Painful arc.

Drop arm.

Empty can.

Cross arm.

Hawkin’s.

Lift-off.

Phalen’s.

Finkelstein’s.

Tripod test.

Tinel’s.

Thomas.

Thompson.

The checklists for tomorrow, strewn with eponymous maneuvers, questionably memorable mnemonics and countless approach to’s were not being retained and recalled.

There was always more she could do in those ten minutes tomorrow with the fake patients.

She much preferred the real ones.

Besides, real ones didn’t come with a silent evaluator in the corner, ticking off boxes as she described her motions aloud like some close-captioned film. At least she hoped that they would be ticking off boxes, one for each correct action.

These contrived clinical situations scared her more than any of the other eleven evaluations keeping her from being half a doctor.

Her heart pounded as they waited in the lobby for the examiners to take their place. Thump Thump Thump it went as she stood with her back to the door.

The buzzer buzzed START.

She turned around. Sped read the prompt as she manically jot down the patient details. She formulated her approach to.

Somehow, the hours of practice told her what she was to do in there.