"Diagnose. Cut. Stitch. Heal. Repeat". -Meredith Grey

It's funny how fast time passes by when you're busy in the ER. From the moment you apply your scrubs, rinse off that last bit of heavenly soap residue from the length of your forearms, glove up, and grab hold of that cold scalpel with the width of your eager hands, you are God incarnate. You are untouchable. And you are the administrator of death and faultless miracles. It's not a time for second-guessing. So be brave, and move quickly with precision. Choose your cuts and equipment accordingly. Take a deep breath, and absorb the familiarity of your movements, because before you know it, soon the anesthetic will wear off and it all will be over.

The doctor's oath forbids you from sharing every blissful detail of your accomplishments with everyone you meet; but the bloodied up pile of cotton gauze and soft applause that erupts as you exit the room is usually a pretty good indicator of how well you did, or how your week will end up mapping itself out. And as it goes, it usually takes awhile for that excitement to fizzle out. I mean, if you're Jesus, it's pleasant when you see that your face has been appearing in grilled cheese sandwiches for others to fawn over outside of the confines of the church. But when you're a doctor, it's even better when you get to express that your work was a success to a sea of inconsolable friends and lovers in the surgical waiting room. There is this unfathomable high that comes to you in those moments when you are wrapped in warm hugs and gratitude from someone that sees you as a savior, and not merely a mortal. Nothing quite tops that feeling, honestly. It's completely thrilling to feel like you have a purpose in the world.

I'm sad to say that most working-class people never get the chance to experience it. They punch out their time-cards at the end of a long day of hard work. Merely floating through their lives, unnoticed for their efforts and commitment to their jobs and their overbearing bosses. And afterwards they get to find the time to party, go home and sleep it off over the weekend before they have to return to work the next week to go through the motions again. However, once you shed that white physician's coat and Holier than Thou celestial lining, surgical life isn't that different from normal life. At least, it's not that different for me.

When my bright-eyed daughter Zola isn't whining about my inability to consistently stock the freezer with her favorite brand of Popsicles, I am dealing with weeping sisters, friends, and distraught attendees that are too drunk, deeply distraught or in most cases homeless and using my couch as their temporary bed, unbeknownst to me and my deeply perceptive husband.

It used to bother me when I'd open the refrigerator to have a glass of orange juice from the carton that I had just purchased, only to find that someone was over-zealously drinking the last drop, in my robe, on the kitchen floor, like a wild animal. However, I can no longer judge them for this occurrence. After years of practice and on call surgeries, I have become one of them. Not to mention, you'd be surprised how much work you can get done while spilling your emotional and mental guts out to another doctor on the floor. Some of my best surgeries came to fruition through late night ice cream fueled brainstorm sessions on the cold wood flooring with copious amounts of associates; most I still don't even know by name. And life on call never quite feels like you've ever left work to begin with. So it is nothing out of the ordinary.

To an outsider, this place, this job, might look like a total freak show. But this is my life. This is my home. And despite the constant chaos, I wouldn't have it any other way.

****

"Hey Mer, next time you decide to pawn one of your clumsy attendees on me, could you perhaps decide to be cordial for once and shove them Kepner's way instead?" Cristina Yang, my person, was standing in my living room in her self-assured classy way, with her beautifully free locks standing on edge in different directions like a stunning and seemingly less lethal Medusa.

"Rough day..." I added as Alex Karev idled past us with a piece of toast wedged between his teeth. He was clearly preparing to leave for service at the hospital. It still surprised me how well he worked alongside Arizona in the department of pediatrics; considering his visible distaste for most humans and all.

"Yeah, but at least I'm not Karev... Have fun nursing the infants." Cristina patronizingly called out behind Alex. He lulled further through the doorway before nonchalantly returning a labored kill me expression in my direction. Then he perceptibly slammed the front door to make note of his valiant exit.

"Cristina, I think that you should try lightening up on Alex for once. He's been going through a lot lately." I leaned over to pick up a few empty beer bottles, and a half eaten pizza on my sofa, before sitting down, too exhausted to even make it to the garbage can to dispose of their odorous remnants.

"Oh, like I haven't been? I mean, Owen is constantly ogling other women around me and you don't ever hear me complaining about it."

I bit my lip at her dissolving dialogue. I attempted to silence all of my thoughts. But she noticed my accusatory glance anyway without breathing a further word.

"Okay, it still clearly pisses me off that we're not currently together. But hey, look there, I'm finally over the denial stage at least." Cristina exasperatingly tossed her hands in the air before sitting down next to me. Life had been hitting her pretty rough lately, and the evidence was written all over her poignant exterior.

"Well, I'd say that you're looking much better these days..." I said lightly brushing her untamed mane with my fingers before my best friend started groaning heavily against my shoulder.

"I'm not going to cry. Crying is for those weak, insufferable people that are stuck in the 'woe is me' stage of being dark and twisty. But I'm not dark and twisty; I'm an awesome cardiothoracic surgeon. And I rivaled the hell out of those crappy attendees this afternoon. I practically beat them to a pulp with my knowledge and surgical expertise. They were lucky that I didn't really let loose on them, by the way. I mean, I called one of them Mousey again because her voice is grating like an exasperating rodent...but that's the least of their worries. It would do them good to toughen up. Give them a backbone."

I was half convinced by her enthusiasm before she began groaning and moaning adjacent to me again. "Should we dance this out?" I asked as her eyes lit up like firecrackers.

"Yes, and pick something good. I need to shake this twisted mess out of me." As we were dancing in our judgment free bubble with glee, my inquisitive husband Derek walked in the room.

"Oh, good...It looks like you two are celebrating. I'm glad to see that you and Owen have finally worked things out." McDreamy carelessly smoothed his way over his words as I shot him a stern expression before nearly melting at his smile. How was it possible for Derek to be so devilishly sexy even during his sporadic blunders such as this?

"Turn it up, Meredith!" Cristina started power-bopping on the coffee table, attempting to drown out my husband's unwanted contribution to our moment of espousing our emotional freedom.

I jerked my prying eyes toward Derek once more as I picked up the stereo's remote control. I allowed the music to flood my soul as it seamlessly filled the room from wall to wall.

"Okay, I get it. Sorry I encroached on your woman time. I'll go get Zola dressed; she's been asking to go to the park to play with Sophia anyways. I'll go call Callie, and then we'll be out of your hair for awhile."

I mouthed the words Thank You as he made his way up the stairs and out of earshot.

"I'm sorry about that." I yelled toward my friend as we danced in our arresting synchronization.

"Don't talk. Just dance, Mer." Cristina hollered back with her eyes closed and a forced fence of merriment poured over her vibrant face. I marveled at my lovely Medusa's hair of snakes. While they began lowering their stern carriage, bouncing gaily with more intensity, I too danced with greater ferocity as the track changed to a more upbeat rhythm, and we shook out all of our dark and twisty bits.