurosurgeon.  Miracle Worker.  Savior of humanity. 

You see Dr. Shepherd created this clinical trial.  I might have mentioned it before.  Okay, so I was OBSESSED with it.   I followed it like Bostonians follow the Red Sox, like Trekies follow William Shatner, like that little boy in the French movie followed that red balloon. And following it, well, kind of changed my life. 

If I hadn’t followed it so closely, then in the epic battle between fear and curiosity that would take place in my head moments after encountering Dr. Shepherd in the hall, Captain Fear might have won out.  If I hadn’t followed it so closely, I would never have mustered up the courage to stay and ask Dr. Shepherd if he had collected the correct combinations of X, Y, and Z for the viral cocktail.  If I hadn’t followed it SO closely, Dr. Shepherd wouldn’t have been impressed by my knowledge of the viral cocktail and might never have popped…The Question.

“Steve, why don’t you scrub in with me on the clinical trial tonight?” 

If someone gave me a time machine, like I generously gave you, and told me I could travel ANYWHERE, back to ANY time in my ENTIRE LIFE, I would choose THIS moment. I would freeze it, and live in it and in the events that followed.  Over and over again. Because beginning in that moment, I got to live out every kid’s dream. 

And by every kid’s dream, I don’t mean that every kid dreams of brains.  Some dream of space or chocolate factories.  But when I was in Kindergarten and Mrs. Evans asked us where in the universe we wanted to go, I raised my hand and exclaimed “TO THE BRAIN!”  You see, the brain is my outerspace; it is my chocolate factory.  Only there are no Oompa Loompas and gravity sickness isn’t an issue. 

Today I got to hang with my Willie Wonka/Neil Armstrong, Dr. Derek Shepherd.  I got to scrub in with him on perhaps the most groundbreaking clinical trial of all time.  And that alone sent me flying through space.  But when Beth Monroe, the girl who wasn’t supposed to live, opened her eyes and used the hand she’d lost control of to give me a thumbs up…Well, then I was walking on the moon. 

I helped save a life today.  And maybe I wasn’t the one who came up with the viral cocktail combination or injected it into her brain, but I was there.  I was asked to observe and to be a part of it all.  And I will forever be grateful, and remember that moment. 

When I’m stuck doing SCUT.  When I’m giving rectal exams.  When I’m on my feet for twenty hours straight in a place with patients that complain and don’t always smell so good (as you now know).  When I’ve gone three days without sleeping and I’m deep in the SGH slumps.  When even a round of the game, Ya Coded, won’t cheer me up, I’ll remember this, and I’ll push forward.  Because I helped save a life today. 

And maybe someday in the far off future, that someone—who creates groundbreaking clinical trials that save lives and allow the Beth Monroes of this world to see their grandkids graduate from college—will be me. 

Until then, I’m hijacking your time machine so I can relish in the moment. It’s 88 miles per/hour, right? 

FIRST GIG! JOE'S BAR! TONIGHT!

Leave it to the SGH acapella band, No Scrubs, to “coincidentally” schedule their fifth concert on the same night as our very first gig.  Not cool.  SO not cool. 

So in the spirit of that, I will give you ten reasons why you should avoid the No Scrubs concert in the SGH cafeteria, and come to Joe’s instead to hear the awesomeness that is—Intern Steve & the Intern-ettes. 

1. We have instruments.


2. It is rumored that Leo will be singing soprano for No Scrubs.


3. Jose might be making his meatloaf for their show, but Joe will be serving actual alcohol AND Shirley Temples at ours.


4. You can buy a first edition Intern Steve & the Intern-ettes t-shirt.


5. George O'Malley will be there. 


6. Our version of “I Wanna Be Sedated” is better than theirs.


7. The Chief gave us his blessing. 


8. There will be ponies.


9. And gladiators.


10. Solo surgeries for all who attend!

SEE YOU THERE!  Remember to sign the guestbook!

Coulrophobia

We all have fears.  Claustrophobia: fear of confined spaces.  Lockiaphobia: fear of childbirth. (We see our fair share of that here.)   Apeirophobia: fear of infinity. (Does that mean that you’re also afflicted with a fear of the number eight? Since eight is actually infinity rotated ninety degrees?)  Consecotaleophobia: fear of chopsticks. (Not sure who has this one, but it exists, I swear.)  Alektorophobia: fear of chickens.  (My uncle had that.)   And of course, let’s not forget, COULROPHOBIA… 

Halloween 1991. 

Twas a dark and stormy night… (and by “dark,” I mean dusk; and by “stormy,” I mean drizzling.)  It was the first time that Cindy and I were braving the sketchy neighborhood (and by “sketchy neighborhood,” I mean white picket-fenced-middle-class-Leave-it-to-Beaver suburbia) to Trick-or-Treat without parental supervision.  This was kind of huge for us.  A big moment in the lives of the Mostow kids—ordinary children by day, crime-fighting detectives by night (okay, so perhaps I indulged in a few too many Hardy Boys books back then).  And we decided to mark this momentous occasion by knocking on Mr. C’s door.

Mr. C lived down the street from us and was famous for two things--dentures and the Halloween house.  Each year he transformed his colonial style home into a haunted-palooza, and himself into well…Monster C.  I had a longstanding theory that Monster C was simply Mr. C sans the dentures.  And as a young scientist/future doctor I’ll admit I was kind of excited to check out the inside of his mouth and the state of his toothless gums.  So you can imagine our surprise when a full-toothed bizarro version of Bozo the Clown popped out from the spider web, frizzy red hair and all.  And it was then that we realized that the "C" in Monster C stood for clown.

FACT: Cindy is very afraid of clowns.  Even now as an almost-adult she can’t go to the circus or attend kids' birthday parties.  Apparently it all started back in 1st grade when she had a nightmare about a pack of angry clowns eating her handwriting workbook entries for supper.  So back in the haunted-palooza when she saw Monster C, she FREAKED out and ran screaming from the house. 

Let the record show that I was not scared.  More like disappointed.  But I ran screaming with her because I’m her big brother and that’s what big brothers do.  The story would and should have ended here, except for that Mitch Donovan, who was egging Mr. C's car as we ran away, caught a glimpse of us.  And in that very moment he decided to torture me and call me "Scarecrow Steve" all the way up until high school.   The End.

Halloween today.

Thankfully, this year’s Halloween featured neither Mitch Donovan nor a surprise appearance by Mr. C.  But in spite of this, it was not free from fear.  You see, today I braved my way through a new haunted house, one that was bigger and scarier.  One with chainsaws and ghosts and severed limbs and ear-less children (or at least one ear-less child) and hearts being transplanted from one relative to the next and colleagues collapsing without notice.  I am learning that working in a hospital can bring your biggest fears to life and expose you to new set of fears at the very same time.  Like kakorrhaphiophobia: fear of failure.

Last night when Dr. Yang informed us that we were to dress up for Halloween, she used words like “MANDATORY” and “OR ELSE.”   So around 11pm when I finished my scut work, I found a costume shop and bought the one costume they had left—a clown suit.  I knew Cindy wouldn’t approve, but I was almost certain that Dr. Yang would be totally impressed that I’d found something to wear so quickly.  That she had secretly been testing us all, and that I was going to pass with flying colors. 

Well, I didn't.  She saw me in the cafeteria and rejected my clown suit and red nose.  (See above for a picture of me, post-clown-suit-rejection.)  I spent the next few hours analyzing the interaction, creating an algorithm, a couple of venn diagrams--you know, the usual.   The only possible explanation that I came up with is that like Cindy, SGH’s very own Dr. Yang is...afraid of clowns.  Coulrophobia strikes again!  And I realized something.  While I may have failed yet another one of Dr. Yang's tests, at least this Halloween's case of coulrophobia would not be resulting in anyone calling me "Scarecrow Steve."  (Leo. Don't. Even. Think. About. It.)

One good thing that came out of facing my kakorrhaphiophobia was that I felt a certain strength in tackling the other scary stuff.  For example, ghosts. Have I not yet mentioned that I hung out with a ghost today?  But it wasn’t just any old Joe Schmo of a ghost.  It was the ghost of the late, great Dr. Ellis Grey.  Her daughter, Dr. Grey, brought her ashes into work.  In a plastic baggie!  Which she then spilled all over the floor.  It just so happened that I was walking by as she was scooping up the ashes.  So maybe I didn’t quite get to meet the ghost of Dr. Ellis Grey, but I sure did walk by her ashes.  Is it possible to become haunted—by surgical greatness? (My hands are feeling exceptionally steady today.) 

And I could have been afraid of the ear-less boy I met today.   While some kids spent this year Trick-or-Treating for candy, he spent it wandering through the halls of our hospital Trick-or-Treating for ears. I could have let myself become consumed with a case of the ear-less child phobias (don't know if there's a technical term for this).  But his lack of ears, didn't really faze me.  This was mostly because I knew that Dr. Sloan and Dr. Grey (the live one, not the ghost) had the ability to give him ears.    And so his Halloween tale ended happily as he left SGH with exactly what he came in for--a basket full of candy—oops—I mean, a real set of ears. 

Most days we ignore our fears.  We ignore the blood and the severed limbs and the ear-less children. Ignoring them is easier than letting them overtake us.  Halloween is the one day that we are allowed to celebrate our fears.  It is the one day each year, when we can live fearless in our fear.  Plus there is candy and pumpkins, and haunted houses, and all that other good stuff.  And who doesn’t love a good rendition of “Monster Mash” every now and again? 

*Public Service Announcement: If you or a loved one suffer from coulorophobia, please get some help.  Don’t let your fear of clowns prevent you from things like laughter and balloon animals.  Get treated today and start living your life free from fear, and full of clowns.

Meet the Band

OUR STORY

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was an intern.  His name was Steve.  And Steve, or #2 as he was known throughout the kingdom of Seattle Grace, had a secret love.  Music.  From James Taylor, to Pearl Jam, to the theme song from “Lamb Chop’s Play-Along,” he loved it all.  Even the sound a microphone makes when you turn it up too high.  And Steve had a feeling that he was not alone; that there were others in this kingdom who loved both the science of medicine and the science of music.  So after much debate and a not-so-long journey that involved a confrontation with Leo in the cafeteria and other unforeseen obstacles, Steve found his band.  And while they didn’t sound so great at first practice, by the time their sounds fused again, they were without a doubt the best intern band in the land. And they all played happily ever after.  THE END.

THE ROSTER

Intern Steve (a.k.a. #2) (Rhythm Guitar & Vocals)
Scroll up.  Ok, now…scroll down.  You’ll find everything you need to know about me right here. 

The Intern-ettes...

Claire (Keyboard, Vocals)
A former member of our arch nemesis, SGH’s acapella group, No Scrubs.  She ditched the instrument-less posers to lend her vocal, and keyboard talents to our band.  She’s kind of a virtuoso.  Plus she bakes us really good chocolate chip cookies for band practice. 

Pierce (Bass)
“Scales” as we call him, is quite the music scholar.  Okay, maybe that’s taking it too far.  He took a couple semesters of music theory back in college.  But he’s the only one of us who actually uses words like “metric” and “staccato” and a whole slew of other terms none of us really understand.

Laura (Xylophone)
We all have our moments of epiphany.  Laura’s came at the age of three, when her parents presented her with a xylophone.  She's been playing ever since.   

Dani (a.k.a. #1) (Drums)
Dani has never played the drums, nor has she aspired to.  We feel her lack of experience will lend a certain je ne sais quoi to our rhythmic stylings.  Also, in 4th grade she won a statewide monopoly tournament. So that’s something.

THE SET LIST

1.    Doctor My Eyes (Jackson Five)
2.    Bad Medicine (Bon Jovi)
3.    Jagged Little Pill (Alanis Morissette)
4.    Sheer Heart Attack (Queen)
5.    A Rush of Blood to the Head (Coldplay)
6.    Here Comes My Baby (Cat Stevens)
7.    The Needle and the Damage Done (Neil Young)
8.     Lump (The Presidents of the United States of America)
9.     I’ve Got You Under My Skin (Frank Sinatra)
10.     Temporary Like Achilles (Bob Dylan)
11.     Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat (Herman’s Hermits)
12.     A Bad Case of Loving You a.k.a. Doctor, Doctor (Robert Palmer)

ENCORE:
13.     Lithium (Nirvana)
14.     Vertigo (U2)
15.     I Wanna Be Sedated (The Ramones)

Stay tuned for information regarding our very first gig!   You will NOT want to miss it.   

And the drummer is...

INTERN DANI!

Congratulations to Dani, and welcome to Intern Steve & the Intern-ettes. 

Stay tuned for the full roster. 

A Case of the Seriouslys

The Black Plague.  Smallpox.  Syphilis.  Just a few of the highly contagious infectious diseases that have ravaged and destroyed the peoples of the world throughout time.  Diseases caused by one bad strain of bacteria catching on and spreading like wildfire.  Well, as a new M.D., I’m taking it upon myself to diagnose a pretty nasty bug that’s infiltrated the walls of Seattle Grace Hospital.  Yes, you guessed it…the Seriouslys. 

As far as infectious vocabulary diseases go, the Seriouslys are right below a case of the Umms (which are of course, one step below the Likes) and directly above a case of the Actuallys.  What makes the Seriouslys so dangerous is their ability to replace practically any word or expression in the English language.  One person unknowingly utters a couple of "seriouslys" and it’s a slippery slope.  Within hours everyone in a quarter-mile radius is gradually losing the vocabulary they’ve spent their whole lives compiling. 

Below I’ve transcribed a real life, actual conversation that took place in the locker room before rounds yesterday. I believe it illustrates the dangers of the Seriouslys.

MITCH:  Seriously guys, I need to get in on Sloan’s facial reconstruction today.
   Translation→ I so need to get in on Sloan’s facial reconstruction today. 

PIERCE:  Seriously?
   Translation→ Facial reconstruction? Real surgeons slice open brains.

ME (#2): Seriously.
   Translation→ I second that. 

LUCY: Seriously?
   Translation→ Whatever.  Cardio trumps Neuro any day.

NORMAN: Seriously!
    Translation→ I haven’t the foggiest idea what any of you silly kids are talking about, but I can say “seriously” just like the rest of you.  Ha ha!  See?  I said it!

LEO: Seriously?
    Translation→ Who are you kidding, grandpa?  You can’t keep up with our “seriouslys."   

#3: Seriously!
    Translation→ LEO!  Have a little respect.  He’s one of us.

Ok, so now do you see the danger?  Let’s face it folks; this disease has reached critical mass.  We are entering threat level purple here.  If we don’t find a cure, I give us two months tops before the Seriouslys have irreversibly replaced every single word in our collective vocabulary.  And I don’t think that it would be in the interest of patients to have surgeons communicating with sentences like “Can I have the seriously to seriously him?” or “Which seriously is it that we are seriously-ing?” or “Is he seriously-ed already?”

So is there a cure?  Can we solve this lingual crisis?  This war of the words?

Well, I’ve decided to consult an expert on the subject—me.  You see I once developed a case of the Umms.  I got it from my five-year-old cousin.  (Stay on alert folks!  These vocabulary disasters can come from anywhere!)  But fear not, the Umms didn’t progress to an irreversible state of wordlessness.  Nope, thanks to a little thing called the Likes, the Umms went away pretty quickly.  You see the only way to cure the Umms is to give everyone a vial of the Likes or the Actuallys or the You Knows (but I’d advise not to go there as they are a dangerous beast) or some other lingual disease.  Then the new lingual disease replaces the old one just in the nick of time. 

Ok, so there may be a minor side effect to my cure.  You see, eventually the replacement lingual disease will begin eliminating words and need to be thwarted by the introduction of yet another lingual disease, thus creating a bit of an endless cycle.  But that's okay because cycles are what the world is all about!  (I mean, where would we be without the water cycle?)  And it is this endless cycle of lingual diseases that will prevent our collective vocabulary from complete and utter obliteration. 

So please sign the petition below to make “Actually” the new “Seriously.” Save the words.  Save the world. 

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How I Made $312 on Stevens vs. Torres

Abracadabra!  A magician never reveals his secrets.  But lucky for you inquisitive readers, I am no magician. I’m a mathematician.  (Or at least a former state quarterfinals mathlete. Go Tanglebrush Tangents!)  And mathematicians are all about sharing the knowledge. So today in the tradition of mathematicians past, I will share with you my cafeteria-tested, surgical-intern-approved, please-do-try-this-at-work gambling algorithm.

Every algorithm begins with a mathematical problem. As a former mathlete my job is to identify these problems before they filter into the public information superhighway.  That’s why, when I was running to get Dr. Yang her extra-hot-no-foam-quadruple-cappuccino and spotted Dr. Torres speaking a little too close for comfort with Dr. Stevens, I quickly translated their body language to mean that a fight was in the works. And thankfully, I did, because it allowed me quite a head start.   It wasn't until four-and-a-half minutes into my strategizing that Megan telephone-tagged me with the 411.  (Ok, I’ll admit it.  I kind of broke the cardinal rule of gambling and shared my technique with her.  But fear not fellow mathletes, she admitted that she “does not hate trigonometry all that much.”  So really, she’s a mathlete at heart.) 

So now that I'd identified the potential fight, I had my problem that needed solving.  Who will win?  Now as much as I love time travel, (Oh, you didn’t know that about me?  I haven’t mentioned that yet? Well, I do.  And I will.) I haven’t yet mastered that whole traveling to the future thing yet.  Good thing I have math as my tool for making future predictions.  The first step in this is translating the problem from layman’s terms (who will win) into the lovely language of mathematics.  But in order to do that, I had to reduce the two residents to variables.  For the sake of the equation, I assigned Dr. Torres and Dr. Stevens the variables X and Y respectively.  Thus the mathematical problem became “Is the sum of X’s force greater than the sum of Y’s?”

Now comes the tough part.  The brainy part.  Solving the problem. Traditionally I would begin with an intensive investigation into the two variables.  But time doesn’t always permit these things, and since the fight was only five hours away, I had to rely on my previous observations.   

So here’s what I knew about X…

Fact: She lost a baby once. She LOST a baby!  (Yeah, I’m still not over that.)
Value: -1
Reason: Lack of follow through is not the best quality for a fighter.

Fact: She breaks bones for a living. Have I mentioned she’s an orthopedic surgeon?
Value:  1
Reason: MAJOR advantage in any physical scenario.

Fact: She is married to George O’Malley.
Value: 0
Reason: I can’t place a quantitative value on this since I’m learning that I really don’t have all the facts.  Joe the Bartender filled me in on some stuff about George last night.  It’s pretty personal, so I can’t write about it here.  But needless to say, now I’m thinking that I may have been a little hard on the guy. 

Rumor: She used to eat her own hair. 
Value: 0
Reason: First off—GROSS.  Second—that is such a rumor.

Theory: She might be a hologram. Why not, right?  I mean she’s not around very much, and when she is it’s only for a couple of minutes.  Graciella claims she scrubbed in with her once and touched her arm.  But I’m not going to buy into that silly attempt to disprove my totally awesome theory. 
Value:  0
Reason: It’s just a theory, albeit a darn good one. 

-1 + 1 + 0 + 0 + 0 = 0

Evaluation:  X’s strengths and weaknesses cancel themselves out.

And here’s what I knew about Y…

Fact: She saved the life of a deer. She likes animals.  And values life. 
Value: 1
Reason: Valuing life (especially your own) is a prerequisite to winning a fight.

Fact: Leo is her intern. Handling him on a daily basis?  Enough said. 
Value: 1
Reason: Ditto.

Fact: Penmanship is important to her. Just ask Graciella who got caught writing an indecipherable “p.”
Value: 0
Reason: This really doesn’t have much to do with anything, I just found it interesting that someone other than a 1st grade teacher, would place such emphasis on crossing your “t”s and dotting your “i”s. That’s all. 

Fact: She recently orchestrated a small funeral service for a patient. Again, she’s big on the importance of life.  (Which is really cool.)
Points awarded: 0  
Reason: Redundant.  I’ve already allotted her one point for this quality. 

Rumor: She cut a patient’s L-VAD wire to bump him up on the transplant list.  Yeah, I’m totally not buying this rumor.  Talk about far-fetched.  Really folks, if you are going to make things up, try to make them sound at least kind of, sort of, a wee bit true. 
Value: 0 
Reason: Because it is just a rumor. I don’t care what Mitch says. 

1 + 1 + 0 + 0 + 0 = 2

Evaluation:  While Y’s strengths are not that substantial, her lack of apparent weakness places her at an advantage over X.

Once I tallied the sums, and evaluated the variables, I felt confident in making my prediction, which I wrote on a small piece of paper in case anyone questioned me later.  It is always good to have proof.  Physical proof.

Here it is…
Y will take the fight.  Even if it is by default because X doesn’t show up. (Which I think is a distinct possibility.)  Ergo, Y > X.

Ok, so maybe my formula-for-gambling-success never got the chance to be officially tested.  You see, X walked away before Y got to throw the first punch, (which btw she was totally ready to do).  You should have seen her removing her shoes and going all Karate Kid 3 with the pre-fight stretching. 

I’ll admit I was kind of bummed at first.  But then I realized two things.  #1: X walking away further proves my theory that she is a hologram.  Think about it.  Of course she can’t fight Y, because her punches would go right through Y!  #2: X forfeiting meant that I had won!  Turns out only a couple of us bet on Dr. Stevens, so I totally CLEANED UP! (And by cleaned up, I don’t mean mopped up a spill in the Pit again.  I mean, won a whole lot of money…aka $312!)

And $312 is no small potatoes. For $312 you can ride to the top of the Space Needle 19 ½ times.  Or purchase 15 pounds of salmon from Pike Place Market.  Or 62 budget lunches (a.k.a. salads, not the famous meatloaf) from the SGH cafeteria.  Or 78 round trip passes on the Monorail.  $312 can go a LONG way in the city of Seattle.

So when your co-workers are all placing bets on who will win the hot dog eating contest (before my time they had one here at SGH) just know that with a little luck, (ok…and maybe a dash of magic) and a lot of logic you, too can be a winner.  And tomorrow, when you walk back through the doors of your place of employment, you won’t just be known as that #2—that single digit guy.  No Siree!  From this point on you’ll be known as the triple digit WINNER!  Or at least I will be.  Go math!

Introducing Intern Steve & the Intern-ettes...

Yes, the rumors are true. The interns are forming a band.  So far I can sum up our style as Alternative meets Funk meets Country meets the Grateful Dead.  Ok, so we’re having some creative differences.  But don’t worry, we will finish forming our band and go on to produce at least a one 1–hit-wonder before breaking up.  I promise you that. So get in line folks because our performances are going to be SOLD OUT! 

Now I know you are all dying to know just who is in the band, and what instrument (or instruments, as the case may be) I will be playing.  But before I can reveal this information to the blogiverse, we need to find a drummer.  Auditions will be held 7am Tuesday at Joe's Bar.  (And yes Leo, in spite of your claim to be the Keith Moon of your generation, you too must audition.) Joe was kind enough to lend us the space, but keep in mind that we must be out of there by 10am so he can open.  So please be punctual.   

Everyone is welcome.  We just require two things.  You must be an intern and you must be good.  Which means that the audition doors are NOT (I repeat, NOT) open to the following groups: residents, attendings, nurses, orderlies, cafeteria chefs, administrative assistants, maintenance staff, and lab technicians. We like you.  We respect you.  We stand in fear of you.  But we will not let you into our band.  We will hold strong in our resolve.  This is an intern band.  It is one of the few things we have.  And gosh darn it, we will not let that be taken from us! 

The Question

Call me Robin. Boy Wonder! (Ahha!  I see you've finally picked up on my love of pseudonyms.)  I am in training. Of the superhero variety.  Training to combine my three areas of God-given talent into an unstoppable vortex of surgical prowess.  #1. My I-Q: Intelligence. (My SAT score was 1550!!!)   #2. My PE-Q: Physical endurance. (I once ran twelve miles.)   #3. My USH-Q: Unshakably steady hands. (They didn’t nickname me “Pick-up Sticks King” for nothing.) Training for the day when my Batman, THE Dr. Derek Shepherd, finally sees me for the tumor-fighting partner I will someday be, and pops the question I’ve spent a lifetime training for: “Will you—Robin, Steve, #2, guy with the totally rad hair—scrub in with me?”

And at the exact moment that he forms those six little words (not including all my pseudonyms), the gates will open to the Gotham City that is the brain, and together with scalpels in hand, we will fend off all that is evil in the frontal lobe.  And I will be prepared.  At least I imagined so yesterday, when I played it out in my head for the eighteenth gazillion time.  But today is a new day, and everything I was certain about in the world of Seattle Grace has now been questioned. I used to believe there was another intern out there who had already done it all.  An intern who had mastered the art of earning the respect of residents and attendings. An intern who was asked to scrub in on things like the hemiglocectomy that we had today.

That intern was George O’Malley.  A.k.a. Jason Todd to my Tim Drake.  (You know, Jason Todd?  The previous incarnation of Robin from all those 1980s comic books?  The one who must live, and then die at the hands of the Joker in order for Tim Drake to be born into the realm of DC Comics in the first place?)  Anyhow, George was my J.T.   That is, until Dr. Karev opened his mouth in the elevator and revealed the truth about him.  It turns out that George is no Boy Wonder, version 2.0 to my 1.0.  He’s a FAKER.  A phony.  A user of sorts.  He’s been all hopped up on the intern version of steroids—a.k.a. REPEATING. 

All of the things that we interns have been experiencing for the very first time are things that he’s already done like a million times before.  Codes.  Rounds.  Delivering babies.  ALL OF IT.  He tricked us all into thinking he was this rockstar intern when really he’s just the kid who got held back in 4th grade because he couldn’t master his fractions. (Don’t ever underestimate the importance of fractions, kids!  They are the foundation upon which math and science are built!) 

For all of our flaws, (and we’ve got plenty; see Leo) we interns are a fairly accepting crowd.  We will let pretty much anyone into the party.  I mean, look at our newest intern.  He is like 100 years old.   He could be my grandpa.  And I am not exaggerating here.  Pierce says that Dr. Karev actually calls him “The World’s Oldest Intern.”  But while Norman may be much older than the rest of us, at least he is honest.  He doesn’t go around pretending like he’s 40 or 24 ½.  (← That’s how old I am!)  He’s 100 years old and he’s proud of it.  George could take some cues from this guy.  Lucy and I both agree that what is most upsetting about George is not the fact that he repeated (we all get how hard it is going to be to pass that test), but that he’s been acting like he didn’t.   

Perhaps Jose was serving a super secret batch of “faker juice” in the cafeteria today, because it felt like everyone was pretending to be something they were not.  As they say in the movies, “deception was in the air.”  Or in this case, possibly in the punch.  Dr. Yang feigned sadness in order to get in on the hemiglocectomy surgery.  And while she definitely has reason to be sad, what with her ex-fiancé and all, she doesn’t usually act sad.  Last week it was housewares, this week it is pretend emotions.  I’m on the edge of my seat, mouth full of popcorn, anxious to see what new tricks she’ll have up her sleeve the next time there is an uber cool surgery that comes to SGH. 

Speaking of fakers, Dr. Torres, our paperwork-doing, baby-losing chief resident has either been wearing her invisibility cloak or doing a little faking herself.  I haven’t seen her in days.  When I was a med student doing my rotation at St. Joseph’s, the chief resident was like this omnipresent being, always there to make sure we were doing our jobs correctly and not putting patients’ lives in jeopardy. Since I’m just an intern, I can’t know exactly what Dr. Torres’ job entails. But I can certainly make an educated guess that part of her job is being visible.  At least I would think.  Which makes me wonder, where is she and what is she doing all the time she is not roaming the halls of SGH? (Hmmm, could it be that she’s down in the labs concocting on a cure for cancer!?)

Dr. Grey, meanwhile, pretended to be #3’s teacher in the Pit today.  But instead of giving #3 a living person for her first intubation, she gave her someone who was totally DOA.  Only Dr. Grey didn’t fill #3 in on this detail.  Instead, she let her struggle to frantically intubate the patient.  Maybe it is not my place to say this but I really don’t get why Dr. Grey treats #3 so poorly.  #3 may be a starer, but they are still sisters.  I mean, blood is blood, right?  (Cindy, just know that I would never ever ask you to intubate anyone.  That’s just the kind of brother I am.)

I guess the biggest question of all, the one that keeps me up at night and then riddled with a big case of the nerves in my waking hours is—who will I be?  Who will I be when the pressure is on and I’m knee-deep in someone’s cracked chest cavity working against the clock to save a life?  Will I be the guy who freezes up?  The guy who pretends to know what he’s doing and risks the life of his patient?  Or will I be the hero—or superhero if you will?  The guy who faces the reality of the situation and acts with honesty and integrity, putting all that he’s learned to good use.  Of course without a role model like the-George-I-thought-I-knew to pave the way, the road to becoming that superhero may be bumpier, but I believe that I can still get there.   

And when that moment I’ve been training for comes—that moment when my I-Q, PE-Q, and USH-Q merge into a sum greater than their parts—and Dr. Shepherd gets down on one knee to ask that crucial question, I WILL be ready!  We’ll summon the Batmobile and embark upon our expedition into the unknown with character and strength.  And I won’t have to fake anything.  Because the one big upside to eight years of Boy Scouts is that the motto becomes a part of who you are.  And I, Robin (#2), am always prepared. (I also have skills in starting fires and helping old ladies cross the street.  Just in case you were wondering.) 

The NOT To Do List

Rules.  I love them!  They are clear-cut and orderly, and practically scientific in their awesomeness.  They tell you what to do and when to do it.  And all you have to do is follow them.  It’s as simple and easy as that.  At least it used to be.  You see, I thought I knew all the rules.  Brush your teeth before bed.   Never tell a lie.  Don’t mess with the pancreas.  But there are rules you learn as an intern that you can’t find in any book. And I’m not talking five or ten or fifty rules. I’m talking countless, endless rules.  Important rules.  Life-saving rules. Unspoken rules.  And they are everywhere. So that’s why I’ve decided to make history by breaking my very first rule.  In an attempt to help you future #2s avoid the pain and humiliation of learning things the hard way, I am releasing a list of all the rules I learned the first week of my internship.  First and foremost, the golden rule…

*THE GOLDEN RULE: Repeat after me: “I am a grunt.  I am a nobody.  I am at the bottom of the surgical food chain. I am a grunt. I am a nobody.  I am at the bottom of the surgical food chain. I am a grunt…” Long ago, in a hospital far, far away, a resident imposed this mantra on an intern, and we’ve all been living by it ever since.  It is the rule that stands above the rest, defying any numerical assignment.  All other rules follow beneath it.

RULE #1: Do NOT try to make your resident like you. Sucking up to your resident is not a good plan. Your resident already hates you.  At least that’s what Dr. Yang told us.  And what Dr. Karev told Pierce.  And what Dr. Grey told #3.  And she’s related to her!  So I will not be trying to make Dr. Yang like me.  I’m just going to be myself.  And once Dr. Yang catches a glimpse of my supremely cool fake tattoo of the aorta, she won’t be able to help herself but like me.  And I won’t even have tried.  Not even a little. 

RULE #2: Do NOT ask if you can do procedures on your own. Not that I’ve ever done this. Not that I’ve ever approached Dr. Bailey, the infamous "intern-hater," with this question. Of course I didn’t actually know she was the "intern-hater" until it was too late.  A bit of advice for you future interns, find out the name of your "intern-hater" before day one, and avoid him or her like the plague. At least that’s my plan.  And never ever ask anyone the aforementioned question.

RULE #3: Do NOT try to bribe your resident or attending to scrub in.  It doesn’t work.  At least not for Mitch, who spent his day off handwashing and waxing Dr. Sloan’s car.  Little does Mitch know that Dr. Sloan doesn’t accept bribes from interns.  But residents?  Well let’s just say that Dr. Yang was able to  secure a spot on the next Mohs defect repair in exchange for gifting a certain plastics surgeon a lovely espresso machine. So Mitch, in one year if you’re a resident and have the wherewithal to bring in appealing house wares, you might just have your “in” with Dr. Sloan.  That is if I don’t beat you to it.  Race you to Williams Sonoma!

RULE #4: Do NOT loiter in the tunnels.  Do NOT get lost in the tunnels.  Do NOT come within a 20-foot radius of the tunnels. The tunnels belong to residents.  It is their turf.  They own them.  At least Dr. Yang’s resident class does.  And I don’t blame them for being territorial. I mean the tunnels are the perfect place to escape.  It is basically a resort down there, or as we interns call it "hospital heaven;" what with the gurneys for lounging and the vending machines producing seemingly endless amounts of delicious treats.  But don’t even think about it future interns.  The gates are closed to you.  Locked. STAY OUT. 

RULE #5: Do NOT let anyone in the waiting area trick you into conversation. Especially if that person is your resident’s ex-fiancé’s mother. Even if she offers you candy and insight into how to effectively channel "the Force."  Or better yet, an enlightening conversation (which she did) about one of the most brilliant cardiothoracic surgeons of all time, who just happens to be her son.  Just remember, she is not your grandmother, and this is not a bedtime story.  Take it from me, you do NOT want your resident catching you cozying up to her mother-in-law-that-never-was.

RULE #6: Do NOT look idle.  People will yell.  Specifically your resident.  You will be enlisted in housekeeping duties such as folding sheets.  And let me tell you, SGH has some strict policies about hospital corners.  If you didn’t spend a summer working at the Gap, the nurses are not going to be happy with you.  So don’t look idle. Ever!

RULE #7: Do NOT stare. #3 is a starer.  Sometimes I think she is secretly trying to move things with her eyes.   Yes, she stares that much.   Especially at Dr. Grey.  But don't judge her!  What if you found out there was someone out there half-related to you?  Wouldn't you be checking them out too?  And not in a creepy way, but in a you-are-half-related-to-me-and-we-could-have-stuff-in-common kind of way.  (What if one of you turns out to be the  half-relative I never knew I had!? Raise your hand if your dream is to cut open brains...)  But learn from #3 whose staring resulted in a really uncomfortable confrontation, and if you feel the urge to stare—just don’t.

RULE #8: Do NOT lose babies.  Babies are not things that should be lost.  Take it from Dr. Torres.  She actually lost a baby today!   Probably because she was so busy with all that other super important Chief Resident stuff that she's always doing.  But fear not future #2s, no babies were harmed in the making of this rule.  Our lost baby was eventually found, and put back in his crib.  And the world was whole again. 

RULE #9: Do NOT wake your resident.  Just.  Don’t.  Do.  It.  (Unless the patient is dying. See Rule #10.)

RULE #10: Do NOT kill people. Ok, so this is an obvious one.  And a big one.  But it is probably the hardest one to follow, because killing people is way easier for interns than you’d like to think. Except for George.  He doesn’t kill people.  He saves them.  Like today, when this burn victim totally coded in the MRI, George stepped up and took heroic measures all by himself.  He brought that guy back to life, just like he gave life to that baby by delivering it using the reverse trendelberg. (Oooh, could George be half-related to me!?)

And now, a message from Future Steve…Hello first-week-old Steve!  It is nice to read you.  But you are wrong about rules x, y, and z (I can’t reveal the  numbers because then I might break the space-time continuum. Some things you just need to learn in your own time.)  But I have been given permission to tell you this.  There’s a new rule I discovered during my second week.  It’s an amendment to the golden rule.  So take note, Past Steve, and all you future interns as well.  It goes like this.  “I am a grunt.  I am a nobody.  I am at the bottom of the surgical food chain. But, I am learning.  And one year from today, I will no longer be a grunt.  I will no longer be a nobody.  I will no longer be at the bottom of the surgical food chain.  I will be a resident.  I WILL.”