Medical Center.
After brushing past Dr. Montgomery, Adam was on his way to the ER when someone stopped him again.
"Adam!" Cristina called out, blocking his path. "How about I trade you a surgery for that favor I owe you?"
"What surgery?" Adam asked with a noncommittal grin.
"Foreign object removal from the intestines," Cristina pitched. "She swallowed four razor blades. Could lead to a perforated bowel and all sorts of infections. It's a solid case—not super rare, but good enough to cancel out that favor, right?"
"Nope," Adam said, shaking his head with a laugh. "But I'll do it for you for free. No extra favors owed."
"What?!" Cristina yelped.
"Come on," Adam shrugged. "You didn't think I'd miss the news about that female inmate who just got rushed in, did you? She's a triple murderer, locked up in solitary in some tiny dark cell.
"This isn't her first time swallowing blades to get a breather outside. It's totally normal to be freaked out by a patient that hardcore. I'll help you out."
"Damn it! So close!" Cristina clenched her fist in frustration before griping, "How do you know everything?"
"That's why you can't pull one over on me," Adam teased. "So, what do you say? I'll handle it for free—deal?"
"No way," Cristina shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to leave. "She said she doesn't kill doctors… at least no doctor's died by her hands yet."
"Keep your distance," Adam called after her.
A psycho who'd killed three people could snap and attack a doctor at any moment. What's one more murder? Another few hundred years tacked onto her sentence? She didn't care—her attitude was cocky as hell.
Adam had heard from a nurse that when the inmate arrived, she was practically giddy, yelling and calling everyone "baby" with this wild, unhinged energy that freaked people out. The nurses assigned to her were the unlucky ones who'd lost a draw. Even with her hands cuffed, they stayed as far away as possible while changing her dressings, terrified she'd lash out.
The inmate picked up on their fear and started bossing them around like they were her servants. The nurses just took it—too scared to push back.
Even Cristina, with her natural surgeon's calm and logic, couldn't pretend she wasn't rattled by this patient. Coming to Adam was the smart move. In the whole medical center, he was probably the only one who could handle her without blinking. But flipping it so he'd owe her a favor? Fat chance.
---
Noon.
Cafeteria.
"That guy you had with the pet rattlesnake was already nuts," George said, still amazed. "But I've got one that tops it—he keeps leeches as pets."
"What's the deal?" Adam asked, caught off guard.
"My patient's got multiple skin melanomas," George explained. "He's on biotherapy."
"With leeches," Adam realized.
"Yup," George groaned. "He says they helped him, so he wants to keep them and release them back into the wild someday."
"That's pretty tame, actually," Adam chuckled. "Could've been for some weird, creepy reason."
Just then, Cristina walked over, frowning.
"What are you staring at?" she snapped as Adam gave her a once-over.
"No missing parts—looks like you got lucky today," Adam quipped.
"She's fearless," Cristina complained. "We told her the surgery risks, and all she did was yell for mint chocolate chip ice cream."
"And the crazier she acts, the more freaked out you guys get, right?" Adam hit the nail on the head.
"No kidding," Cristina said, exasperated. "You didn't see the nurse taking care of her—legs shaking so bad she's been to the bathroom like five times already."
"Here's a thought," Adam said with a grin. "If every prisoner pulled stunts like her, wouldn't that tank our healthcare system in no time?"
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"Obviously," Cristina nodded after a pause. "With that many inmates doing this, we'd never keep up."
"Do you know how much taxpayer money a single prisoner burns through every year?" Adam asked.
"How much?" George piped up, curious.
"Sixty grand per head," Adam said, smirking. "They can casually call up a pricey ambulance, roll into the hospital, boss us around—and in some ways, they're living better than us interns."
"Pfft!" George nearly spat out his drink. "Sixty grand?! That's, what, two of us to support one of them?"
"Wrong," Cristina corrected. "You make, what, thirty-something grand a year? Your taxes are only a few thousand. It takes over a dozen of you, working your butts off, to fund one of them—and that's not even counting when they pull stuff like this and hog rare medical resources."
"No way," George said, jaw dropping.
"Why not?" Cristina pressed. "If one prisoner costs sixty grand in public funds, build a few more prisons, lock up more people, and suddenly thousands of middle-class elites are slaving away for them.
"Eating slop, no days off, raking in billions.
"Why do you think private prisons are popping up everywhere? They wouldn't be booming if there wasn't cash in it."
"Heh, now you get it," Adam laughed. "They say doctors and lawyers are the ultimate middle-class jobs. But four years of undergrad, four years of med school, six or seven years as a resident—it takes fourteen or fifteen years to hit that middle-class life.
"Only then does our 'income and spending power' start catching up to the convicts. Pretty hilarious when you think about it."
Interns and residents don't make much. It's only when you hit attending that the real money kicks in—and even then, it depends on your skills or how well you play the game.
"That's not how it works…" George muttered, shaking his head, unwilling to buy this wild take. "We've got freedom—they don't…"
"What freedom do you have as an intern?" Cristina cut in. "Prisoners get yard time every day. When we're slammed, we don't even have time to eat or pee."
"…" George went silent, totally deflated.
This hit him hard. He'd worked his tail off to become a doctor and was damn proud of it—usually looking down a bit on his brothers, a mailman and a mechanic. But after Adam and Cristina broke it down like this, that pride took a dent.
Sure, the comparison wasn't perfect. Survive the grind, and his life would keep getting better while the prisoners' got worse. But for some reason, he just felt… bummed out.
"I hear some surgery junkies get so into it they wear diapers to the OR," Cristina said, veering off-topic with a dreamy look. "I hope one day I'm that hardcore—living in the operating room…"
Leave it to her to take it to extremes just to save time.
"Adam, when that day comes, it'll be way easier for me than you," she teased.
"No way," Adam said, twitching. "I've got my bladder under control. No matter how busy surgery gets, I'm good."