Nikita

Today, my patient has a brain tumor, and I have to remove it; otherwise, she will not live another day. I hate malignant tissues; I have always hated that shit for a while now. But I guess nothing can compare to the pain of losing all family members in one go.

I need to focus.

A young girl of around six years of age is on the operating table, and my heart breaks for her and her family. Such a youI feel like I want to promise her parents that she will be okay, but I know I can't do that. Anything can happen in the operating room, and to top it all, I'm not the giver or taker of life. All I have to do is my best and leave the rest to God.ng angel having a tumor in her brain is sad; I don't even want to think of the headaches and the number of times she might have cried herself to sleep.

After four hours in the operation room, I finally let out a breath that I never knew I was holding. Four hours later, the tumor is out, and the girl is in the recovery room. As for me, I'm still hoping my decision to leave isn't selfish.

I really don't want to be the guy that makes one-night stands, and at the same time, leaves his team hanging when clearly there's chaos headed their way.

A lot of things haunt me, and being the head of surgery, I know I might risk more lives if I continue working. I don't notice the elevator stopping on the first floor, second floor, or even third floor.

"Doc, I think you're getting out on this floor." Someone tells me, but I just nod at them as I get out. I look distracted, way too distracted.

I don't want to be either, but life has forced me to be the first guy; as for the second, I contemplate dropping the idea. I tell myself I will have a decision when I make it through the day. My 36-hour shift is crazy, but ev signed up for, I just hope the beautiful signorina I left in my bed is already gone or not. I'm not really sure about anything at the moment.

The reelaborate my dėsɨrė for inner peace before I come back to the hospital, that is, if I ever will be in my white coats and my stethoscope again. I will miss my green uniform, but that's how everything has been going lately.

Like the coward I am, I drop my letter under the door. I hope that neither Kim nor Mary are in the office right now because I know I won't be able to take

st of the day goes by with me helping with different surgeries, and at the end of every surgery, I feel like a coward for wanting out of this place. I feel like I'm betraying my oath, but I have no option. This is why thirty hours later, I'I feel like I want to promise her parents that she will be okay, but I know I can't do that. Anything can happen in the operating room, and to top it all, I'm not the giver or taker of life. All I have to do is my best and leave the rest to God.m back at the HR office with a newly drafted letter.

The letter explains why I'm leaving, and I ensure to

it if they find me here. And that's how I spend the last six hours of my shift fidgeting and trying to avoid everyone, paranoid that they have all read my letter of resignation, and tired at the same time.

One foot forward after the other, I find the mahogany door with the Human resources tags looking at me. Do I really want to do this? I'm not sure, but I knock and get in, and as always, I find Mary, and Kim, the HR secretaries of the hospital, in their usual spot.

Wait, when said I've been looking at my hands for long. So, I looked at my hands, but I dint see the letter I had carried with me. What kind of sick joke is this? This is fuċkėd up.

"Just passing by. How are you pretty ladies doing this fine morning?" I tell them as I try to remember where the fuċk my resignation letter is.

While they greet me back, I dip my hands in my pocket, a habit I always have when my stethoscope is hanging on my neck. Then I find it, the letter I was to submit, the one thing that can inform the hospital management of my dėsɨrė to leave.

I know my leaving will be a blow to the hospital, but what can I do? I need to find myself first. The hospital can always find a new chief of surgery to sit in my chair. There will always be someone to replace me eventually. After all, we don't live forever.

"We're the fine doc, just waiting here for people who probably won't even care that we are here, but such is life." The conversation goes on for a little while before I'm needed in the operating room. I heard I'd be getting a new partner in the operation room. So I leave, with the letter that I had come to bring here.

I just hope they can fill Dreykov's shoes because I really have no patience for someone who drags feet. Nothing pisses me off like a lagging healthcare worker. I bid the two beauties goodbye and leave for the Operation Room.

The fact that I didn't submit my resignation letter bothers me a lot, but I guess I can always write another one during the breaI feel like I want to promise her parents that she will be okay, but I know I can't do that. Anything can happen in the operating room, and to top it all, I'm not the giver or taker of life. All I have to do is my best and leave the rest to God.ks.

As I get out, I see the number of patients is increasing. Maggie was right. Something is wrong. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something is definitely wrong. We have never had these many patients in the hospital at a go.

This will be a very long day.

As I get to my stationed room, I can't help but wonder what is going on. It looks like someone released a virus in the atmosphere, and everyone is getting affected, but we can't confirm that without the CDC coming out first. Scrubbing in, I find my nurses ready and, on the go, something that makes me smile and thankful for such an efficient team.

When my shift ends, I don't even lock my office, and my ȧssistant will do that.

I leave and go home, hoping and praying that I didn't make a mistake by leaving that letter.