As soon as I entered the operating room, I realized I had discovered my calling. Becoming a surgeon transcended mere employment; it was a profound vocation. After years of intense training, countless sleepless nights, and unwavering pressure, I had finally secured my position as a fully qualified surgeon at one of the city’s most esteemed hospitals. It was all I had ever dreamed of.
Yet, in just one night, everything fell apart.
It was well past midnight when the ambulance doors opened wide. Paramedics hurried in, maneuvering a gurney with an unresponsive woman. She appeared pallid, her breaths were faint. “Blunt force trauma to the abdomen,” one of the paramedics announced. “Potential internal bleeding.” No identification, no coverage.
I examined her face—she appeared youthful, no more than forty, yet deep lines of hardship were carved into her sunken cheeks. A woman without a home.
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