I drift to sleep too fast. Maybe because I didn't sleep well last night. My body feels heavy, exhausted.
All I can hear is the faint hum of the air conditioner. It's peaceful. Too peaceful.
Then suddenly I hear the faintest scrape behind me. Maybe a chair. Maybe my imagination.
My eyes flutter open, but the room is empty. Everything is where it should be. Or is it?
I shift slightly, trying to shake the tension.
I tell myself I'm imagining it. It's just sleep deprivation. Too much stress. I lean back again, closing my eyes, trying to sleep.
And then I feel it again.
The heaviness in my chest.
That strange drop in my stomach.
Something is wrong.
I know this feeling.
I'm about to get sleep paralysis.
A soft metallic click echoes somewhere to my left.
My eyes snap open.
The room looks exactly the same as before.
I scan everything. Nothing moves. The lockers, the benches, the clean floor, they're all still.
But I can't move. Not even an inch. I can only move my eyeballs.
And then, just for a fraction of a second, I see the doorknob turn.
The door opens. I swear I see a huge black shadow trying to enter the room. Cold sweat runs down my forehead.
It looks like a monster from a Goosebumps cover. Its face is red, staring at me, and I can hear a raspy echoing voice saying, "Emma, look at me." It comes closer.
It touches my left shoulder. No, it shakes me.
I jerk fully awake. Alert.
It's Luna. Her red curly hair glows under the fluorescent lights.
"Em, look at me. Looks like you have sleep paralysis again. Em, wake up," she says, worry all over her face.
"Oh, thanks for waking me up. Sorry for the scary performance," I say, trying to look fine even though I still feel a little confused.
"I think you should see a professional, Em. Sleep paralysis while napping leaning on a locker is scary, especially with sleepless nights. I can't imagine that," she says.
"Yeah, let's see. Do you know who I should reach out to? I'm kinda tired of this sleep paralysis," I reply.
"Hmm… let's ask Dr. Andrew. He should know. Maybe a neurologist if it's brain related, or a psychiatrist if stress or anxiety is involved. Better ask him, he's been working here for decades," she says.
"Got it. Thanks, Luna," I nod and smile.
Behind us, the door turns again. That's our rotation group, coming in while laughing at whatever they were talking about.
"Okay, everyone, let's change before the operative team comes in. Dr. Andrew is using Theatre 3," Luna commands, taking charge as chief.
We all change into our scrubs, put on masks and hair caps, and slip into the dedicated OR shoes from the racks by the door.
As we leave the changing room, six people are entering at the same time. That must be the operative team.
A couple of others in the corridor look like they're heading to change into scrubs too. Perfect timing.
We walk down the corridor and finally reach Theatre 3 on the right. Luna steps on the red button near the silver sliding door and it opens smoothly.
The room is empty, cold, and clinical. The temperature detector reads 18°C. White-painted walls gleam under bright surgical lights.
The operating table sits in the center, surrounded by neatly arranged instruments, monitors, and machines. Everything is pristine, waiting for the team.
Speak of the devil, the operative team arrives. The clock shows 2:00 sharp. Suddenly, the room feels alive.
A few minutes later, the patient emerges from the corridor, pushed gently on a stretcher by the ward team. They move with practiced precision, double-checking his wristband and confirming his data with each other.
The anesthetic greets us cheerfully. "Hi, future doctors! Ready for the operation? Don't worry, it won't take too long." She looks to be in her early forties, approachable and confident.
"Ready as I'll ever be. Thanks, doc, nice to meet you," Luna replies, while the rest of us just nod and smile behind our masks. You can tell from our eyes—we're smiling.
Behind her, a man walks in with his classic "sterile hands" posture, hands held up in front, fingers together. It almost looks like a controlled, careful floating motion. He must be Dr. Andrew Williams. I bet he's in his late fifties or early sixties.
He waves to us gracefully as an assistant helps put a sterile gown on him and tie it, as if he already knows we're clinical students. He definitely does. Twenty-five years in general surgery is crazy. I know that from his Curriculum Vitae online just before rushing to the OR.
Another assistant greets him after he adjusts the operation lamp. "Ready, doc? It's 02:15," he says in a definite but friendly tone.
Every movement is deliberate and precise. Monitors are attached, the blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm, and IV lines ready. The room hums with controlled energy.
Dr. Andrew gives a final glance at the table and nods to the team. Everything is ready.
One of the operative team members calls for a surgical time-out to do a preoperative safety check. Everyone stops what they're doing while she says out loud, "Patient Liam O'Connor, DOB 23/08/1982, male. Diagnosis: acute appendicitis. Procedure: appendectomy, lower right abdomen. Consent confirmed. No known allergies. All required equipment ready. Team, any concerns?"
The team, including the anesthetist, responds simultaneously, "No concern."
Then Dr. Andrew says, "Welcome to the OR. Today you'll be observing an appendectomy. You're here to watch and learn. Ask questions after the procedure, not while we're operating, and stay behind the sterile line."
"Understood, doc. Thank you," we reply together.
The procedure goes smoothly and is completed in fifty-five minutes.
I watch the team move with precise, silent coordination. Every instrument is passed smoothly, every motion deliberate. The table glints under the bright lights, the blue drapes crisp and untouched.
My chest twists, partly from nerves, partly from the faint memory of sleep paralysis. I tell myself to focus. This is why I'm here, to learn, to observe.
Luna stands beside me, calm and collected. She whispers quick explanations, "Metzenbaum scissors, delicate tissue," and I nod, trying to remember everything.
Dr. Andrew begins, his hands steady. The anesthetist hums quietly in the background. My pulse quickens as I watch, the faint unease from earlier still lingering. I shake my head. Focus.
Fifty-five minutes stretch and pass at the same time. Every cut, every motion matters. When Dr. Andrew finally steps back, nodding, "All done. Good work, team," relief washes over me.
Luna smiles. "See? Not as scary as it looks. Keep watching and ask questions afterward."
I nod, still absorbing everything.
As the team begins cleaning up and preparing the patient for transfer back to the ward, I can't shake the faint unease lingering in my chest.
Just as predicted, Dr. Andrew approaches us and says, "So, any questions?" happily.
One of our group says, "Thank you, we're still observing, doc. We'll come back to you if we want to know about anything."
"Great. Now all of you can go home," he says. The others walk away as if they had been waiting for that moment, but Luna and I stay.
Luna, without hesitation, asks the doctor deliberately, "Excuse me, doc, do you happen to know where I should go if I suffer from sleep paralysis, the severe kind?"
He smiles and replies, "Ah, common medical student problem, isn't it? You must be very tired and stressed. I suggest you visit Dr. Margareth Collins. She's in the sleep medicine department on level 7. You can ask the receptionist."
"Thank you so much for the information, really appreciate that. Have a good day, doc," Luna replies, excitement in her eyes.
She grabs my hand and we head to the changing room.
While walking in the corridor, I say, "Thank you for asking that."
"No worries at all, Em," she replies.
We change our scrubs and leave Level 5.
After we leave the building, we walk separately.
I live on campus, so I decide to just take a walk, while Luna heads to the parking area where she keeps her black Hyundai i30. She lives off campus with her parents, happily.
The campus is quiet. The late afternoon sun sinks lower, stretching long shadows across the paths. The air carries a faint scent of grass and warm concrete. I let my thoughts drift, remembering the OR, the bright lights, the precise movements, the uneasy feeling that still lingers in my chest.
I walk past the fountain near the dorms. The water trickles steadily, catching the sunlight like tiny sparks. Students are scattered on benches, some studying, some laughing softly.
The fountain's gentle rhythm is calming, almost hypnotic. I slow my pace, letting the warmth of the sun on my shoulders and the soft splashing of water ease my tension.
For a moment, everything feels normal, safe.
My eyelids grow heavy. Exhaustion presses down, the long day in the OR, the stress, even the faint memory of sleep paralysis catching up to me.
I think that a warm shower and a good rest in my apartment will fix everything. Finally, I'll be able to relax, let my body recover.
I take a deep breath, letting the fountain's murmur fill my senses. I almost smile.
Almost.
Something catches my eye. A shadow at the edge of the fountain, just beyond the walkway. It is dark and still, blending with the trees behind it.
It does not move. It does not need to.
I feel a chill crawl up my spine. Tonight, rest may not come so easily...