The Virgin

Chapter Five - Douche or Cool?

The excitement in the room was palpable. At any moment, Dr. Bodhi Wells would walk through that door and grace us all with his genius, his charm, and his good looks. The hour ticked by as Dr. Strong explained how the next two weeks were going to shake out: scheduling, protocol, team member introductions, coffee, doughnuts, even a slide show of his summer vacation in Mexico. Finally, when Dr. Strong saw Mark devour the last chocolate glazed, he called it.

"I apologize for Dr. Wells' absence. I'm sure he will arrive at some point this morning to go over the schedule. That will give us all enough time to get acquainted with each other, again. We've put out some phone calls, and I believe there was some bad weather in the area. His plane was delayed."

This excuse was flimsy and he knew it. I watch everyone - including Dr. Strong - look out the floor to ceiling windows. Outside the sun is shining bright, not a cloud in the sky. Dr. Wells is a no show.

I knew it. Somewhere in my heart of hearts I knew he was a complete jerk. This meeting didn't mean anything to him, because he's not really interested in a team. He's interested in himself. Meet us? He won't even know our names, if he ever shows. To him, we will all just be assistants handing him lasers and keeping the patient alive and stable while he flies into New York, scrubs in, does some laser work, changes his clothes, and jumps back on a plane to do the same thing to a bunch of other dedicated, hard working doctors at another underappreciated hospital. And we will all read about his miraculous work in the medical journals and see it on the news: "Special medical correspondent, Dr. Bodhi Wells is at it again. Whatever will he do next?"

My school girl crush is crushed. That was easy. Back to business.

Blah, blah, blah, and just like that, my internal complaining is mush. The conference room door opens, everyone in the room—and I mean every single person in the damn room including myself—turns to watch him walk in. A wave of electricity moves through the room as Dr. Bodhi Wells, wearing clothing appropriate for guerrilla warfare (I actually think I see blood stains) steps into the room, glides through the now-parting crowd, and stops in the center of the room next to Dr. Strong. With his crystal blue-green eyes he takes every person in with one sweeping glance and then lets out a heavy sigh as he nods to Dr. Strong and shakes his hand. There are no words spoken. The two men merely exchange a gentle and knowing look, like two great samurais agreeing that all is forgiven. I think Dr. Strong actually bowed. God, I hope not. I hope he just had a stomach cramp from too much coffee.

Bodhi places his hands at his heart, only his fingertips touching, and looks out at the rest of us who are apparently ready to commit to whatever cult or army he is about to ask us to join.

"Let me apologize, to each and every one of you. I was detained in the Sudan with a team of brave surgeons. We were trying to save the life of a child, a victim of a heinous war crime. Just as we completed the surgery, rebels took over the village. The doctors and the patient escaped in a humanitarian vehicle sent in by the French. There wasn't enough room for all of us, so I waited until darkness fell and then hid beneath a tarp in the back of a truck driven by war lords who had taken control of the region. I must have waited there for two days maybe three, I lost count. With no food or water, the mind, well, you know. When the opportunity arose and I made my escape, I found my way to the border and was helicoptered to safety by our own brave U. S. Navy Seals. Anyhow, the story just gets longer, but I won't bore you with that. The important thing is a child is alive and I'm here with you, the best surgical team in the world. Let's save another life!"

The entire room erupts into cheers and applause. My hands are clapping and I think I just whistled. Wow.

"Let's get to work! Meet and greet," Dr. Strong barks over the frenzied crowd of medical doctors and nurses.