Unexpected Home

Chapter Three-First Day- Josiah

My alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.

I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before remembering where I was.

Los Angeles.

New apartment.

New hospital.

New life.

First day.

I sat up slowly.

For the first time in six months, I had something to look forward to that had nothing to do with what I had lost.

Work.

Medicine had always been the easiest place for me to disappear.

When I was in the operating room, there was no room for heartbreak.

No room for memories.

No room for wondering what my ex was doing.

No room for thinking about my former best friend.

There was only the patient.

The procedure.

My hands.

My concentration.

That was exactly what I needed.

By 6:45 a.m., I was walking through the entrance of the hospital.

The place was already alive.

Doctors moved quickly through the corridors.

Nurses pushed medication carts.

Residents hurried around carrying tablets and files.

Patients were being wheeled between departments.

Monitors beeped.

Phones rang.

Someone was already arguing with a vending machine.

I almost smiled.

This felt familiar.

Chaotic.

Exhausting.

Familiar.

“Dr. Ashford?”

I turned.

A woman in a white coat stood behind me.

“Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Reynolds. I’m one of the attending physicians in cardiology. Welcome.”

“Thank you.”

She shook my hand.

“We’re glad to have you.”

I nodded.

“Glad to be here.”

She looked at the clock.

“Come on. Your orientation starts in five minutes.”

Five minutes.

Apparently, my new life wasn’t interested in easing me into anything.

The next several hours disappeared.

Meeting.

Briefing.

Another meeting.

Another briefing.

Department orientation.

Hospital policies.

Patient safety protocols.

Surgical scheduling.

Emergency procedures.

Electronic records.

Staff introductions.

Then another meeting.

At one point, I looked at my watch and realized it was almost noon.

I had been inside the hospital for five hours.

It felt like thirty minutes.

Or three days.

I was standing outside the cardiology conference room, drinking my third cup of coffee, when Dr. Reynolds approached me.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.”

She laughed.

“That’s what everyone says on their first day.”

“I’m actually fine.”

“Good.”

She looked down at the tablet in her hand.

“Because I need you in surgery.”

I nearly choked on my coffee.

“Today?”

She looked at me.

“Yes.”

“I thought today was orientation.”

“So did I.”

She smiled.

“But we have a patient who needs intervention.”

“What happened?”

“Forty-eight-year-old male. Persistent chest pain. Imaging revealed a small cardiac mass near the left atrium. The team believes it’s a myxoma.”

I immediately became serious.

“Atrial myxoma?”

“Yes.”

“Size?”

“Approximately three centimeters.”

“Symptoms?”

“Intermittent chest pain, shortness of breath, fatigue. No major obstruction yet.”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

Dr. Reynolds looked at me.

“You’re comfortable?”

“I am.”

“Good.”

She handed me the file.

“Then welcome to your first day, Dr. Ashford.”

I looked down at the patient’s chart.

A strange calm settled over me.

This was what I knew.

This was what made sense.

I changed into surgical scrubs.

Inside the operating room, everything became quieter.

Not literally.

The monitors still beeped.

People still spoke.

Machines still made their soft mechanical sounds.

But inside my head?

Everything became still.

The patient was under anesthesia.

The surgical team was ready.

I stood at the operating table and listened as the anesthesiologist confirmed the patient’s vitals.

“Vitals stable.”

“Good.”

The attending surgeon looked at me.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The procedure began.

The plan was to remove the atrial myxoma before it could obstruct blood flow or cause further complications.

It wasn’t the kind of surgery someone expected to perform on their first day at a new hospital.

But I had done difficult procedures before.

My hands were steady.

My mind was clear.

The incision was made.

The surgical field was exposed.

We carefully accessed the heart.

There was no room for distraction.

No room for fear.

Every movement had to be deliberate.

Every instruction had to be heard.

Every decision mattered.

“Visualizing the mass,” I said.

The surgical team became even more focused.

There it was.

Small.

Smooth.

Attached near the left atrium.

“Careful,” I said.

I worked slowly.

Methodically.

The mass was carefully separated from the surrounding tissue.

“Almost there.”

A few more precise movements.

Then—

“Removed.”

The room seemed to breathe again.

The mass was placed into the specimen container.

The surgical site was checked.

No significant bleeding.

Cardiac function remained stable.

“Vitals are good,” the anesthesiologist said.

I exhaled.

“Let’s close.”

Nearly two hours after entering the operating room, the procedure was complete.

Successful.

The patient was transferred for postoperative monitoring.

I stepped outside.

For a few seconds, I simply stood there.

My surgical cap was still on.

My mask was hanging around my neck.

My shoulders were aching.

My feet hurt.

I was exhausted.

But I felt good.

Really good.

There was something strangely comforting about saving a life.

It reminded me why I had chosen this career in the first place.

I walked toward the physicians’ offices.

My office wasn’t ready yet.

Apparently, the previous physician hadn’t completely vacated the space, and administration was still arranging everything.

So I had nowhere to sit.

I decided to find an empty consultation room.

I pushed open a door.

Empty.

Perfect.

I had barely sat down when someone walked in.

“Oh!”

I looked up.

A woman stood in the doorway.

She was wearing a white coat, colorful sneakers, and a smile that looked entirely too energetic for someone working in a hospital.

“Sorry!” she said.

“It’s fine.”

She stepped inside.

“Are you Dr. Ashford?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh! You’re the new cardiologist.”

“That’s me.”

She smiled.

“I’m Dr. Amelia Bennett.”

She extended her hand.

“Pediatrician.”

I shook it.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

She looked at me.

Then at the clock.

Then back at me.

“How was your first day?”

“Busy.”

She laughed.

“That’s the polite way of saying it was horrible.”

“I didn’t say horrible.”

“You’re a doctor. You’re trained to lie politely.”

I actually laughed.

She pointed at me.

“There! I knew you had a sense of humor.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You look serious.”

“I am serious.”

“That’s different.”

I shook my head.

She dropped into the chair across from me.

“So.”

“So?”

“Tell me everything.”

I stared at her.

“Everything?”

“First day. New city. New hospital. New job.”

She leaned forward.

“I’m a pediatrician. We survive on gossip and caffeine.”

I smiled.

“Well, today was my first day.”

“I figured that part out.”

“And I had my first surgery.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Cardiac myxoma removal.”

She stared at me.

“You performed that on your first day?”

“I assisted and operated under the surgical team’s supervision.”

She looked impressed.

“Wow.”

She smiled.

“Okay. I’m officially impressed.”

“Thank you.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How did it go?”

“Successful.”

She leaned back.

“Okay, Dr. Ashford. I think we’re going to get along.”

“Why?”

“Because anyone who can walk into a new hospital and successfully remove a cardiac tumor on their first day deserves a friend.”

I laughed.

“You make friends quickly.”

“I don’t have time to waste.”

That made me smile.

She stood.

“Anyway, I have to go see my tiny patients before one of them decides to escape.”

“Good luck.”

She reached the door.

Then turned.

“Oh, and Dr. Ashford?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome to Los Angeles.”

She smiled.

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too, Dr. Bennett.”

She walked away.

I sat there for a moment.

Amelia Bennett.

Cheerful.

Talkative.

Completely different from me.

And somehow, I didn’t mind it.

I looked at the clock.

I still had another surgery scheduled later that evening.

Most people would probably complain.

I didn’t.

I actually looked forward to it.

Because every hour I spent inside this hospital was another hour I didn’t spend thinking about the past.

Another hour without remembering the bedroom door.

Another hour without hearing the words—

You’re boring.

Another hour without wondering how someone could betray me and then blame me for their betrayal.

I picked up the patient’s file for my next procedure.

The hospital was exhausting.

The hours were long.

The work was demanding.

But for me, that was the point.

I didn’t come to Los Angeles to find love.

I didn’t come here to make friends.

I didn’t come here to rebuild what I had lost.

I came here to work.

To become better.

To become someone who no longer looked backward.

I glanced at the clock again.

Then I stood.

Another surgery was waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, I was exactly where I wanted to be.