Okay. It’s fine. I’m a qualified doctor. She’s not going to just throw me out. Unless she does because I’m young. Oh god. Listen to me. Delusional speech pattern, rapid heart rate, undoubtedly high BP, sweating. Panic attack. Calming exercises. Sam started to tap each finger of his left hand against the thumb in order, and then back. A trick a therapist had taught him when he was ten.

This was his first Starfleet assignment. And unlike his classmates, he was not confident he could do it. As he walked the halls toward sickbay, he questioned not settling for a private practice. Something calmer.

He rounded a corner and a set of giant double doors swooshed open in front of him. The sound almost startled him. He stepped in and as quickly as his eyes took in sickbay, he committed it to memory. The number of biobeds, the locations of the containers, cabinets, and replicators, the location of the CMO’s office. He walked to the office door, and with a hesitant, shaking hand, pressed the chime.

-Dr Sam Pennington