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.) 

Comments

[Layla]

Dude. You should be Robin #1. Tim Drake pales in comparison to Dick Grayson.

[FANtasy]

Boy, I do wonder. Time will tell.