We’ve talked a lot about demoralisation amongst doctors, but I think it’s not always easy to understand. Because we do love our jobs and we do want to help people. We want to love our jobs. We all started off desperately wanting to be doctors, and many of us do actually enjoy the doctoring bit. So why are we all so down? I’ll try to give you a taste.
Imagine wanting to do something, to be someone so badly, that you spent your entire childhood and adolescence working singlemindedly towards it. You give it your everything, extra study, more tests, the works. Imagine being the smart kid at school, eager to work hard and impress, and being good at many things. Imagine being able to be nearly anything you could have wanted. Imagine spending the best years of your life stuck in revision whilst everyone around you was partying or dating or doing things that were fun. Imagine paying serious money for the privilege, and taking years out of your life to achieve it. Years studying. Years not working. Years of getting into debt when you could have been supporting yourself or your family. Imagine being so happy to graduate and finally be able to help people. Imagine your nervous, frenzied first attempts at being a doctor in the big bad world out there. Imagine the excitement of succeeding.
Imagine missing friends’ weddings and relatives’ funerals because there was nobody else who could be there to keep your patients safe. Imagine having to make countless excuses to friends and to family and to partners. Imagine all the dates who decided “this is just too… complicated for me. Sorry.” Imagine losing touch with friends because you were always moving, always busy, and always tired. Sometimes they will understand, sometimes they won’t. Imagine all your friends working reasonable hours, earning a decent
amount and having time to actually have some semblance of a life. Imagine rarely being able to see even the ones that understand and love you for who you are. Imagine starting to forget what it’s like to have a hobby or do something that isn’t work. Imagine starting to forget who you are, where your role ends and where your personhood begins.
Imagine working long days and silly shifts only to come home and head straight for your books. For exams you struggle to pay yourself. Imagine being a single parent, and having to wonder whether you can afford to do this job because it’s so hard to get childcare. Imagine hearing your child say “You’re never home. I miss you” nearly every day. Imagine your partner telling you that you seem to be working more and more lately. Imagine feeling that you are neglecting your own loved ones in trying to keep everyone else’s safe. Imagine fearing that you will end up resenting the job you love, because it will have taken so much from your life.
Imagine feeling forced to work another last minute shift because there was literally nobody else. Imagine gradually finding that more and more, every day was short staffed and busy. Imagine feeling that you aren’t giving your best care because you are stuggling just to get the urgent things done and keep patients safe. Imagine skipping meals and lack of sleep so often that it becomes normal. Imagine feeling like you can’t take sick leave because there is nobody else to kee people safe. Imagine things getting busier and busier until work is a nearly constant grind and you barely have time to think. Imagine nearly every day being a ‘major incident’. Imagine increasing pressure from all your colleagues. Imagine feeling unsupported by your seniors or your colleagues on a regular basis. Imagine being left to deal with difficult situations on your own. Imagine how hard it is to deal with grave situations, and how emotionally draining and heartbreaking it can be.
Imagine patients and relatives who don’t see the pressure you are under. Imagine those who scream, yell, demand things are done right away or threaten to sue. Imagine those who are verbally abusive or violent. Imagine the ones that make all your colleagues cry, and from whom you have to hide your tears. Imagine how often your colleagues never report abuse because they don’t feel that they can. Imagine a context where failings are subjected to ‘trial by media’ and individuals are vilified, but the systemic failings which caused mistakes to happen are neither acknowledged nor addressed. Imagine a culture where doctors are under duty by the GMC to whistleblow, but given no legal protection if they do so.
Imagine all your colleagues talking about considering leaving the
profession. Imagine your colleagues who have already left telling you
life is much better abroad or outside of medicine. Imagine nearly every speciality reporting recruitment shortages, bad morale and overwork. Imagine knowing that you are twice as likely to suffer from mental health problems or suicide.
Imagine becoming more and more afraid that you will slip up due to tiredness. Imagine fearing the impact that this could have on your patients and their families, and how you might live with yourself. Imagine knowing that if you did, you would probably lose your job, but the employers and those who caused those conditions to happen would face no consequences. Imagine having to talk close friends off the ledge. Not just once, but on a regular basis. Imagine knowing that some people don’t succeed. Imagine knowing that this will only get worse if things deteriorate.
Imagine your boss saying that you’re not doing enough. Imagine them saying that you all need to work more days. Imagine them saying that there just need to be more cuts. Imagine your employer having already cut so many things that everyone is always struggling. Imagine a context where services are not appropriately funded, and then
individuals working within are blamed for predictable shortcomings which
could have been avoided with appropriate funding and safeguards.
Imagine fearing that instead of proper investment, those whose job it is
to look after your healthcare system may be trying to privatise it for
profit. Imagine wondering if your patients and your children will be
able to afford healthcare in the future.
Imagine your boss taking the safeguards away which limit how much time your employer can make you work. Imagine your boss reducing pay for the agency staff who are filling empty posts and keeping things afloat. Imagine being expected to work more hours, more weekends for less pay. Imagine the constant pressure to see more patients in less time, and being given less resources to look after them. Imagine knowing that you will probably work far longer than any rostered hours. Imagine knowing that your senior colleagues are fighting a similar battle and their conditions may be similarly affected. Imagine finding out how many of them can’t wait to retire, and remembering the days when doctors used to love working late into life. Imagine realising that you may not win this battle.
Imagine your boss telling everyone they just don’t understand why you are all demoralised and telling everyone that you’re actually getting a pay rise and less hours. Imagine the public believing the lies. Imagine the media believing that everyone is demoralised because the union is telling us to be. Imagine the public telling you that you knew what you were getting into. Imagine the public telling you that you are overpaid, greedy, lazy, incompetent and ought to shut up and get back to work. Imagine the public telling you that the way your profession have chosen to voice your concerns (striking) is unacceptable, but not listening to any of the other ways your colleagues have tried to engage them. Imagine hearing over and over again that the system, which is underfunded compared to every other Western country, is ‘unsustainable’ when this is not true.
Imagine just wanting to do your job and help people, but feeling bogged down in difficulties that should never be a part of your job. Imagine loving being a doctor but hating what it has become. Imagine fearing that situations may get so bad that you too may be forced to leave for your own sanity and health.
Summary: after pulling a muscle on a mission, you need to stretch out your leg while working out. But you need help to do so. There’s only one person around to help.
Word Count: 2595 (I got carried away!)
Warnings: language + references to smut + angst
A/N: I have so much unfinished hw and I’m writing a fanfic. honestly I should just drop out I can’t anymore w school. anyway, enjoy 💛
“That bad?” Wanda says, chuckling breathlessly. I shake my head. A familiar pain strikes through my thigh and I wince. Wanda looks at me in concern. “Stop.” she says. I look at her for a moment, almost limping on the treadmill, before pressing the “Stop” button and letting the conveyer belt slow to a halt. She finishes her own as well, wiping the sheet of sweat off her forehead.
“He literally ate his rice with his hands.” I sigh. Wanda raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know when the dating pool shrunk to all the losers.” I shake my head.
“Well, don’t take it out in your workout.” she says. “At least not until your muscle has healed.” I roll my eyes. “Doctor’s orders!” she says impatiently. I stick my tongue out at her and she smiles. “Well, I’m done anyway. Tony organized a dinner.” I tilt my head.
“Tony did something nice? What’s the catch?” I say. She shrugs.
“I think Pepper kinda forced him to. He said something about bonding, and I knew there was no way he had decided to do this on his own account.” I smile, shaking my head. “I’m gonna go clean up. Make sure to be down by seven.” I nod and bid her farewell. “And please take it easy on the workout.” she says, exiting the gym.
I bite my lip and turn around, looking for the next thing to do. After a moment, I decide to work on my combat by the punching bags. I cover my hands first so I don’t hurt myself, then begin punching at the sand bag, grunting with each blow. I use my left leg to kick, keeping use of my right minimal, like my doctor said to. My elbows strike the bag over and over, letting out my pent up anger. My stupid muscle was keeping me from going on the missions. I’m stuck in the compound and the best thing I can do is watch Netflix. I’m dead weight until my leg heals, and there’s no telling when that will be. My mind goes back to the first time I had to sit out on an assignment, five days ago.
We were about to leave for a mission, practically walking out the door as we finished gearing up. It had been a day since my doctor told me I hurt my leg. I was limping slightly, as the pain had turned into a dull ache. I pull on my jacket and look around at my teammates. Everyone is preparing, tucking guns into their jeans, putting in earpieces. I notice Bucky looking at me for a moment, but I don’t give it any notice, because he soon calls Steve over to him. I return to my prep, sliding a small dagger into my boot. I turn around, ready to leave, and nearly crash straight into a chest. My feet stumbled back and my eyes meet Steve’s concerned ones.
“What?” I say, furrowing my eyebrows. He folds his arms and looks down at my leg.
“I think you should maybe sit this one out, Y/N.” he says firmly. I stare at him incredulously.
“What?” I say, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine, Steve. I can handle myself.” He purses his lips.
“And if you can’t?” I tilt my head at him.
“I’m trained, Steve. I can handle a leg.” I say, looking at him stubbornly.
“I can’t risk you getting caught out there. You know they’ll take advantage of any of our weaknesses.” I step back.
“I’m a weakness?” I ask. He shakes his head.
“You know that’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I exhale sharply, looking around at everyone else. Nat’s lips are pursed, looking at me identically to the way Steve is. Everyone has stopped what they’re doing to tune into the conversation, looking at me like I’m a child. Everyone except Bucky.
“You gotta be kidding me.” I say, setting my gaze on each one of them.
“He’s right, Y/N.” Tony says, his voice muffled by his suit. “It won’t help anyone if your leg acts up and you fall on your ass. That’s bad enough, now add the responsibility of innocents and the threat of HYDRA.” My nose flares, because I know they’re right. I silently throw off my jacket and limp back to the elevator.
“Y/N!” someone yells from behind me. I snap out of my thoughts and stop beating the bag in front of me, turning around. Bucky is standing by the Dumbbells, concern obvious on his face. “Are you alright?” he says. I breathe heavily and look down at my wrapped feet, wondering how long he was calling me for.
“Fine.” I mutter, turning back to the punching bag. I feel his eyes burning into the back of my head and huff. Great, I think, now I can’t concentrate. I straighten my posture and swallow, still knowing that he’s watching me. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I begin punching again, trying to keep from making any grunts of effort. I’m back into a routine, this time not out of anger, but out of genuine focus. I’m in the zone, pretending to deface a HYDRA junkie, making him call for his mom. I get too excited, because I jump up and do a 360, sticking out my leg—my right leg—to kick in midair. My hamstring protests, causing a jolting pierce to run up my leg. I yelp and fall to the ground, landing on my knee. “Shit.” I mutter. From the other side of the gym, I hear something falls and footsteps approach.
“Y/N?” Bucky says. “What’s wrong?” I wince and pull my legs out from underneath me, laying them out,
“Uh, hurt my leg.” I groan. His brows furrow in worry.
“How bad?” he says, his eyes darting around my leg. He sits down on his knees beside me, his hands frozen in the air, unsure of where to go.
“Think I disturbed the healing or something. Doctor kind of expected it to happen, considering I work in combat.” I sigh, the pain not subsiding.
“What can I do?” Bucky says hesitantly. There is already a polite decline leaving my mouth when I cut myself off. Shit. My face visibly shows me cringing at the words I have to say.
“Uh… My doctor said to do an exercise.” I mumble, looking down at my lap.
“What is it?” Bucky says. I sigh and run my hand over my face.
“I have to lie down and keep my legs straight, and, uh, another person has to lift my leg up really slowly and to stop when it starts to hurt. And, um, keep doing that until I can get my leg to a 90 degree angle.“ I breathe. Bucky itches the back of his neck. “You don’t have to—”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not just gonna leave you here.” he says. I keep from gritting my teeth. I kinda wish you would. It would save an incredible amount of awkwardness.
“Um. Ok.” My face turns hot as I lie down on my back with my hands at my sides. Bucky shuffles over, still sitting on the ground.
“Right leg?” he asks. I nod, watching my chest rise and fall. He gets up and leans down, taking my ankle in his hands. My breath nearly hitches at the contrast of his cold metal hand and his humanly warm flesh one. It makes goosebumps rise on my entire body. His eyes meet mine as he stands back up slowly, taking my leg with him. I internally throw profanities at myself for deciding to wear gym shorts. What’s wrong with sweats, huh? “Tell me when it hurts.” Bucky says quietly. I bite down nervously on my bottom lip. He slowly lifts my leg up, the movement of his fingers on my skin making my legs clench, which is infuriating because it makes my thigh hurt. Every move he makes, I can feel it like I’m watching it. But all I can see is my own chest and most of Bucky’s face. He looks right at me, watching for any sign of pain. Once my leg has reached the same height as wear I imagine his belly button would be, I wince and bend my knee for a split second. Bucky re-straightens it, skimming his flesh hand to my kneecap and gently pushing it down. He kneels back to the floor and sets my leg on the ground without letting go of it. He rises again, slowly, making his way back up. My fingers are digging into the mat underneath me, begging for this to be over before I do something stupid. I try to stare up at the ceiling, but it’s so difficult when I know I could be staring to his marble-like eyes instead. And that’s precisely what I do. My leg reaches his chest before the back of my thigh stretches painfully. I narrow my eyes and breathe in sharply.
“Um, it hurts.” I whisper. He stops and proceeds to repeat the protocol, kneeling and rising. The only times my eyes leave his are when they disappear behind my chest, setting my ankle down. The process repeats four more times, dead silence consuming the gym. The only sounds are my erratically beating heart, my murmurs telling him that my leg hurts, and my foot gently touching the floor. On the last time, my leg is nearly there, and when he takes a step closer to me to reach my leg easier, I nearly stop breathing. He’s towering over me, his orbs staring at me softly. He smiles slightly.
“There we go.” he says. I look at my leg and realize that it’s reached the 90 degree angle. I open my mouth, then close it. His hands roam down the back of my shin as he backs up and lays my limb back on the floor, reaching an arm out to help me up. I slowly lift my hand and take his flesh one, letting him haul me off the ground. We’re standing unbearably close, is hand on my forearm.
“Thank you.” I whisper, looking down. He nods his head and slides his hand back the way it came, down my wrist, through my hand, lightly applying pressure on my fingertips before stepping away. I take a long breath in before beginning to walk. I don’t let the breath out until I’ve safely reached my room, locking it and collapsing onto my bed.
I only have about twenty minutes to get ready for dinner, so I take an impossibly quick shower—desperately trying to wash away the tingling on my right leg— and change into a pair of dark skinny jeans and a cream colored blouse. I brush my hair and leave it down to air dry, as I don’t have time to do it. I get out of my room just in time and head down the lounge. It’s modern and sleek with grey couches and smooth wooden floors. On the other end of the room, there’s a mountain of food neatly placed on the board glass dining table. The food is surrounded by empty dinner plates and cutlery. The rest of the team have just made it, talking to one another and taking their seats. I can’t help but smile. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t blame them for keeping me off the missions. I feel grateful that they care about me enough to put my safety before the given assignment. Nat notices me standing at the entrance of the room and smiles, gesturing for me to approach. I do, greeting everyone in a friendly manner as I take a seat between Sam and Clint, breathing in the sweet scent of fresh food and laying a towel out on my lap. Most of it hasn’t been uncovered yet, still blanketed with a silverware dome. Chatter echoes around the table, but I stay silent, watching the plates being uncovered by outstretched hands, taking in the sight. Rice, ribs, steak, pasta. Every dinner food I can think of is stretched out on the table. I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I look over to Sam, whose looking at me mischievously. I narrow my eyes. “What?” I ask testingly. He smiles and props his cheek on his knuckles.
“I saw quite the sight earlier.” he says quietly. My eyebrows knit into a confused frown. “I saw you,” he pauses, “gettin’ all touchy with Barnes in the gym.” My eyes widen. I hear an irritating clink behind and look over to see Barton has dropped his glass of champagne. It leaks all over the glass, but no one seems to notice. He’s staring at Sam with his eyes wide. My head whips back to Sam and I give him a deadly glare. He doesn’t even look at me, but instead smiles at Clint.
“You had a thing with Barnes?” he says. I close my eyes at the volume of his voice and nearly off myself right there. The chatter at the table comes to an abrupt halt at the sentence. I’ve never been happier to not have Bucky at the table.
“No,” I croak, “I didn’t.” Tony giggles like a child. My eyes fly open and I look at him testingly. “I didn’t.”
“Then what the hell did I see?” Sam says. I swallow and look down.
“I hurt my leg. He was helping me stretch.” I say quietly. Tony makes an uh-hu and I grit my teeth.
“Stop.” I say. Sam and Tony have childish smirks on their faces that I wish I could punch clean off. Everyone else looks at me with raised eyebrows or widened eyes. “Nothing happened.” I mumble. Sam shrugs.
“Here he comes. We’ll just ask him ourselves.” Tony says. My breathing pattern disorients as I look behind me to see Bucky coming through the hall, shaking out his wet hair like a dog. I want to sink back into my chair and become one with it, completely out of sight and finished with this situation. “Hey, Barnes, what were you doing with Y/N in the gym?” Tony says. I barely look at him, just enough to see his face. He raises an eyebrow.
“Working out?” he says, like its the only possible thing that could’ve happened. I mean, it is. Of course it is.
“That’s not what I saw.” Sam says, tilting his head at Bucky. I feel a lump form in my throat as Bucky looks at me in confusion.
“She hurt her thigh. I was helping her stretch.” he says, squinting.
“Mmhhmm.” Tony says. “I bet you help her stretch all the time.” I stiffen, looking around the table. Clint, Sam, and Tony giggle profusely. Steve is tugging at his lips to keep a smile from reaching them. Wanda and Nat look at me in surprise. I breathe in and look down, suddenly disheartened.
“You know what, guys?” I say quietly, standing up and folding the towel on the table. “Have a great dinner.” I push my chair out with the back of my knees. The boys aren’t laughing anymore. The table’s eyes are on me. I shuffle out of the chair and turn around, walking past Bucky, brushing his shoulder and trying not to stare at his concerned face. My feet thump, carrying me back to my room, locking the door and sitting on the end of my bed, a sigh escaping my lips.
After all the shit C!Heavy gave Medic in the last chapter it was only a matter of time until the doctor would strike back and show the other guy that he is not a useless nurse, but a real mercenary.
When C!Heavy goes looking for Medic he still underestimates him and doesn’t suspect him to show any resistance, let alone oppose or fight him. He completely lets his guard down and gets punished right away.
However, it seems that Medic is guilty of underestimating his opponent as well. He is outright shocked when C!Heavy survives an Ubersaw hit right into the guts - an injury that would have certainly killed any normal person.
After losing the element of surprise Medic can’t do much to defend himself. In unarmed combat he is, of course, at a clear disadvantage.
Luckily Medic isn’t alone in this fight. Heavy shows up to help his old friend and points his gun right at C!Heavy’s head.
But the old mercenary isn’t dumb. He wouldn’t have survived that long if he didn’t have something up his sleeve.
C!Heavy has studied the people he was hired to kill. So he knows that his opponent possesses a certain sense of honour and isn’t the type of person to gun down a (seemingly) unarmed enemy on his knees.
Heavy falls for the trick and naively drops his weapon to fight the other man in a fair, unarmed battle.
From the previous chapters we know that Heavy is very loyal and has a strong sense of protecting the people he cares about.
We don’t know what Medic’s sentiments are (it’s pretty unlikely that his insane, disturbed mind is even capable of things like genuine affection or friendship), but -
even though we have barely seen them interacting with each other off the battlefield up until now - in this chapter it becomes obvious that Heavy considers Medic not only a comrade, but a close friend.
Keep all those things in mind. And now imagine what goes through Heavy’s head when his enemy tricks him, pulls out a gun and shoots Medic right in the chest. In this moment Heavy must feel unbelievably guilt-ridden: He could have easily killed the enemy who threatened his friend, but instead he lowers his weapon to give him a fair chance to fight back - which the other one shamelessly takes advantage of.
This scene is crucial for another reason as well.
You know why I main both Medic and Heavy in the game? Because I feel they are the two classes that require and encourage the most amount of teamwork. On their own they’re easy prey, but together they’re nearly unstoppable.
C!Heavy knows that as well, since he’s had a “symbiosis” like that himself in the past. But now he doesn’t have a Medic to back him up and support him anymore. So he decides to get rid of his enemy’s irreplaceable combat partner as well.
Heavy completely snaps and begins to beat him to a pulp. When C!Heavy realises he’s going to lose, he uses yet another dirty trick, gaining an unfair advantage over his enemy. Powered up and regenerated by the Australium he completely turns the tables.
But fortunately that’s not the end of it: Medic bullshits his way back to life just in time before his comrade gets strangled to death.
With his insane and more than disturbing speech he is able to distract C!Heavy long enough for Heavy to recover and end the fight. Good riddance!
I admit I initially wanted Medic to kill C!Heavy all by himself, so that the fans would finally realise that the doctor is not a wimp and pushover.
But I think this is an even better conclusion to the battle because it emphasizes the roles of the two classes/characters: It shows that teamwork prevails.
Medic dealt two strong hits to C!Heavy, but unlike his opponent Medic is primarily a (mad) scientist, not a warrior. He can fight, sure, and is certainly stronger than the average person, but the only one capable of winning a 1v1 fight against a Heavy is another Heavy. In the end, however, Heavy could not have won the battle if Medic hadn’t used his wits to save him last minute.
They helped each other, worked together and eventually triumphed together. Because these two act as a team, not lone warriors.
I hope to see them kicking some more ass in the final chapter and whatever comes next! >:D
I’d hardly collected all my medical supplies and disembarked
from the ship, and already I could hear that my ‘team’ were at it. Not this again, I thought, sighing at
length. I’d just about had it with all their senseless bickering.
“Fancy seeing you
here,” Tracer didn’t sound at all happy about discovering who else had been
assigned to our mission. “I thought spiders preferred dark and damp
environments. You know, like toilets.”
Widowmaker—who was actually keeping mostly to herself today,
I thought—looked equally as unimpressed to be grouped up with Tracer. “I
wouldn’t expect you to know anything about ‘damp’,” she fired right back, “You
haven’t been near anything wet in your entire life.”
“Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, known to her friends as Reinette. One of
the most accomplished women who ever lived.”
“So, that Doctor, eh?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well. Madame de Pompadour. Sarah Jane Smith. Cleopatra.”
“Cleopatra. He mentioned her once.”
“Yeah, but he called her Cleo.”
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m very afraid. But you and I both know, don’t we, Rose, the
Doctor is worth the monsters.”
“We can’t fly the Tardis without him. How’s he going to get back?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m always alright.”
Rose woke with a start and
blinked tears out of her eyes, the Doctor’s heartbroken posture and expression
still swimming in her vision, the very picture of loss. After a few seconds, though, her sympathy
started being drowned out by an intense rage at everything that happened in the
dream before that, leading to that.
He’d left her and Mickey in a
stupid abandoned spaceship for some french bird who had called Rose a child! Of all the stupid…always had to show off,
Rose knew that about him, but he left! And just after saying that wouldn’t happen to
her, too, the bloody liar. Yeah,
alright, maybe she wasn’t “one of the most accomplished women who ever lived”,
but she bloody well deserved better than that!
A tiny voice in her head told
her she was being ridiculous, that it was just a dream, but she ignored it as
she shoved her covers aside and stomped out into the hall. She’d had a niggling worry about the firmness
of her relationship with the Doctor since the school, no matter how good of
terms she’d ended on with Sarah Jane, and it felt good to be angry instead of
just nervous and uncertain. For the
moment, anyway, she was fully willing to embrace that, no matter how ludicrous
and unfounded it was.
After her trip to the pokey, Arizona will return to a Grey Sloan in turmoil as new doctor, and potential love interest, Eliza Minnick faces a rough first day at the hospital.
Eliza (Marika Dominczyk) was brought in to essentially replace Richard (James Pickens Jr.) as the head of the intern program, which did not sit well with many of the doctors, who seemed poised to strike over her arrival. That makes things especially difficult for Arizona (Jessica Capshaw), who is in the really early stages of a flirtation with the new doc. Where will Arizona land in all of this? Capshaw weighs in:
ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: What can you tease for Eliza and Arizona’s budding relationship? JESSICA CAPSHAW: There’s something that I really, really love about a quasi or demi-forbidden relationship, and we have the makings of that. Arizona is in a tricky position, because here comes the first woman in a while that makes her feel a certain way, feel flirted with and excited and feel flirty back, but also sort of pisses her off. All that stuff is made of a great TV or movie relationship, where you see them bickering but in a way that’s flirty and sexy as opposed to aggressive or mean. She has that, but at the same time, she feels a bit fettered by the fact that Richard is her wingman; that’s her friend. I think she knows that Eliza hasn’t come in to get rid of Richard, but she’s obviously upsetting the apple cart by illuminating the ways that Richard might be coming up short as the interns’ teacher. It’s conflicting for her to feel the way she does about Eliza and be excited about it. It’s not like she loves her, so she’d give up everything for her; it’s just the promise of something and the beginning of something. It’s hard for her to figure out whether or not she should allow herself to have this minute of flirty fun or if she should just completely say, “No, I’m sorry. You’re here to displace my friend, and I can’t have anything to do with you.”
Where does Arizona fall when everyone’s trying to make Eliza’s first official day at the hospital a living hell? In the beginning, she falls with the, “Get out of my way!” Eliza tries to get into her OR, and she’s like, “Not at all, not a chance, not even close, you’re not going to be a part of this.” In the beginning, she certainly tries — I don’t know how wholeheartedly she tries — to get her to back off. She tries to stay true and loyal to Richard and to make Eliza feel as unwelcome as possible.
With the hospital divided, are we looking at a potential strike? I don’t think we’re looking at a strike — well, maybe a strike on certain friendships, but not a full-blown hospital strike. Once it’s revealed where people lie in all of it, there’s definitely some relationships that hang in the balance. It’s the question we all ask ourselves in our own personal lives: If you have to ask if someone is for you or against you, it’s usually not for you. You have to pick which side of the line to be on sometimes. It’s less gray here, pun intended, because you’re either for Eliza coming in and displacing Richard, or you’re for Richard staying and Eliza going. That’s the problem, and obviously, it complicates a lot of relationships.
How do you think this relationship will be different from her one from Callie (Sara Ramirez)? How do you think Arizona is different going into it? I thought about that a lot. I think the thing that’s really interesting and different, and creates a different starting point for Eliza and Arizona, is that when Callie and Arizona met, Callie wasn’t even actually completely knowing that she was interested in being in a relationship like that. I don’t think she was fully formed yet. There were those early scenes where Callie goes to ask Arizona out again, and Arizona is like, “No, you know what, I’m so sorry, you’re new to all of this. You’re feeling like this is exciting, and yay, but I want to be with someone who’s really ready for this.” That would be what Eliza is. I think there’s no question about Eliza’s sexuality. Eliza is a fully formed, ready-to-go woman who has a career, a life, an understanding of who she is, so she decides she wants to go after Arizona, and it’s very clear; there’s no wishy-washiness. It’s very self-actualized. I think there’s something kind of different and exciting about that, because they’re starting from a point that there’s no deficit, there’s no wishy-washiness. “You, I like you.” There’s something kind of freeing about that and exciting in a way that is fresh and new for Arizona, or Arizona on the show.
We got a bit of info on Arizona’s daughter being on the other side of the country, but will we hear a little more about what’s going on with Callie and Sofia in upcoming episodes? You know what, I have no idea. I could sneak into the writers’ bungalow and install a listening device, and maybe I’d know more. Where I think that I’ve landed — and I don’t know if this would be backed up, but it probably would by Shonda [Rhimes] and the writers — I know that I chose to stay in the place that feels the yummiest and the most comfortable, which is thinking and imagining that there is this whole life happening in New York that includes Callie, Penny, and Sofia, and that it is robust, lovely, and supportive. So everything that Arizona is doing doesn’t feel compromised or conflicting because it’s all just love, love, love, and support. They’re just separated by geography now, not by a choice to not be together.
At my first medical school interview, they asked me if I think doctors should ever strike. It was a question that had come up on multiple lists of questions I’d been using to practice, but one that always seemed obscure to me. Of course they should, I said. But we should never allow it to get to that point where it’s necessary. Nobody wants to be in a position where the only possible chance of getting your point across involves such an extreme action. Because at the end of the day, it is extreme. The senior staff and the nursing staff and the support staff are able to handle it, as they do every time the juniors start a new hospital rotation, but it is an extreme action. Our own government have put us in a position where the only way to ensure your patients get adequate and safe care is to move to a country where the healthcare system is better organised.
Medicine is a unique profession in that it spans the line between employment and vocation. Many of those doctors on the picket line, and their medical student, nursing, and support colleagues have never wanted to do anything but medicine, myself included. The question before “should they strike?” in my interview was the classic “why do you want to do medicine?” and the answer, like the answer of so many others, was simply “I want to help people. To have the skills and knowledge and human ability to save and improve the lives of those who need it”.
This is not about money. The news can spread the “the government have given them a pay rise, this is just doctors being greedy” line all they like (ignoring the fact that changes to what is classed as overtime means that many doctors will be taking home less than they would now, despite the “pay rise”, and the fact that the government themselves have admitted that these changes are likely to disproportionately disadvantage people such as carers and new parents working part time roles). This is about the fact that without safeguards in place, and without employing more staff, the government’s hunt for a “7 day NHS” is going to force junior staff to work unsafe numbers of hours. This is going to hurt patients.
Striking will not hurt patients. There are doctors in the hospitals. In fact, the doctors in the hospitals today are more qualified than their junior colleagues. But this new contract will hurt both patients and doctors.
Of course I think doctors should strike. But I think it is so sad that we’ve reached a point where it’s necessary.
British Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt has proposed to cut weekend pay for the nation’s doctors. In response, the nation’s doctors have taken to Twitter with the #IAmTheDoctorWho hashtag, aiming to educate the public about why their work matters and give a face to the struggle. Why the government claims a weekend pay cut will actually save lives.
now how in the fuck did i ever miss this #drama -filled embrace?? this is a screenshot from a soap opera. drift has finally succumbed to the mysterious illness that’s had him coughing all season. ratchet cradles his lifeless body, pleading with the gathered crowd, “please, someone find him a doctor! he needs a doctor!” he’s forgotten that he’s the doctor. his mysterious amnesia strikes again.
will drift survive the night? will ratchet ever recover his old identity? who’s killing all these senators? and what’s going on with chromedome and prowl? find out next week on MTMTV’s Shadowplay