Grumpy Doctor

Or might be my ticket into a job somewhere else in the city.

I wasn’t sure which I wanted yet, and right now, it didn’t matter.

I sat and thought of Lori. She wanted to fight, even if it seemed like fighting was worthless. She believed I could be better, and rise above it all—to the point where she was willing to keep coming over, even when I thought it was done.

Once again, she showed me that I had to be better.

I spent all of the morning and most of the afternoon skimming through those files. I was looking for a particular kind of patient: someone wealthy, and someone that might need my kind of services. I whittled it down to a slightly smaller stack of files of potential candidates, then I began making phone calls, one after the other.

The first ones were unbearably awkward.

“Hello, yes, is this Mrs. Mayer?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice a smoker’s croak. “And who the heck is this?”

“My name is Dr. Hood. I’m a surgeon at Westview General. I was wondering if you’re in need of any procedures.”

A long, painful pause, in which I’m pretty sure I died a few times. “Are you calling to ask me if I need surgery?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Or if you’re looking for a new surgeon or a new doctor.”

“Do you do this a lot?” she asked. “Randomly call people, asking if they need surgery?”

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Then why are you doing it now?”

“New thing, ma’am.”

“Right. I don’t need surgery.” And she hung up.

It went about the same for the next few calls, and I quickly realized why doctors didn’t do this sort of thing.

It was unquestionably weird, calling people up and asking if they needed surgery. Most of the time, patients had no clue whether they needed a surgeon or not—but I still had to try. It felt like I was breaking some kind of rule, or maybe bending my ethics a little bit, but I knew that if I was going to improve my current position, I had to do it with a roster of new patients that needed my services. It wasn’t enough that I was one of the best—I had to bring in money on top of that.

Money ruled everything, even medicine.

Eventually, by the time I got to the end of the stack, I was left with eight names. That was eight more than I expected to get, and I was pretty relieved to be done with what was the most painful experience of my life. I think I’d rather get a root canal without anesthesia than have to go through that again.

But it was done, and I had my list.

Not a huge list, but a list anyway.

I texted Lori next, and she got back to me right away with a phone number. No questions, no hesitation. I liked that about her. I steeled myself as I called the number, and paced across my living room until a voice answered.

“Hello?” Rees sounded somewhat annoyed.

“Hello, Rees,” I said. “This is Dr. Hood. How are you this afternoon?”

His tone didn’t. “I guess Lori gave you this number.”

“Yes, she did. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling.”

“What can I do for you?” Straight to business. I wasn’t surprised.

“I had something I wanted to show you,” I said. “I was wondering if you have any free time left today?”

“I have office hours now,” he said, sounding skeptical. “I don’t normally take meetings during them, but I will, if this is important.”

“I think it might be,” I said. “Would you mind?”

“All right then. You come to me, be here in an hour, and I’ll listen to what you have to say.” He hesitated, and I could feel his indecision weighing across the line. “I hope you thought about what we spoke of the other day.”

“I did.”

“Good.” He gave me the address. “See you in an hour.”

He hung up. I checked the time, grabbed the directions off my phone, and gathered up my things. His house was out in the suburbs, and I’d need the majority of that hour to get to him on time.

Rees’s house was a massive structure on the edge of Philadelphia County. The neighborhood was sparsely populated and clearly affluent: a large, black fence surrounded the entire area. An older woman sitting in a security booth buzzed me through, since apparently, I was expected.

I parked out front and walked up a set of stairs. Columns lined the front porch, and the door looked like it could accommodate an elephant. I rang a bell and knocked, and waited a minute before an older woman in dark pants and a white button-down answered. She smiled and gestured for me to follow her.

I gawked around me. I’d never seen so much wealth before: paintings, statues, vases, fresh flowers and plants, gold-rimmed mirrors, smooth marble floors, flawless walls, pristine light fixtures. It was a rambling house, big enough for ten families, and the older woman led me to a door at the very back, big and dark wood. She knocked once, smiled at me, then left.