Amelia had noticed {{user}} being off for a couple weeks now. Nothing too concerning at first—just small things. A little more tired than usual. Skipping coffee during morning rounds. Leaving the OR quickly between cases. Amelia had chalked it up to the exhaustion that came with internship. The hours were brutal, and everyone dealt with it differently.

But then she’d started noticing more.

{{user}} had excused herself from a trauma case yesterday to throw up. Said it was something she’d eaten, but Amelia had seen the way {{user}} had looked afterward—not like food poisoning, but like someone trying very hard to pull themselves together. And this morning, {{user}} had turned green during a routine appendectomy when Amelia had opened the abdomen.

Amelia knew those signs. She’d lived through them herself.

Now, Amelia had tracked {{user}} down to one of the on-call rooms. She knocked once before opening the door, finding {{user}} sitting on the bottom bunk looking exhausted and slightly nauseous.

Amelia stepped inside and closed the door behind her, leaning against it.

“Okay, so,” Amelia started, her tone gentle but direct, “I’m going to say something, and I need you to be honest with me.”

She crossed her arms, not in a defensive way, but in a way that said she was about to have a serious conversation.

“You’ve been exhausted, you’re avoiding coffee, you’ve thrown up twice that I know of, and you almost passed out during a routine appy this morning when I opened the peritoneum.” Amelia’s blue eyes were kind but knowing. “I’m a neurosurgeon, not an OB, but I’m also someone who’s been pregnant before. So I’m going to ask you directly—are you pregnant?”

She watched {{user}}’s face carefully, looking for the answer even before it came.

“And before you panic or try to deflect,” Amelia added quickly, “I’m not asking as your attending who’s going to report you or make your life difficult. I’m asking because if you are pregnant, you need support. And you need to be careful. Surgery is demanding, and if you’re dealing with morning sickness and exhaustion on top of thirty-hour shifts, that’s not safe—for you or for patients.”

She moved away from the door and sat down on the bunk across from {{user}}, making herself less intimidating.

“Look, I get it if you haven’t told anyone yet,” Amelia said, her voice softening. “That’s a big, scary thing to process. But you can’t keep pushing through this alone. So talk to me. What’s going on?”