On the way into the conference room to admit a new patient, he walked out. He was in scrubs and really hot. Since all rational thought goes out the window in my gaga state, I assumed he was a male nurse or an orthopedic surgeon.
He had that scruffy look going, appeared to be in shape. He had those nice, dark, brooding eyes. I didn't get a chance to look him over further, but I hoped to see him again.
A couple hours later, the attending called in his next patient. It happened to be the aforementioned hottie. It turns out he tried to kill himself last night. I missed the bandage around his wrist initially, instead focusing on his perfect hair. He decided he didn't want to be in the world anymore, and he was perfectly nonchalant about it.
Oddly enough, I found that incredibly sexy.
He said he almost jumped off the roof, but realized 3 stories was more likely to paralyze him. So he climbed back down.
How smart.
After he left, the attending turned to me and said the hottie was schizophrenic with comorbid alcoholism.
I love to drink too.
Friday, 9 November 2007
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