“She Just Answers Phones at the Hospital,” Mom Announced at the Holiday Party. “Barely Makes Minimum Wage.” Aunt Sarah Smirked, “At Least It’s Honest Work.” Then My Pager Buzzed: “Code Black — Chief of Surgery Needed for Presidential Procedure.” The Room Fell Completely Silent. The chatter of laughter and clinking glasses blurred into a dull hum. I stood frozen, my pager vibrating again, harder this time. “Code black. Presidential trauma. Chief of neurosurgery required immediately.” My pulse qui