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Best of Both Worlds

Dr. Chimamanda Rowland doesn’t do one-night stands. Her goal: Get through her residency, pay off her student loans, and return to her home country of Nigeria to establish hospitals for impoverished residents. But one night of partying leads to unexpected consequences, and Amanda is suddenly thrust into a world of upscale living and maternity clothes. And it feels like someone’s watching her…Amanda’s dream is in jeopardy, but can she survive when her life becomes a nightmare?

Age Rating: 18+ (Extreme Violence, Gore, Human Trafficking)

 

Best of Both Worlds by zeemzie is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.

 


 

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1

Summary

Dr. Chimamanda Rowland doesn’t do one-night stands. Her goal: Get through her residency, pay off her student loans, and return to her home country of Nigeria to establish hospitals for impoverished residents. But one night of partying leads to unexpected consequences, and Amanda is suddenly thrust into a world of upscale living and maternity clothes. And it feels like someone’s watching her…Amanda’s dream is in jeopardy, but can she survive when her life becomes a nightmare?

Age Rating: 18+ (Extreme Violence, Gore, Human Trafficking)

Original Author: zeemzie

Mandy

The morning sun seeped into the room, shining its light on me. Stirring, I slowly opened my eyes and looked around the room.

I shot from the bed to a sitting position; my surroundings were unfamiliar to me. I groaned as I felt a headache hit me.

I slowly turned my head to the side when I heard shuffling beside me; the gray eyes in the face of the white man lying beside me were staring back at me. A scream escaped my lips and I instantly rolled off the bed and onto the neat-rugged floor.

What in the world happened? I couldn’t remember anything. How did I get here? Who’s the stranger in bed? Nothing!

I slowly raised the bedsheet wrapped around me, praying I had some article of clothing on and this was all a misunderstanding, but I got the shock of my life. I was as bare as the day I was born.

I felt tears seep from my eyes. I had promised myself and God that I would keep myself sexually untouched until I was married.

I looked up and found those eyes still staring at me with caution, as if he were waiting to see what my next move would be. I had never prayed to be swallowed by the ground so much in my entire life.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I just awkwardly pick up my clothes and run out of here before I embarrassed myself any more than I already had?

Or just simply ask the man who was still staring intently at me. I opted for the latter.

“What happened?” I asked—more like squeaked—as my voice had somehow vanished.

Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Who are you? What am I doing here, and where exactly is here? How did I get here?”

“You can’t remember anything from last night? We met at the club and got pretty wasted. We got to talking, one thing led to another, and here we are,” he said as he watched me.

His voice was deep, calm, and surprisingly clear for someone who had just woken up.

I ran my eyes over his physical features: blond, disheveled hair; chiseled chin line; toned muscles. He looked like he just stepped out of one of those Vogue magazines.

I nodded and slowly got up from my position on the ground, clutching the bedsheet tightly.

I picked up my clothes, which were scattered on the floor, and speed-walked to a door I presumed led to the bathroom.

After placing my dress on the counter, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and winced.

I looked like I’d been in a brawl. My makeup was smudged, mascara made my eyes look like that of a raccoon, and my wig was slightly pulled back from my hairline and a huge mess.

Sighing, I grabbed some tissue paper and began to clean the mess called my face. Then I moved on to taming the wig the best I could.

Once I looked somewhat presentable, I threw on my dress and rinsed my mouth, not bothering to take a bath. I just wanted to be out of here, the sooner the better.

Slowly opening the door, I peeked into the room to find it empty. Throwing it open, I stepped into the room. I glanced around for my purse, which was on the floor next to the bedside table.

Grabbing it, I checked for my phone and other stuff that I carry around like my house keys, ID, and the rest. I looked up to find a wad of cash on the table.

What the hell? How dare he?

Did I look like I was some kind of wench?

Fuming, I grabbed my shoes lying next to the door and stormed out of the hotel room.

I got some weird stares from people in the hotel, and, glancing at my entire appearance, I could understand why. I was definitely doing the walk of shame.

Not wanting to waste a second, I dashed out of the expensive-looking hotel and flagged down a taxi.

On the ride home, I couldn’t help but think about what had just happened.

If someone had told me that on this day I would leave a hotel without my dignity, I would have laughed in their face.

Why? Because I was not the type to sleep around; I hardly went to clubs.

Yesterday, I had gone to the club with a few of my colleagues to celebrate my first solo surgery as a second-year resident doctor.

If I’d known the night would turn up like this, I would’ve politely declined the offer and gone home to the apartment I shared with my best friend, Whitney, a resident in another hospital.

We would’ve just popped some champagne, watched a movie, and gone to bed.

It was a Friday, and we were both off-duty at our hospitals the following day, so we wouldn’t have had to get up early.

But no, I just had to said yes to my colleagues, and now look at where it had landed me.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize when we arrived at my apartment. I got down from the cab, paid the driver, and muttered “thank you.”

I walked into the building and groaned, remembering the flight of stairs I had to climb. The building had an elevator, but it was crappy.

It made loud, clanking noises like it was going to crash soon. Sometimes, it would stop for minutes before resuming, and it scared me to death.

Right now, it was faulty, and my shitty landlord had refused to have it fixed.

I really didn’t mind because this was the only place Whitney and I could afford and still have enough money to pay off our student loans.

Getting to the door of my apartment, I fished for my keys in my purse and opened the door.

“Hey, you didn’t come back home last night. I was so worried,” Whitney said as she stepped out of the kitchen.

“I was this close to calling the cops.” She pinched her thumb and her pointer finger together. “Where were you? I called you like a million times.”

Sighing, I plopped myself on the couch and narrated everything that happened—the stuff I could remember, that is.

“Oh my God,” she said as she walked toward me and gently sat on the couch. “Mandy, are you okay? I mean, that was your first time, right? Did he use protection?”

At that moment, I almost died. I couldn’t remember anything. My eyes bulged as I stared at her with my mouth open like a fish out of water.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember a single thing from last night after the club,” I said, my voice breaking.

I couldn’t believe how careless I was last night; I didn’t know what got into me. I usually didn’t even drink as much as I did; I think I was too excited.

I felt her hug me, and that was when I realized I’d been crying.

Whitney understood why I was this scared.

For one, I could be at risk of sexually transmitted infections.

Two, if I got pregnant, it would be a total disaster because we were barely afloat with our student loans hanging over our heads. I couldn’t afford to take care of a child right now.

Third and most important, my parents would kill me. I had very strict parents; they were both Nigerians, so you can imagine my fear.

I was the third child out of five: three girls and two boys. The boys were already married; one had a child and the other was expecting. For boys, they were quite decent.

I didn’t want to be the one to tarnish my family’s name by having a child out of wedlock.

My parents had sent me abroad to study medicine and get a good life.

I had always dreamed of going abroad to study medicine, getting a good job in one of the best hospitals, making enough money to build a hospital back in Nigeria, and helping millions of people. My parents wanted to bring my dreams to life, so they sent me to the US to study. To New York, to be precise.

“Calm down. I know you’re scared. I would be petrified if I were in your shoes, but let’s be positive, okay?” Whitney said, rubbing my arm gently.

I knew she could understand how scared I was. She had met my mother twice while we were in med school and had been scared for her life. She had never met such a strict yet kind and calm person.

My mother’s eyes were scary when she watched and studied you like an eagle, Whitney had said.

We also videocalled my family from time to time, so she knew every member of the nuclear part of my family and some of my big extended family. She knew how disappointed in me my family would be.

“I’ll just go and shower, take some Advil ’cause my body is killing me, and just go to sleep. I feel like I was hit by a train,” I said after spending the last five minutes staring into space and thinking about my life.

I got up and grabbed my purse and walked toward my room.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Calm down and take that rest,” I heard her said before I shut the door.

I dropped my purse on my reading table and walked toward my bathroom. I felt so dirty and disgusted with myself. I shrugged off my clothing and stepped into the shower.

I heard my door open. “Um, I made you some tea and I’ve got morning-after pills. I’ll just leave them on the table for you,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied as I continued to scrub my body.

The morning-after pills. How could I forget them?

“No problem; just go easy on yourself,” I heard her said before she left.

Sighing, I knew she was worried about me, one of the qualities I loved about her.

We met in our first year of med school. I was new in the US because I did my pre-med course back in Nigeria, so I didn’t know how the system worked.

Whitney had apparently had a friend who got in the year before, so she’d had everything settled.

We’d bumped into each other, and I’d asked for help in finding the administrative building. She’d directed me and offered to help me with settling in.

We later met again in a class, and we’d been close ever since.

She was 5′8”, with tanned skin and long, black, silky, curly hair. She had high cheekbones that accentuated her beauty, drawing attention everywhere she went.

I, on the other hand, was 5′5” and had a skin color similar to peanut butter and shoulder-length kinky brown hair.

She had a nice figure and could pass for a Victoria’s Secret model. While I had a nice figure as well, my derriere grabbed more attention than I needed.

We both had brown eyes; mine lighter than hers. She was of mixed heritage, her father being Ghanaian and her mother being white American.

Whitney had moved to America with her family—her parents and two younger siblings—when she was eight years old. We bonded so well because we were both West Africans and could relate to a certain extent.

I stepped out of the shower and walked over to my closet. I grabbed my favorite gray oversized hoodie and sweatpants. They were really comfy and relaxing, which was what I needed right now.

I grabbed the warm tea on the table and used it to take the pills.

Exhausted, I sat on my bed and looked around the room. I felt so weird and different, like I had lost a part of myself.

I felt so detached and I wondered if this was how girls felt after their first times. Maybe it was because of the way I’d lost my innocence. Just a meaningless one nightstand.

I drank the last drop of tea and placed the mug on my bedside table, then got into bed. Closing my eyes, I hoped to feel better when I opened them again. A couple of minutes later, I felt myself fall into a deep slumber.

 

Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

2

Three months later

I walked toward Abigail, a Black American nurse in her late thirties. She was a lovely and warm-hearted lady who’d made me feel welcome when I started my internship program here.

She was the mother of two very adorable kids, a boy and a girl who sometimes came to see her alongside her husband. Abigail’s a little on the short side and was sporting a low-cut hairstyle.

She stood just beside the nurses’ station, looking through some files.

“Good morning, Abby. What do you have for me today?” I said as I gently placed my hand on her shoulder.

She handed me a tablet that contained my patients’ information and history.

“Here. You’re to make rounds this morning. Josh, Ashley, and two interns are with you today,” she said as she pointed at the four people behind me.

“Oh, and we’re having an M&M conference later this evening,” she concluded as she returned to her files on the table.

I knew this meeting was going to come soon because of the Candice Thompson case. Apparently, she’d come in with severe abdominal pains and was diagnosed with an enlarged appendix.

During surgery, her blood pressure began to rise and the doctors didn’t know why because her vitals were normal before surgery and she didn’t have any history of high BP.

Later, it was discovered she was pregnant and the surgery had put the fetus in distress. After a struggle to save the mother and child, we lost them both.

It was a mistake that could’ve been averted and also one anyone could have made, so we knew an M&M meeting was heading our way.

A morbidity and mortality conference is a forum that provides clinicians with the opportunity to discuss medical errors and adverse events so we learn from them and handle such situations better if they occur in the future.

I turned to face my team. Josh and Ashley were first-year residents, while the other two were interns. I didn’t bother to learn their names since they were always being rotated among different units.

I looked through the patient list on the tablet.

I noted that two patients who’d had surgery two days ago were still being kept and monitored so they didn’t develop post-operative ileus, a malfunction of the intestinal movement after major abdominal surgery.

I also had two new cases.

I divided my team into two: Josh and the two interns would attend to the inpatients, and Ashley and I would see to the two new cases.

As they dispersed, Ashley and I walked toward the emergency ward where our patients were situated.

Drawing the privacy curtains open, we were faced with a young woman, most likely in her early thirties. She was trying to get the attention of her kids, a boy and a girl who were throwing their toys around.

“Tom, stop that. This is a hospital where sick people stay, and there are a lot of germs. You don’t want any germs on you, do you?” she questioned her son in a reprimanding manner that still sounded loving.

The boy shook his head and quietly stood by her side while his sister who was busy playing with a doll moved to sit on the bed next to her mum.

“Sorry about that. These kids drive me nuts sometimes. I’m Natalie,” she said as she chuckled lightly.

“It’s fine. They look adorable,” I said with a smile as I waved at them. They smiled in return.

“So, what can we do for you today?” I asked, returning to the mother.

“Well, I’ve been having these terrible headaches for a while now, and I just thought it was because of stress and running after these kids. But yesterday during dinner, I lost my balance and fell.

“The headache returned two times worse than normal, so my husband decided we should go to the hospital just to be safe,” she narrated while rubbing her daughter’s hair.

“Do you remember when the headaches started?” I asked.

“I think two or three weeks ago. I just felt it was the normal headaches I get, so I’d pop an Advil anytime I get it and it goes away. Until yesterday,” she replied.

“Did you have a fall and hit your head anywhere before the headaches?” I asked and she shook her head.

“Okay, so we’ll order a CT scan to know what going on in there,” I said.

“Is Mommy going to be okay?” the little girl asked, looking up at me with her big brown doe eyes.

“We are going to make sure she’s fine. Okay?” I replied, rubbing her shoulders to assure her.

The other case was a guy with a dislocated shoulder, which I popped back in place after giving him something for the pain and to numb the area.

I sent Ashley to arrange for the CT scan and headed to the cafeteria to get my breakfast. I had skipped this morning because I woke up late. I seemed to be sleeping in a lot these days.

Suddenly, a pregnant woman was rushed in from the emergency entrance with doctors surrounding her gurney as they wheeled her toward the trauma unit. I stepped out of their way as there were many doctors and I wasn’t needed.

I remembered when I’d thought I was pregnant, three weeks after the club night. I’d been hysterical and even Whitney couldn’t calm me down. I’d been vomiting and having specific food aversions, a large appetite, tender breasts, and tiredness.

As a doctor, I knew the signs of pregnancy. I was so scared, not knowing whether I was actually pregnant and also dreading knowing for sure.

Whitney had bought two pregnancy tests and forced me to take them so we could finally know my fate and move on.

You cannot begin to imagine the relief I felt when I saw those negative signs. I felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off my chest, and when I got my period a week later, my joy knew no bounds.

Even though it was a light flow, lighter than my usual, I was still elated. I started birth control pills immediately, not because I wanted to go about sleeping around but because it was better to be prepared and I had heard it helped with period cramps.

On getting to the cafeteria, Ashley ran into me. “Dr. Amanda, you need to see this,” she said as she pointed in the direction of the CT scanning room. Following her lead, we walked toward the room.

I guess I’ll have lunch later.

***

Ashley and I headed to the room allocated to Natalie. There was a man I assumed was her husband standing next to her bed while the kids were sitting quietly watching cartoons on a tablet.

Knocking lightly, I stepped into the room.

“Hey, I see they’re settled,” I said, gesturing toward the kids.

She chuckled lightly. “Yeah, cartoons seem to grab their attention. This is my husband, Paul.”

We both slightly nodded our heads in greetings.

“Well, we’ve gotten your test result for the CT, and you have a tumor in your left ear. It’s what’s been causing the headaches and the loss of balance you had yesterday.

“It seems like it’s been there your whole life but just decided to make its presence known,” I informed them as they both stared at me, digesting the information I had just given them.

“The good news is, it’s very operable and an easy procedure because the tumor presented where the nerves wouldn’t be in the way,” I continued.

“Okay, what are the risks of the operation? And will our insurance be able to cover it?” Paul asked as I looked to Ashley to provide the information.

It was, after all, a teaching hospital. I couldn’t be doing all of the talking.

“Well, for every procedure there are always risks. This procedure has a 5 percent chance she could lose her hearing in the affected ear, but that is the worst-case scenario. Luckily, your wife’s case shouldn’t lead to that.

“However, the CTs don’t always give us an exact view of everything till we go in for surgery, but until then she’s in good hands,” she said all in one breath.

“And, yes, your insurance can cover the operation, as it is a simple procedure,” she concluded with a light smile.

That seemed to have relieved the couple.

“Dr. Anderson is the very best otolaryngologist who will carry out the procedure, and Ashley and I will also be in the operating room with you, so you have nothing to worry about,” I assured them.

“We’ll need you to fill out some paperwork while we prep her for surgery,” I said to her husband before leaving Ashley to conclude the encounter.

I walked out of the room and the corridor started spinning around me. I placed my hand on the wall to support myself and shut my eyes tightly.

I stayed in that position for a few minutes before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find Ashley looking at me with concern.

“Are you okay? You look pale,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I haven’t had anything to eat today,” I assured her.

“Okay. Let’s head over to the cafeteria together. I need to get an apple anyway,” she said.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go,” I said as we both headed to the cafeteria.

I ordered a fried egg sandwich and a strawberry milkshake while Ashley got her apple. We walked over to an empty table and sat down.

“So, I’m having this little get-together at 93 Degrees to celebrate my one-year anniversary. Wanna come?” she asked before taking a bite of her apple.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I have this thing I have to take care of so I won’t be able to come,” I lied through my pearly whites without blinking. I took a bite of my sandwich. “Congratulations, though.”

93 Degrees was the nightclub in which I’d celebrated my first solo, and I hadn’t stepped foot in there—or in any club, to be precise—ever since that day.

“Oh okay, thanks,” she replied.

Taking another bite, my stomach churned and I felt bile rise in my throat. I rushed to the nearest bin and emptied my stomach of the little food I had just put in it. Soon, I felt Ashley rub my back.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said taking heavy breaths.

She handed me my milkshake.

“Thanks. Looks like I’ll just have my milkshake then,” I said as I chuckled lightly.

She watched me with narrowed eyes, clearly not convinced, but she didn’t said anything.

We left the cafeteria and headed to the operating room to scrub in for Natalie’s surgery.

***

Midway into the surgery, I felt hot flashes hit me, and I started sweating profusely.

What in God’s name is happening to me?

“Dr. Amanda, clamp the opening near my finger,” I heard Dr. Anderson said to me.

I looked at him, but he had become hazy in my eyes. I started breathing heavily.

“Dr. Amanda, are you okay?”

I couldn’t reply. I started feeling dizzy, so I backed away from the patient in order not to cause any damage if I fell.

“Are you okay?” I heard Ashley said but everything looked blurry.

“Help her scrub out. She looks like she’s going to pass out,” I heard Dr. Anderson instruct one of the assisting nurses.

I felt hands grab my shoulders and gently steer me toward the door before I felt the ground escape my feet and I fell backward.

“Someone get a gurney in here,” I heard Dr. Anderson yell.

I kept going in and out of consciousness. I felt hands lift me onto a gurney and wheel me out of the OR, then I finally blacked out.

 

Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

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