Cadillacs and Blood

Personal: Cadillac

My mother owned an old cream Cadillac. I could swear that it was discovered in our backyard my some archeologists. Whenever we drove it, it would make a continuous rattling noise as if the axels of the car were just about ready to fall off. The car had late symptoms of automotive osteoporosis. Every time someone got into the car and displaced the weight to one side the frame would creak. The eerie creaking sound would continue throughout the whole drive. Over every pump there was a creak. Every turn resulted in a creak. Even when no one was in the car and the car was stationary, it would still creak!
I remember one day as my mommie (that’s what I called her at the time) was driving me back from the store, she just started to sob quietly . I saw how the tears trickled down her checks and dripped slowly onto the blistered navy blue leather seat. She did not reveal what was bother her but I, even at my young age, understood exactly why she was sorrowful. Even though my dady worked from morning till late at night, there still wasn’t enough money to support our family of eight. My mommie barely had enough money to buy us food and clothes, let alone fix her broken car.
While her sobbing continued, she tried to hide her tears from my innocent eyes. She quickly reached up to the rear view mirror and turned it away from my gaze. The car then creeped to a stop as we approached our humble little home. I remember my mom composing herself and then opening my door in order to pick me up out of my seat. As she held me in her arms I said “Don’t cry mommie, when I become a doctor I will buy you a new car, I promise”. She smiled and then a different kind of tear came running down her check.

Professional: Blood

My parents have a countless number of friends and acquaintances. So when my parents introduced me to an middle aged stalky bald man. We engaged in pleasant conversation and I told him about my goals and aspirations. He smiled. It turned out that this bald man was the chief orthopedic surgeon in Nikolaev, Ukraine. Shorltly after our aquantance, Dr. Peter Ivanovich invited me to come with him to Ukraine in order to take part in an international internship program.
I decided to accept the invitation and flew to the city of Nikolaev. I was greeted by Doctor Peter Ivanovich. We engaged in small talk as we flew through the traffic. I was surprised that Dr. Ivanovich had no regard for the law or traffic signals, as far as I could tell he was as importanat as the president himself. I finally stirred up enough courage to finally ask him “Doctor, aren’t you a bit scared that the police will pull you over and give you a ticket”? He chuckled and after assuring me that he was fully paying attention to the road and the to the passing pedestrians he let me in on a little secret. He said “I know the chief of police very well, we’re good friends. His wife was one of my patients. So if a policeman pulls me over asks me for my identification, I will ask for his identification as well”. He leaned over and stated almost in a whisper, “After Ivan Sergeovich [chief of police] speaks to him, I guarantee you that he will never pull me over again.” I smiled. “We’re here” Ivanovich said.
Our car pulled into a gated residence. As I tilted my head as far back as I could, I observed a four story residence. I scanned my surroundings and noticed that the largest river in the city was only several hundred feet away. The house rested at the bend of the river, resulting in a beautiful view of turquoise and deep blue that could be seen in almost every window of the house. The doctor then showed me my private room. Before I was able to open my mouth is astonishment the doctor said, “Get some sleep we have an early start tomorrow.”
My alarm rang at 3:45 am. I quickly got dressed and stumbled into the car. Once we approached the emergency room Ivanovich turned to me and said, “Remember if anyone asks, you are a university student from California”. “Yes of course” I replied. We then proceeded into the emergency room. A nurse met us at the entrance and said “Doctor we have a patient for you”. As we walked into the operating room, I saw a man sitting on the table with his neck sliced open. The cut didn’t penetrate any arteries or his windpipe and therefore he was still alive. “Get suited up, today you are going to learn how to stitch” Ivanovich told me. I was never so scared or exited in my life. I was sixteen at the time.