Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Fourteen (Role Play Edition)

You feel your eyes growing wide and your neck tilting as far back as it can go without snapping off, all in an effort to keep up with the sheer size of the imposing figure standing before you.

“Dexter Frost?” you finally manage to ask, your voice incredibly hoarse. “The oncologist?”

“Yes,” he admits with a nod. “I’m temporarily standing in as the assistant chief surgeon here at Greenwood.”

“I see,” you say. You suppose he does look way too young to be a chief surgeon, anyway. Still, you can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive about meeting with him. You know he’s a general surgeon as well, but the fact that oncology is his specialty doesn’t really sit well with you.

“You can reschedule to meet with Doctor Templin next week if you’d prefer that,” he offers.

You shake your head a little too adamantly. There’s no way you’re putting yourself through another panic attack session if you don’t have to. You didn’t just throw up for nothing.

“No, that’s okay,” you say with an overly-frantic wave of your hands. “I’m already here, anyway.”

He looks at you with a slightly confused expression, no doubt a bit surprised at your reaction, but nods anyway. “Alright, then.”

The kind receptionist from earlier hands him your file and gives you another smile before returning her attention to her work.

“This way, please,” he gestures with his hand, urging you to follow him.

You head into the elevator and go up two floors before it dings open and its steel doors let you out into another hallway. You keep walking down a corridor, lined extensively with thick, light brown carpeting.

You keep your eyes on the floor and on your feet as you walk side by side in silence. You pass a few closed doors before he turns the knob on the one with his name engraved in a mounted silver plaque adjacent to it.

“Come on in,” he says, standing in the open doorway, almost matching its height as he waits for you to go inside first.

You walk ahead of him, feeling incredibly timid as you squeeze past his large, imposing frame. You’re extra careful not to brush against him as you do.

Christ, what kind of doctor looks like he belongs in an MMA fighting cage?

A quick image of him standing in an enclosed fighting ring flashes in your head. He’s standing tall and proud with nothing but a pair of sparring pants and his lab coat on, surrounded by screaming, belligerent fans, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how silly your imagination can get.

He shuts the door behind you and follows after you. He points over to a black leather chair at his desk and ushers you to take a seat.

You do a quick once-over of the office, taking in the spacious environment, the various splashes of color, and the mix of leather and mahogany furniture meticulously placed throughout the room.

A pair of very large, double-hung windows stare back at you, claiming a huge chunk of space in the wall opposite the door, with silky beige drapes hanging off either side of them from a long chrome rod. You sigh internally as you see more snow and barren trees through the clear glass.

The walls and ceiling are an immaculate white, much like the snow falling outdoors. The floor is covered with the same light brown carpeting from the corridor and hallway just outside.

A medium-sized aquarium is built into one of the walls, full of bright and colorful little fish, swimming around each other mundanely like most goldfish do.

Right next to it is an extensive book shelf, standing magnificently from floor to ceiling in a glorious brown mahogany and split into maybe a dozen compartments, each one filled with several medical books, journals, and dictionaries.

Fluorescent bulbs line the ceiling in an alternating pattern, shining brightly and illuminating the room perfectly.

A wide plasma TV mounts another wall, displaying nothing at the moment.

Everything is silent except for the bubbling sounds coming from the aquarium.

You’re really not sure what to make of the place. It seems a bit extravagant for a doctor’s office, but what do you know? It’s not like you go around surveying doctors’ offices.

As you take your seat, you notice a framed collage of pictures standing erect on his desk, next to an extravagant looking penholder.

They’re pictures of him and a woman.

She’s pretty. Very pretty, actually, with wavy blonde hair, a slender frame, and light blue eyes that are about a shade or two darker than his. Classically model-esque.

If you’re being very honest, she’s absolutely gorgeous. It must be his girlfriend. Or wife.

In each picture, they’re side by side, smiling happily, being affectionate, and obviously very much in love with each other. They’re obviously a couple. A very attractive couple.

You feel like you should tell him that as a gesture of politeness, if only to break the ice, but you ultimately decide not to make any mention of it. You’ve never really been one for small talk, anyway, and you don’t feel like being very honest right now. 

And for some ridiculous reason, you feel your heart sink at the sight. And then you feel like kicking yourself for being bothered by it.

How absurd is it to feel heartbroken because a man you just met—a man that you otherwise would have never even come in contact with—is happily married to a beautiful woman? God, you must be insane.

He comes around and settles behind his desk, taking his seat opposite you and placing his intertwined fingers on the wooden slab. His big body fills the large swivel chair, and he slightly turns to the side and casually crosses his feet.

The gold band on his ring finger confirms your speculation.

That’s definitely his wife in the pictures.

You feel a surprising stab of disappointment run through you, but you quickly subdue it. It’s not like you didn’t expect it. A man as handsome and smart as he is doesn’t go around unattached.

***