By training and keeping doctors in underserved areas, we're

Host: The hospital corridor hummed with the low sound of machinery and distant footsteps. The air was cold, sterilized — thick with the faint scent of antiseptic and weary hope. Outside, through the narrow windows, the sun was sinking behind the hills, painting the sky in muted oranges and greys. A long day was ending, but for the small rural hospital, the work was far from over.

Host: Jack leaned against a vending machine near the end of the hall, his white coat unbuttoned, his stethoscope dangling loosely around his neck. He looked exhausted — not from lack of sleep, but from the kind of fatigue that seeps into the bones when idealism meets reality. Jeeny, her own scrubs wrinkled and her hands still trembling faintly from stitching a wound, approached with two paper cups of coffee.

Host: The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering like tired hearts. Outside, the wind carried the sound of a distant train — a reminder that this town, too small for a name on most maps, was still connected to something greater.

Jeeny: (handing him a cup) “You didn’t eat lunch again, did you?”

Jack: (takes the cup, half-smiling) “There wasn’t time. And even if there was, the cafeteria closed two hours ago. You’d think saving lives would get you a sandwich.”

Jeeny: “Saving lives in a place where the nearest MRI is seventy miles away? You’re right — that should at least come with a meal plan.”

Host: They both laughed softly, the kind of laugh that carries exhaustion more than humor. The machines beeped faintly behind the glass, the pulse of unseen patients echoing the fragility of everyone who walked those halls.

Host: On the bulletin board beside them hung a faded quote printed on paper — a local newspaper clipping: *“By training and keeping doctors in underserved areas, we’re