A bright light insists on shining directly into my eyes as I twist under my sheets, clinging to sleep. I reach out, aiming for the blackout curtains—thunk. My hand meets the cold, hard floor.
Perfect.
I whip my head toward the clock. 6:47 a.m.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What a fantastic way to start my first day as the newest pediatric attending at Bellevue.
I scramble up from the floor, legs tangled in a blanket, and dive toward the boxes labeled “clothes.” Was this really the moment I chose to abandon being Type A? My closet in San Francisco had labeled drawers: Going Out Tops, Casual Tops, Nice Scrubs, Favorite Scrubs. Now? Just vague, chaotic cardboard.
“Live and let go,” my therapist said. We’ll be unpacking that at our next session.
I glance at the clock again—6:55. Thirty-five minutes to get dressed and make it from Williamsburg to Bellevue. I dig through the box, flinging shirts and leggings over my shoulder until I spot my favorite shade of blue. Off go yesterday’s skirt and top, into the makeshift laundry basket (a.k.a., more cardboard), and I sprint to the bathroom.
Teeth brushed, face washed, hair pulled into a ponytail that barely qualifies as neat. I may be working on letting go, but thank God past-me had the foresight to move close to the subway—and pre-pack my work bag three days ago.
I reach Bellevue at 7:36—six minutes late for rounds.
As I turn the corner, I hear a familiar voice: “Ah, and there’s Dr. Manalo. She’ll be taking over now.”
Grace, my long-time mentor and friend, hands off the clipboard without missing a beat.
“So sorry, Grace. I really didn’t—” I start, keeping my voice low.
“El, dear, it’s fine. It’s six minutes. I just hope he was at least hot,” she says with a wink as she walks away.
“No, no, I was with Marisol—”
“I was kidding, Dr. Manalo,” she calls out. “Find me after rounds—I’ll give you the grand tour.”
I exhale. Deep breath. Showtime.
I turn to the cluster of residents gathered in the hallway. “Hi, everyone. I’m Dr. Estelle Manalo, your new general peds attending. I’m looking forward to working with you all—but since we’re already a little behind, let’s do rolling intros on the move. Who’s our first kiddo?”
A petite woman with red-rimmed glasses steps forward with a tentative smile. “First up is Claire Flores. Thirteen years old. Sore abdomen, severe nausea. Her guardian says it’s been gradually worsening over the past two weeks.”
“Got it. Thanks, Dr…”
“Hernandez, ma’am.”
“Thanks, Dr. Hernandez.”
I knock gently on the patient’s door. “Mind if we come in?”
A faint voice replies, “Yeah… that’s fine.”
“Hey there.” I smile at the young girl and gently shake her hand. I turn to greet her guardian—and freeze. I know those hazel-green eyes.
“Well, hello, Essie. Nice to see you again,” says Mateo, with that same cocky, sideways grin.
Of course.
I smile—awkwardly. “Uh huh… yeah. Nice to see you too, Mateo.”
He turns to his sister. “You’re in good hands, Claire-bear. Essie’s Mary’s best friend—and apparently, an amazing doctor.”
From behind me, I hear one of my interns whisper, “What if he’s the hot guy?” followed by a swift elbow from their neighbor.
I clear my throat. “Thank you, Mr. Flores.”
Turning to Claire, I soften my tone. “So, tell me what’s been going on, Claire.”