Can’t sound it, sound, action to her, affects inner harmony, will I get up, she glances at her I-phone. To others it seems extravagant, to her its a diagnostic tool, she’s a trainee. Irritating, will I. Her shift starts in, she dips her eyes on the phone, she is precise, a trainee surgeon, doing the steps. Her fingers are long and graceful. Where they have been; last evening, inside the chest of an elderly man, noise disappears, music again, continues reading. She lives in a three room, ignoring the bathroom; everyone has one of those, as vital as a healthy rectum, a healthy mind, the article she is reading.
She reads the reports, everything medical is her news, her life is being donated to helping others, if lucky she will have a family along the way. The Corona Virus, she had been reading about it; a virus that doesn’t react to conventional drugs. She thinks of Marie Curie, all the other scientists, who spent their entire lives researching the future; few of them had any interest in patents. Planes have slowed, people are staying away from crowded places, some wear masks, they’ve been doing that in Hong Kong for ages; some call it the the last plague. She sighs; as a woman, she wants to be seen as a mother in the making, a precious human being; she is tired of the way they trivialized the flesh, could they not have learned to love a little more. She takes a deep breath, the operation she has in front of her is her first full heart transplant, she assisting. Calm, slow, her hands are so important.
In an office, a whiz kid press’s the buttons, moves funds from the Cayman’s to Cypress. He loves it when it”s uncertain, so many to take advantage of.