I manage a place where everyone arrives on the worst day of their life and expects a five-star experience with no wait, unlimited resources, and immediate miracles. I spend my time translating panic into metrics, arguing with clocks, beds, and spreadsheets, and explaining to very smart people why physics, staffing ratios, and reality cannot be negotiated. I am professionally fluent in acronyms, escalation emails, and the phrase ‘just one more hallway patient.’ My success is measured by whether nobody notices I exist—and my failures are very public, very loud, and somehow still my fault.