The next day.
Medical Center.
Green Clinic.
"Adam, you're on rounds today," said resident physician Sydney, assigning the task.
"Got it," Adam replied with a nod.
"There's definitely gonna be some good cases today," bald Chris muttered under his breath.
"No case beats mine," chubby white guy Stu said with a sleazy grin. "Plastic surgery's got a breast augmentation lined up today. It's a small step for me, but a giant leap for some Hollywood starlet's happiness."
"You're so into it, why don't you just get your girlfriend an extra one while you're at it?" Chris teased. "Bigger and more— you'd be in heaven."
"Great idea!" Stu didn't get mad; his eyes lit up instead. He rubbed his double chin, thought for a second, then clapped his hands in delight. "Put the extra one right in the middle. Then…"
He stretched out both hands, mimicking some crude move straight out of a cheesy comedy, his head bobbing side to side. The whole vibe was so skeevy that everyone winced, promptly scattering to avoid dealing with the over-the-top creep.
Sure enough, once rounds started, Adam saw Chris wasn't wrong. There was a solid case today.
"Give me the rundown," Leonard said as he arrived for work and joined the rounds, nodding at Adam.
"17-year-old female, admitted for nonstop bleeding after a root canal. She's showing heart murmurs linked to a fever. Antibiotics brought her temperature back to normal," Adam reported.
"Your diagnosis?" Leonard asked.
"She might need a heart valve replacement," Adam said. "But since she's showing hemophilia symptoms, we should add a clotting test to see if she can handle blood thinners and an artificial valve."
"Good call. Contact her parents and get the tests started," Leonard instructed.
"My parents are here at the hospital," the girl piped up, her tone dripping with sass. "Probably at the cafeteria right now. My weird dad's obsessed with the hospital buffet."
"Alright, reach out to them," Leonard said with a nod before heading off.
Adam got in touch with the girl's parents and set up her tests. Time flew by, and soon it was noon.
Hospital cafeteria.
The crew gathered around for lunch as usual.
"Why's it so quiet?" Liz asked, jutting her chin toward Alex, who was sitting alone at a table with no one daring to join him.
Normally, news zipped through the hospital like wildfire—especially after last night's bombshell. Once word got out that Alex was basically Patient Zero in this syphilis mess (think Kung Fu Panda-style "master of offense and defense"), anyone infected despised him. Those who dodged the bullet kept their distance. Even the few who shared his reckless vibe and wouldn't mind hanging out were too paranoid about people assuming they'd been "conquered" by him.
So there he was, Alex, hogging a whole table to himself, totally isolated. His nickname had evolved from "jerk" and "demon" to straight-up "trash." Vivid, loaded, and right on the nose.
"Heard the chief's tied up with something and won't be around for a few days," Christina said, always in the know. "Dr. Burke can't exactly go over the chief's head to the dean, so it's stalled out."
"Lucky break for him," Adam couldn't help but remark.
Stuff like this often fizzled out if it got delayed long enough.
"Come on, guys, don't be like that. We all started together," Meredith chimed in. She'd pulled an all-nighter on a surgery, followed by some quality time with her "McDreamy," leaving her hormones perfectly balanced and her mood sky-high. She was all about spreading the good vibes today and couldn't resist sticking up for Alex. "He's one of us. Yeah, he's got issues, but I believe there's more to him than the shallow, cold front he puts up…"
"Heh," Adam let out a snort, unable to hold it in.
"What's so funny?" Meredith shot him an annoyed look.
"Your speech—it's hilarious," Adam said, shaking his head with a grin. "What's next? You gonna say he's only shallow and cold because he had an unhappy childhood?"
"…" Meredith blinked, caught off guard, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, that's exactly what I think. It's not weird—I get it. I've always been a handful too, but look at me now, I turned out fine. People grow. We should give others some slack…"
"Heh," Adam chuckled again, cutting her off.
"Now what?" Meredith's face soured.
"I thought you were joking," Adam said, genuinely surprised.
"Which part sounds like a joke?" she snapped, frowning.
"All of it," Adam replied, still smiling. "'People grow, we should give others slack'? Sure, it sounds nice—real feel-good, chicken-soup-for-the-soul stuff. But don't forget, we're doctors. We hold patients' lives in our hands. If your 'growth' comes at the cost of a patient dying when they shouldn't have, why should they pay with their life just so you can heal from your sad little childhood? Who's the doctor here, and who's the patient?"
Say that to a patient or their family, and you'd get decked.
Part of why med school requires a bachelor's degree is to set a bar—keep out anyone too young or emotionally immature. Then you've got four years of school, plus seven years of residency, all to hone your skills and drill in the mindset of sticking to protocol. The goal? Minimize the chance of a patient suffering because of your personal baggage.
If you can't manage that, why should anyone pay you to treat them? If they're shelling out cash just to die pointlessly, they might as well skip the doctor and pray to God instead.
Meredith's words sounded warm and fuzzy, but her perspective was totally skewed.
Doctors do need room to grow—nobody's perfect, not even attendings. Mistakes happen. But some mistakes you just can't make. Some you can't forgive. Otherwise, what's the point of laws?
Take Alex. First off, the guy's got no ethics—telling an old lady she deserves to die, calling a tumor-ridden girl a disgusting freak who had it coming. Is that something a doctor should say? Hell, is that something a person should say? Then he's been negligent twice, nearly killing patients, and just laughs it off afterward with zero remorse.
And this guy gets a pass because of an "unhappy childhood" and a "fake" shallow, cold exterior? Give me a break.
Fake or not, doesn't matter! Like that old saying goes: "We don't care what you say, only what you do." Cure patients, and they'll thank you even if you're a sarcastic jerk. Fail at that and play the cold card? That's not an act—that's real. That's a problem.
If you've got a problem, get help. Don't use patients' lives as your personal therapy tool.
Then again, Adam remembered Meredith once dozed off and punctured a patient's heart—talk about a freak accident. So maybe today it's Alex, but tomorrow it could be her. Birds of a feather, right? Better to stay forgiving—after all, it's not her paying the price.
Meredith was speechless, floored by Adam's takedown.
Some things are easier done than said. Once you poke holes in the logic, unless you've got thick skin and can shrug it off—pretending it's all fake while everyone nods along or stays quiet—truth is truth, and wrong is wrong. No amount of fluffy platitudes can cover that up.
Meredith clearly wasn't at that level yet. She knew Adam was right, and she was wrong.