So why the heck did I choose to write a novel based in the first year of medical school?
Short answer? I got tired of reading medical romances where the doctor is thirty years old, somehow owns a penthouse, drives a luxury car, has endless free time, and falls in love between perfectly timed shifts.
That is very far from reality.
So I figured I’d write the story I wanted to read while being realistic about what the medical life is really like.
The long reason’s a little more complicated. Because, honestly, I wasn’t even looking for my next novel at the time.
My husband was recovering from an injury, and while life had slowed down, I was busy writing what eventually became an award-winning memoir.
One afternoon, my mind wandered to an old journal sitting in my nightstand. I’d carried it with me through medical school, residency, fellowship, moving houses, and raising three daughters.
Inside wasn’t a novel. It wasn’t even an outline.
It contained some ideas for stories—situations and characters that were, quite literally, just vibes on a page.
And one in particular stood out to me: What if a guy got accepted into medical school at the last minute and had to move in with a complete stranger because there wasn’t any other housing available?
And suddenly I couldn’t stop asking questions.
What does falling in love actually look like when one person is trying to survive anatomy exams, overnight call, and rotations?
What does it feel like to be the person waiting at home?
What sacrifices do both people make?
Because medicine isn’t just a career. It’s a lifestyle that touches everyone around it.
As the wife of a surgeon, I’ve watched the late nights, the missed holidays, the celebrations after impossible cases, and the heartbreak that follows the ones no one could save.
I’ve also watched the friendships that become family, the humor that gets people through impossible days, and the scrappy resilience of the people who love someone in medicine.
That’s the version I wanted to write.
This is not the fantasy of a rich doctor sweeping someone off their feet (which happens, I know). But I was more intrigued with the reality of two people trying to build a life together while medicine demands a piece of both of them.
Emergency Contacts is absolutely a romance.
But it’s also my love letter to the people behind medicine—the ones wearing the scrubs, and the ones waiting for them to come home.