The Intern

CHAPTER 1🕯️ [CROSSROADS - PART2]

Following the basic training we received last year, we first headed to the coordination unit this morning. After the paperwork there, they notified us of the clinics we were assigned to. My placement was the Physical Therapy and Rehabilitation 2 ward. Right after our official admission to the unit, we moved out to complete the health screening procedures, leaving the room to get urine and blood tests, a chest X-ray, and an ECG done.

We could only manage to finish all these bureaucratic and medical procedures toward noon. We got into one of the staff elevators, which were relatively quieter at this time of the day. Due to the hospital’s architecture, large clinics stretched out facing each other on every floor. Because of this, the other members of the team left the elevator at their respective stations as we went up. When we reached the fifth floor, Nil and I got off. We stopped in front of the directional signage in the corridor. We exchanged a warm glance, bid farewell with a slight wave, and dispersed toward our own wards.

After walking a bit further down the corridor, the nursing station and the breakroom came into my field of vision. Slowing my pace, I walked inside with a confident yet observant demeanor. Four senior nurses were in the room. The moment they noticed me, they cut their conversation short and focused entirely on me. Trying to keep my voice steady, I asked, "Good day, I'm Ladin, the new intern nurse. Where can I change?" Actually, I could guess the location of the staff room from the hospital layout, but I preferred to ask anyway out of corporate courtesy.

One of them pointed out the area, saying, "Welcome, dear, you can use the staff changing room right next door." I thanked her, left the room, and passed into the adjacent space. I took off my civilian clothes and put on my ironed, white hospital scrubs. After carefully folding my own clothes and placing them in my backpack, I took my blue ballpoint pen—which I always needed to keep on me—along with my phone and my wallet. I locked my bag in the locker, took my clinical logbook with me, and left the room.

After completing the first few hours of intense orientation and routine tasks in the clinic, I let myself sink into one of the empty chairs behind the information desk as exhaustion began to settle over me. I had gone on the first rounds with the senior nurses, and then I checked the patients' vital signs. I measured their blood pressure and temperature, recording them one by one onto the patient observation form arranged by room numbers. I left a few patients who were asleep at that moment for a later hour so as not to disturb their stable condition.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the slight vibration of the phone in my pocket. When I unlocked the screen, I saw a notification from our group chat.

° Research and Training Hospital - Interns °

İkren:

"Who is doing what? Give a sign."

Me:

"Finished the first round of routines, just sitting at the station."

İkren:

"I had one last patient left in the ward, I took their vitals and logged them into the system too. Now I've poured myself a strong tea, literally sprawling on the chair."

I left the group chat and browsed my social media account to unwind a bit. Twenty new follow requests and four messages had accumulated in my notification box. Without bothering to open the messages, I quickly scrolled past a few recent posts on the main feed and closed the app. I had never been too close to the digital world anyway.

As seconds turned into minutes, my eyes caught the small numbers reading 11:40 on the phone screen. It was time. I grabbed the list of patients whose blood sugar needed to be monitored and stood up; there were three patient profiles in this time slot. Noting their names and room numbers in my mind, I went to the medication preparation area. I prepared a kidney dish, alcohol swabs, a glucometer, and test strips, placing them on a tray. Deciding to start from the furthest room, I knocked gently on the door and walked in. "Hello, I'm here to check Ms. Fadime's blood sugar."

The patient’s daughter, who was staying as a companion by the bedside, stepped back to make room for me. I placed the kidney dish on the nightstand, put on my gloves, and inserted a test strip into the glucometer. I gently held Ms. Fadime’s hand and sterilized the tip of her right ring finger with an alcohol swab. I pressed the lancet device lightly against her finger and clicked the mechanism. After wiping away the first drop of blood with a dry cotton ball, I carefully touched the second small drop to the strip area at the tip of the device. Following a five-second countdown, the value appeared on the digital screen. I immediately saved the number in the notes section of my phone and left the cotton ball with the companion so she could press it against the patient's finger. "Get well soon," I said and left the room. I completed the measurements for the other two patients with the same composure, meticulously filling in the values in the empty boxes next to their names on the observation form at the station.

When I checked the time again, I saw it was 12:05. This time, I prepared the medication cassettes for patients who needed to take oral medication for the noon dose. I went on a tour inside the clinic, checking the barcodes on the boxes, room numbers, and patient wristbands one by one. I had just delivered the medication to the last patient when my phone vibrated in my pocket again.

Toprak calling...

He was probably trying to remind me that it was lunchtime. At that exact second, a faint growl from my stomach confirmed this prediction. My body had given the signal instantly.

I answered the call and brought the phone to my ear. "Yes, Toprak?"

"Are you done with your tasks?" he asked, his voice clear as always.

"Just stepped out of the last room."

"We're heading to the cafeteria with the team. Just letting you know."

"Okay, I'm coming," I said, ending the call. I placed the empty medication cassettes back onto the tray and walked toward the nursing station. "Nurse Rabia, can I go for lunch? My routines are complete."

Looking at me over her glasses, the senior nurse lifted her head from the file in her hand. "You may leave, Ladin. Enjoy your lunch."

I gave her a slight nod and stepped out through the automatic doors of the ward.

I arrived at the elevator bays and pressed the call button. Once the cabin arrived, I stepped inside and touched the button for the 9th floor. However, the elevator climbed up while stopping and starting at every single lower floor pressed by those who had boarded before me. Tolerating this vertical traffic in a massive hospital was truly a test of patience.

When the doors finally slid open, I stepped into the wide hall of the cafeteria. I grabbed a tray and loaded it with proper portions of the food prepared for the lunch menu; I added water and a packet of bread, then scanned the room. Our crew had settled at one of the wide tables in the very back row, discussing their first impressions of the morning over lunch. I headed that way and took my seat at the table.

I sat right across from Sarp and right next to Toprak in the empty chair. While focusing on my meal, I joined the ongoing professional conversation with short and direct sentences.

15:21

Sitting at the station desk in the clinic, I was sorting the medications to be given for the late afternoon dose according to room numbers and patient names. Working systematically like this always made things easier; otherwise, mixing up the cassettes would mean a huge waste of time.

Just as I finished all the preparation, Nurse Zehra reached my side. Together, we checked the treatment list one last time and filled the medication cart and trays with the final checks.

After placing the treatment for the last patient into their cassette, Nurse Zehra went into the station room. I secured the medication cart back into its place in the sterile area of the clinic and arranged the empty trays.

After putting some specific medications and IV sets newly delivered from the pharmacy unit into their places in the cabinets, I returned to the main room. Taking the daily patient list in my hand, I reviewed the profiles whose late afternoon vital signs I hadn't taken yet; there were five patients left. I took the manual blood pressure monitor and the stethoscope from the cabinet and visited the rooms in order. I recorded the values and filled out the observation form.

When my work was completely done, I put the equipment back into the clinic's cabinet, left the list on the table, and sank into one of the chairs with exhaustion.

Time flew by like water while actively working in the hospital, but the moment I became still, the minutes seemed like they wouldn't pass at all. One hour stretched out in the corridors as if it were ten hours, but I wasn't complaining about this hectic pace. I had always loved the unique, serious, and sterile atmosphere of hospitals since my childhood.

I filled the remaining time sometimes by helping out with sudden clinical tasks, and sometimes by checking the notifications on my phone. Finally, when my shift hours were up, I went to the staff room. I took off my scrubs and put on my cream-colored linen set, quickly fixed my hair in the full-length mirror, and packed my belongings neatly into my backpack. I left the room, got official check-out permission from Nurse Rabia, and left the ward behind.

I pressed the elevator button, waited for the cabin to arrive, and stepped inside to go down to the ground floor. As the elevator slowly stopped at the busy floors again, I let my tired eyes wander across the metal walls of the cabin.

When the doors finally opened on the ground floor, I headed toward the main exit with quick steps. I slowed down when I came face-to-face with Toprak just past the turnstiles. Looking around, I asked, "Where are the others?"

"They left, come on, let's head to the car," he said. I nodded in agreement and started walking toward the parking area, keeping pace with his steps leading the way. Right at that moment, a gray prison transport vehicle parked a bit further down from the emergency entrance caught my attention. My eyes involuntarily shifted in that direction.

The heavy metal door of the vehicle opened, and inmates began to step down under gendarmerie escort. The group of about twenty people was being escorted into the building through the side path next to us under tight security measures. As they all passed in front of us one by one, I got hung up on the man stepping down from the last step. He was a man in his mid-twenties with sharp, chiseled facial features. His steps were heavy, but his posture was remarkably upright in defiance of those handcuffs. Right then, as if he felt my sharp gaze on him, he slowly turned his head toward me. His eyes locked directly into mine.

At that exact moment, the very same strange, heart-tugging palpitation I had felt at home this morning crashed into the center of my chest like a sledgehammer. My breath caught for a second; my brows furrowed slightly in response to this sudden reaction my body gave outside of my control. I almost brought my hand over my heart, but I forced myself to tighten up because I didn't want Toprak walking beside me to notice the situation and worry. Our steps had already come to a complete halt. Driven by a force I didn't know and couldn't explain with logic, I stood locked into those eyes. Right then, Toprak pulled me slightly to his left, behind his own back, in a reflexive move, which broke the spell in my mind and brought me back to my senses. When I broke my gaze from that stranger with great effort and turned to Toprak, I noticed that his jaw was clenched as he stared intently at the man I was looking at. Turning my eyes back to that inmate, I saw the right corner of his lips curl upward in a dangerous, faint smirk. With those eyes that looked as if they were shrouded in a dark mist, he scanned me, scanned us, for seconds. Behind that mist, somewhere deep down, lay a sinister yet very bright light.

Then, with a nudge from the two gendarmes beside him, they quickened their pace, passed us by, and headed toward the inmates' entrance of the hospital. That final, deep look the man left behind caused me to trap my breath completely in my chest. My eyes were still fixed on that cold doorway where he had just disappeared from my field of vision.

I could feel it. Even that unshakable logic inside me had gone quiet this time. This man was going to be the second major turning point of my life.