Enigma to Enigma
Any hospital intern who complained about being forced to sort through and fill out tedious paperwork, Kabuto knew, had very little familiarity with how the medical profession actually worked and were in for severe disappointment when they embarked on their careers.
Saving lives was not restricted to having one's hands buried inside the warm recesses of the torso of someone with a punctured lung, nurses shouting stats, sweat beading on one's brow, the beeping of the EKG providing the kind of suspense made ridiculously theatrical in television dramas--that was a very small fraction of what the job entailed. Writing out prescriptions saved lives. Keeping track of patient files saved lives. Mistakes in that department could be disastrous as well.
All paperwork. And there was a lot of it.
Which Kabuto ordinarily embraced. He liked--no, he worshiped order, he thrived on it like a parched wanderer in the desert on cool, crystal oasis water. A place for everything and everything in its place, right where it belonged and easily accessible. The vital "busywork" that his fellow interns loathed was ordinarily Kabuto's favorite method of occupation, but...not on this particular afternoon. No, today he had a splitting headache after staying up far too late, and names were beginning to blur before his weak eyes as he knelt at one of the filing cabinets by the front desk. He had to read over various conditions several times before hand-copying them, and he'd nearly faxed the wrong thing once or twice.
Sighing heavily, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he sorted and stacked and shuffled. For once, human contact with a patient might just be welcome over paperwork, if only to keep him awake until his shift was up.
