Growing Pains
Sleep Is For The Weak
The redhead stood uneasily in the residents’ locker room of the hospital, feeling as if she might collapse any second. She had just spent 36 hours working a grueling shift. For now, it was over. She had less than eight hours before it began all over again.
“Kimberly Ann Possible—daughter of a neurosurgeon and a rocket physicist,” said a deep yet feminine voice as it approached.
“As you’re beginning to learn,” said a tall black woman with cornrows as she came into the view of Kimberly, “good genes help, but it takes more. A sheer stubborn, unrelenting, iron will.”
“No one said a dual specialty of neurology and psychiatry would be easy,” said Kimberly, suddenly sounding alert.
The black woman took out a glass vial from her lab coat’s pocket and held it out.
“I don’t want it, Doctor Fayé.”
“It’s Xyrem--”
“… induces slow-wave and REM sleep, thereby increasing sleep-efficiency. Approved indications are cataplexy and hypersomnolescence of narcolepsy. I know what it is. I don’t want it.”
“Very well,” said the doctor as she put the vial back. “Of course,” she added, “you know I can legally prescribe it to you.”
“I know.”
Doctor Faye smiled. “Well, that’s that,” she said as she turned to leave.
She took a step before pausing, “by the way, you never turned in your clinical report. It’s due in two hours. A minute late, and I won’t accept it.”
Kimberly sighed. “I need more coffee,” she mumbled.