The Devil Wears Scrubs (Dr. Jane McGill, #1)

by Freida McFadden

Jack is the closest thing I’ve got to a boyfriend. If it gets any more serious, I may have to introduce him to my mother.

She points to the white handle on the fork. “See this white handle? That means it’s mine.” “Got it,” I say. “Again, I’m really sorry.” She nods. “Just remember, the white handle means it’s mine.”

He winks at me. “Good luck, Medicine Intern.” I’m not entirely sure, but as I step into the stairwell, I think I hear him say, “You’re going to need it!”

Great. I’ve been this woman’s doctor for about five minutes and I’ve already made her cry.

The attending is a little like God: He knows all. He is never wrong. There’s only one of him. When he says to do something, it is done. If you screw up, he will unleash his wrath.

If there’s ever a seat available, there exists a very clear hierarchy of who may sit. First, the attending gets to sit. Then if there’s another seat, the senior resident can sit. Then if there’s another seat, someone can put their purse there. Then if there’s another seat, a homeless drug addict who wandered into the building can sit there. But after the attending, the resident, the purse, and the homeless guy are all settled, any available seats are all mine.

But after all, he’s the attending. And the attending is always right.

“Yes, Jean?” I’m Jean again, apparently. Whatever, let it go.

Hours awake: 8 Chance of quitting: 63%

Call is this horrible thing that happens to you when you’re a doctor. It essentially means that if there’s an issue with one of the patients, the nurses can “call” you. All night long, baby.

Illness is a treacherous dragon, breathing fire on innocent patients, and as a physician, I want to be the shining knight who battles that dragon and saves my patients’ lives.)

Holy crap. Sexy Surgeon is a complete asshole. Well, I guess that isn’t too huge a surprise.

“My pleasure, Medicine Intern,” he says. He may be cute, but if he calls me that one more time, I swear I’ll punch him in the face.

edentulous, which means he has little to no teeth—where his teeth used to be, there are only gaping red holes.

Emesis: Puke Epistaxis: Nosebleed Stool: Poop Dyschezia: Hurts to poop Hematochezia: Blood in poop

Hours awake: 5 Chance of quitting: 52%

Before our modern-day computers, people used calculators, and before that they used slide rules, and before that they used the abacus, and before that, they probably used this computer right here.

I look down at the form. There’s still no box for echocardiogram. I might cry. Hours awake: 17 Chance of quitting: 78%

“By the way,” Alyssa says to me. “Did you get those sticky notes yet?” Hours awake: 22 (give or take) Chance of quitting: 83%

Hours awake: A jillion Chance of quitting: 91%

Ryan Reilly, who has slept with every female in a ten mile radius, is about ten feet away from my bedroom and I am (let’s face it) practically salivating over him, and what does he do? Nothing! He doesn’t ravage me—he doesn’t even try to kiss me. I don’t get it. Maybe my breath smells? Maybe he decided my butt looks big? Maybe between the bar and here he turned gay?

“She’s right, Jen,” Dr. Westin says. “Listen to Alyssa. She knows a lot.” I hate everyone in this room.

In medicine, there is something known as the ROAD specialties, which is an acronym for the four specialties that have the best reimbursement to hours ratio. Basically, great lifestyle with lots of money. ROAD stands for: Radiology Ophthalmology Anesthesiology Dermatology

“Doing a guaiac”: Stick your finger in the patient’s rectum so you get some poop on your finger, smear the poop on a special card, and see if it changes color when you put a special solution on it, which would indicate the presence of blood.

“You’re treating half the hospital, aren’t you, Jan?” he says. And he’s getting ever closer to my real name too—only one letter left to go. Score! I shrug modestly.

I love you, Mr. Sanchez. Just for that, I’m giving you a few tablets of Percocet to go.