Hel & Veritas

The First Day

Fiorenza arrived at the imposing Volga Group hospital precisely at 8:45 am, a comfortable fifteen minutes before she needed to change into her scrubs. Despite knowing her working hours would be spent in the standard uniform, Fiorenza cherished the ritual of dressing up. For this momentous first day, she had carefully chosen a vibrant red satin wrap top that gracefully accentuated her figure, paired with sleek black pleated pants that flowed just so over her favorite, iconic red Louboutin heels. A final, confident glance in the mirror before she left her condo had confirmed her choice – this was her way of stepping into her new world, a splash of her favorite color amidst the serious atmosphere.

After the smooth, efficient scan of her ID badge at the reception desk, she made her way to the residents' locker room to change into the black scrubs designated for surgeons within the Volga Group. Unlike the sterile whites and calming pastels favored by other hospitals, Volga had carved its own distinct aesthetic. The interiors embraced a sophisticated palette of deep navy blue and rich emerald green, punctuated by the cool, modern glow of neon blue wall-mounted lights. It was a familiar setting, echoing the design of the Volga University and hospital campus in Paris where she had spent her student years. As she navigated the bustling corridors, she observed the ebb and flow of the medical day. Some staff members, their faces etched with the quiet exhaustion of long hours, were signing out after their night shifts. The hallways pulsed with a low hum of activity – tense family members huddled in waiting areas, nurses hurried past with urgent requests for supplies destined for the Operating Theaters, and doctors in various colored scrubs moved with purpose in and out of the OT doors. Yet, despite the sheer number of people, an almost reverent silence permeated the air.

During her final year of medical school, the importance of maintaining absolute silence during critical and chaotic situations had been drilled into all the students. This wasn't just a rule for medical personnel; even family members were educated on the need to remain calm and quiet in moments of crisis, a testament to the Volga Group's holistic approach to patient care.

When she had visited the hospital on Saturday to collect her official belongings – her ID, her access codes, and a neatly packed medical kit – she had been instructed to report to Dr. Brevinska’s office for her initial assignment. Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of this mammoth building, she finally located the office on the 7th floor of C wing after a few polite inquiries.

She paused before a door painted a calming teal, a silver plate bearing the crisp inscription "Dr. Brevinska" affixed beside it. Dr. Brevinska was the esteemed co-head managing this sprawling New York branch of the Volga Group. Taking a deep breath, Fiorenza offered two crisp knocks. "Come in!" a steady, no-nonsense voice replied from within. She opened the door and stepped into a medium-sized office, the teal of the door echoed in the walls and accents of the décor. A small, well-organized bookshelf held an impressive collection of works by renowned surgeons and medical researchers. A mid-sized desk sat centrally, papers stacked with methodical precision, a sleek pen holder positioned on the right inner corner, and a closed laptop resting beside it. Dr. Brevinska, her silver-framed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, was intently typing on a separate tablet. She wore the same black scrubs as Fiorenza, her distinguished grey hair pulled back into a severe, yet elegant, bun.

“Good Morning, Dr. Brevinska!” Fiorenza greeted her politely, eager to make a positive professional impression on one of the managing heads of this prestigious institution. Dr. Brevinska’s gaze lifted from her tablet, her eyes meeting Fiorenza’s with a brief, acknowledging nod. “Good Morning, Dr. Angelo! Have you completed all the necessary legal formalities before commencing your duties today?” she asked, her fingers still dancing across the tablet’s screen. “Yes, Doctor. I finalized my onboarding on Saturday and collected my ID and medical kit!” Fiorenza replied with a confident smile. Dr. Brevinska nodded again, her attention momentarily returning to her work. “Perfect! You completed your MCh in Neurosurgery, specializing in the intricate workings of the nervous system, brain, and spinal cord, is that correct?” she inquired, her typing remaining relentless. “Yes, Doctor, I completed my integrated MBBS-MS-MCh degree this past summer!” Fiorenza confirmed, a hint of pride in her voice. This prompted Dr. Brevinska to finally lift her head fully, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she quickly composed herself. “How old are you, Dr. Angelo?” she asked, her tone now carrying a note of genuine curiosity.

Fiorenza felt a familiar warmth rise in her cheeks, a slight blush. It was a common reaction. When people discovered that she had embarked on her accelerated integrated medical degree at the remarkably young age of sixteen, after years of rigorous study and intense preparation for the demanding medical entrance examination, they often struggled to reconcile it with her youthful appearance. And it was understandable. People didn't always expect such intense dedication and achievement from the offspring of the celebrated power couple, Christopher and Rebecca Angelo. Some whispers, she knew, attributed her rapid progress to connections and privilege, but the stringent and fiercely meritocratic hiring and admission processes of the Volga Group were widely known. Many children of influential politicians and wealthy businessmen had been denied entry when they failed to meet the exacting standards. Fiorenza’s ability to not only pass but excel, cracking the entrance exam at sixteen through sheer hard work and unwavering willpower, was not something easily digested by conventional expectations.

“I am twenty-two, Doctor! I began my degree at sixteen!” she answered, her chin held high, a small, determined set to her jaw. Her mama and papa had always instilled in her the importance of owning her unusual achievements without a hint of apology. She should be proud of where her dedication had taken her, they’d taught her, but that pride should never curdle into arrogance.

For a fleeting moment, Fiorenza thought she saw a genuine expression of impressed surprise flicker across Dr. Brevinska’s face, a subtle widening of her eyes and a slight upturn of her lips. But the moment was fleeting, wiped clean within a second as the insistent ringing of the telephone on Dr. Brevinska’s desk shattered the brief pause. “Excuse me!” Dr. Brevinska said, reaching for the receiver. “Dr. Brevinska here!” she answered, her tone immediately shifting to one of professional crispness. Judging by the subtle changes in her expression – a slight furrowing of her brow, a more intent focus in her eyes – the call was clearly of significant importance. “Yes, Shawn, I will assign a resident surgeon immediately!” she stated firmly before hanging up the phone. She looked back at Fiorenza, a polite, almost knowing smile gracing her lips. “Well, Dr. Angelo, it appears your first task has just arrived!” she announced. Fiorenza’s green eyes widened infinitesimally, a flicker of surprise, but she nodded with as much composure as she could muster, her head held high. “You will be heading directly to the 9th floor OT in wing C, where you will be assisting on your very first spinal fusion surgery.” Dr. Brevinska paused, a slight emphasis on the word "assisting," but Fiorenza sensed there was more to come, so she remained silent, waiting. “You will be assisting Dr. Mikhailov himself!” Now it is finished. Fiorenza gasped, the sound audible in the quiet office, her eyes widening to an almost comical degree. Was she dreaming? Was this some elaborate first-day prank, the hidden cameras about to reveal themselves? But Dr. Brevinska’s steady, professional expression offered no hint of amusement. This was real. Watching Dr. Mikhailov on television interviews, observing his calm demeanor and the almost magical precision of his hands, was one thing. But being in the same operating theater? For hours? The reality of it sent a wave of both exhilaration and sheer terror washing over her. And what about… her crush?

Yes, a secret, slightly embarrassing crush had taken root when she was fifteen, a teenage fascination with the brilliant, enigmatic surgeon. No one knew, except her closest friend, Marcella, who had endured countless whispered confessions and dreamy sighs. What if she did something utterly ridiculous? What if she fumbled an instrument, or worse, said something completely unprofessional? Her promising medical journey could come to an abrupt, humiliating end. Nope! She couldn’t let that happen. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Fiorenza offered Dr. Brevinska a positive, affirmative nod. Dr. Brevinska offered a brief wish of good luck and provided final instructions: for her first surgery, her role was strictly observational. Starting tomorrow, she will begin assisting hands-on alongside other surgeons. Making a swift mental note of every word, Fiorenza thanked Dr. Brevinska, her heart hammering against her ribs, and stepped out of the teal office, taking another deep breath, the reality of the morning’s unexpected turn swirling within her.