Lover // g. o'malley

Great Expectations

No one believes their life will turn out just kind of okay. We all think we're going to be great. Abd from the day we decide to become surgeons, we are filled with expectation. Expectations of the trails we will blaze, the people we will help, the difference we will make. Great expectations of who we will be, where we will go, and when we get there.

Okay, you can't hate me. I spent the night with George. I'm not taking advantage of him, he practically begged me to. I know he wasn't in the right state of mind after his father, but I just wanted him to feel better. Of course, it can't stay a secret since Izzie knocks on his bedroom door. "George. Can I come in? I made you some cookies and brownies and muffins of course. I always make muffins."

George is in the bathroom and I'm still in his room, so I answer the door. "Izzie thank God you are here. I can't take it anymore. Three times already tonight and he's getting ready for a fourth," I desperately tell her.

"Are you talking about... oh," she realizes.

"Yeah I would get it if he were all crying and depressed. Everyone deals in different ways but this is not grieving. This is my legs bent in ways my legs do not go. And I know. I know his dad died. I know. Trust me, I get it. I feel horrible, but ow ow ow," I complain.

"I'm going to give you guys some privacy," Izzie whispers, trying to walk away.

"No you stay. You take over for me okay?" I beg her.

"Rachel Lopez!" Izzie yells.

"No, not like that. I am giving him to you okay? You are officially now on George watch. You are his friend. Yay. I need a break. And I need to heal," I tell her.

"No. What am I supposed to do?" she asks me.

"Thank you, goodbye," I say. I ran downstairs, got in my car, and drove straight to the hospital before anyone could stop me.

I get to the hospital and I'm on Callie's service for the day. "How's George?" she asks me.

"Dealing I guess. He has quite an appetite," I tell her.

"You know, some people bake, others eat," Callie shrugs.

"No, not that appetite, I mean the other appetite," I tell her.

"Whoa. okay, we aren't that good of friends Lopez. Please don't talk to me about what George eats," she says, shuddering in disgust.

"Okay I was just concerned and I thought you would be concerned. But you know what? Forget it. I don't like you," I joke.

"Oh, now my feelings are hurt," Callie says, fake frowning.

I walked into the ER with her and read off a patient's chart. "Steve Beck, 32. Right patellar dislocation secondary to a fall while running a marathon."

"Paramedics told me I blacked out," Steve says.

"Any theories as to how Mr. Beck passed out?" Callie asks me.

"No sign of head injury. His BP was low in the field. 80/60," I report.

"Athletes have low BPs," Callie says.

"Well in that case it's probably dehydration," I tell her.

"I drank a lot along the way," Steve says.

"What else did you do today?" Callie asks him.

"Ate a couple of protein bars. Took a couple of aspirin for this cold that I'm fighting. I got another race last month," he tells us. While he's distracted, Callie pops his leg back into place. I flinch and he yells out in pain. "OH!"