I spent much of the final year of my internal medicine residency in a windowless workroom on the seventh floor of a hospital in Boston. The desks were sticky from spilled diet ginger ale. There were vulgar inside jokes scribbled on the dry-erase board near the entryway. There was cheap champagne in the mini fridge for mimosas we’d mix at the end of a string of night shifts. We hoarded sticks of epinephrine and 18-gauge needles in filing cabinets and stuffed them in our pockets as we ran to a Code Blue. When the night was slow, we’d watch movies or TV. One show everyone seemed to be watching in the hospital, or had an opinion on, was The Pitt, a medical drama inspired by the Emergency Department at Allegheny General Hospital, a trauma center in Pittsburgh.
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