Beyond White Coats

Chapter 3

A few moments of tense silence passed before he spoke again. "This week, you'll be assisting on patient rounds. I expect you to be on time. No excuses."

I nodded, keeping my voice steady. "Understood, Doctor."

He studied me for a moment before looking away. "Good. Now, since you're new, tell me what you know about emergency response protocols."

I took a deep breath, recalling everything I had studied. "The primary steps include assessing the patient’s airway, breathing, and circulation. Immediate interventions are applied depending on the patient’s stability. In cases of cardiac arrest, CPR must be initiated while ensuring defibrillation is ready if needed."

His expression didn’t change. "And if the patient is unresponsive but has a pulse?"

"Check for adequate breathing and provide rescue breaths if necessary while monitoring vitals."

He gave a small nod. "Not bad. We’ll see if you remember that under real pressure.

The weight of his words lingered. The theory was easy, but the reality of handling critical patients was something else entirely.

Before I could dwell on it, another intern hesitantly raised a hand. "Doctor Tuarez, will we also be assisting in surgeries?"

His eyes flicked toward the intern. "Only if I find you competent enough. I don’t tolerate incompetence in my OR."

A nervous chuckle passed through the group, but it quickly died down when Dr. Tuarez’s expression remained unchanged.

My stomach twisted in anticipation. I wanted to prove myself, but the more I listened to him, the more I realized how much work I had ahead of me.

Just then, a nurse entered the room, handing Dr. Tuarez a file. He scanned through it, then handed it to me. "Read this. It's a case study of a recent trauma patient. I want your analysis by tomorrow morning.

I took the file carefully, my hands slightly trembling. "Yes, Doctor."

"Dismissed." His tone left no room for further discussion.

The moment I stepped out of the conference room, I exhaled deeply, realizing I had been holding my breath. This internship was only beginning, and already, Dr. Tuarez had set the tone—unforgiving, demanding, and absolutely relentless.

I had no choice but to keep up.

The weight of the case study Lucas had given me lingered in my thoughts like an unresolved equation. I sat at the hospital’s cafeteria, my laptop open in front of me, a cup of untouched coffee cooling at my side. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but my mind was a tangled mess of medical terminologies, diagnostic approaches, and the suffocating pressure of knowing I had to impress one of the toughest doctors in this hospital.

Noah sat across from me, scrolling lazily on his phone. "You look like you're about to pass out."

I let out a sigh, raking a hand through my long, straight brown hair, which I had tied back into a ponytail earlier in an attempt to keep it from falling into my face. I was wearing a beige fitted turtleneck and black slacks—professional enough for the hospital setting but comfortable enough to survive the long hours of studying and rounds.

"I feel like it," I muttered. "This case is complicated, Noah. How does he expect me to break it down overnight?"

He smirked, leaning back against his chair. "That’s Lucas Tuarez for you. The guy doesn’t believe in easy assignments. If he did, he wouldn't have the reputation he has now."

I rubbed my temples. "Yeah, yeah, the brilliant neurosurgeon who barely tolerates incompetence. Believe me, I've heard all about him."

Noah chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Then you know what’s at stake. If you nail this, he might actually respect you."

Respect. That was exactly what I needed from Dr. Tuarez. I couldn’t afford to be just another forgettable intern in his eyes.

Determined, I refocused on my screen, scanning the patient's case again. It was a 45-year-old male with progressive weakness in his limbs, worsening headaches, and signs of intracranial pressure. Possible brain tumor? Aneurysm? I bit my lip, weighing the differentials in my head. The data was extensive, but what bothered me the most was the missing link—something wasn’t adding up, and I needed to figure it out before presenting my findings to Lucas.

The sound of approaching footsteps made me instinctively straighten my posture. When I looked up, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Dr. Tuarez had just walked into the cafeteria, his sharp gaze scanning the area as if assessing every single person in the room. He was dressed in his usual crisp white coat, a black dress shirt underneath, sleeves neatly folded just past his wrists. He looked every bit the intimidating, no-nonsense doctor I had imagined from all the stories I had heard.

He hadn’t noticed me—yet. But the sight of him alone was enough to light a fire under me. I needed to be ready. There was no room for mistakes.

I snapped my attention back to my screen, determination coursing through me. This was just the beginning. If I wanted to survive under Lucas Tuarez, I had to be more than just good—I had to be exceptional.

The night before the presentation, I locked myself in my small apartment, determined to perfect every detail of the case study. My desk was buried under open textbooks, medical journals, and my laptop, which had multiple tabs open with research papers. A half-empty cup of coffee sat beside me, long gone cold, but I barely noticed.

It was already past midnight, and exhaustion clung to my body like a second skin, but I refused to sleep. Not when Dr. Lucas Elijah Tuarez gave me something this important.

I leaned back, rubbing my temples, my eyes darting to the clock—1:42 AM. "Just a little more," I whispered to myself, tapping my pen against my notebook.

I went through my notes again, imagining the possible questions Lucas might ask. His sharp gaze flashed in my mind, and a shiver ran down my spine. He wouldn’t go easy on me. That much, I knew.

I sighed and stretched, standing to pace the room. My reflection in the mirror caught my attention—my long dark hair was in a messy bun, strands falling around my face, and my oversized hoodie did nothing to hide the stress in my posture.

I groaned and dropped back into my chair. "Come on, Viv, you’ve got this."

By the time the sun began to rise, I had gone through my presentation at least five more times. My throat was dry from practicing aloud, and my hands ached from taking notes, but I felt ready—or at least as ready as I could be.