We've met

The medical student who I'm working with, Peter, has anxiety issues. I have anxiety issues, he said as he stood there sweating all over himself, fidgeting out of his dress clothes. He was coming apart right in front of me, like Humpy Dumpy (sans the great fall); and we hadn't even done anything yet.

On the first day, we had to page our resident and ask him where we could meet him. It's an anesthesia resident, Peter said.

Yeah...I know.

You knew that?

Yeah.

Well, why didn't you tell me?

I don't know. I guess I figured it didn't make a damn bit of difference.

Oh. Well. Yeah, I guess not.

Although I appeared much more put together than Peter--no sweating, shirt still tucked in, jacket buttoned--I was actually more nervous about meeting the resident than he was.

I was nervous because when they handed me his name and pager number that morning, I realized that we would not be meeting for the first time.

The first time was about six months ago. I was sitting in a coffee shop studying, and he asked if he could share the table. It was near an outlet, and he needed to plug in his laptop.

Neither of us got any studying done in the next two hours. We drank coffee, and talked, and flirted, and flirted, and flirted. At some point, I felt peering eyes and looked around to find four other tables just sitting, sipping their coffee and staring at us. Yeah, it was that good.

A bit about flirting... You know those women who are so gorgeous that people are almost afraid to approach them? I am not one of them. But, I have more confidence in my step than most of those women do. Men are intrigued by this confidence in a woman who is not quite beautiful enough to be entitled to it. It catches them off guard and slays them a bit. I talked to a man recently who said, I am a little infatuated with you, with the way you seem so comfortable in your skin.

I'm comfortable in my skin, and I'm good with my eyes--I'm great at flirting.

Flirting is most powerful when you can hold the other person's gaze. When you can look into his eyes, slowly smile a little, and then just hold the moment. No nervous laughter, no batting your lashes, no fidgeting in the silence.

It is like dancing, in that you have to have a partner who can do the same--someone who does not look down at your chest, or at his own shoes. And, it is also a bit like a game of sexual tension chicken--it is not well played with wimps.

The anesthesia resident was a great partner and a fine player. He held my gaze. We took turns asking about each other's lives, the questions getting more and more personal and our answers more and more suggestive.

And then, she called. He spoke to her in French, a language I don't understand. I could tell from the annoyed, defeated look on his face, though. He hung up the phone, and I said, So, how's your wife?

He said, How did you know?

I just laughed and said, This isn't going to go any farther.

And it didn't. We talked a while longer, and I left.


Two weeks ago, I saw him again. He said, You never called.

I said, I figured you were still married.

He said, Oh, that.

I said, Yeah, that.

I didn't intend to spend long talking to him this time. But, before I knew it, there we were again--flirting and somehow commanding the attention of the people at the surrounding tables. As I got up to leave, he again said, Hey, why don't you give me a call later.

I said, I admire your persistence, but I'm not going to call you. Maybe I'll see you here again, and I'm sure we'll run into each other in the hospital. I can't seem to help but flirt with you when I do see you, so I guess you'll just have to learn to take what you can get.

He laughed a little with eyebrows raised, a bit surprised. It was as though he couldn't quite believe I'd said that, as though he'd never been turned down quite that way before. That was the last time I saw him...until the first day in the ICU.

We introduced ourselves as though we'd never met, and he spent the first day completely avoiding my eyes. He talked only to Peter. When he talked to me, he looked at Peter. This totally confused Peter and really made him sweat. Poor kid probably lost a liter of fluid in the first two hours of rounds.

It's been a week. Now, he's just trying not to be too obvious when other people are around. As with many things tried in the ICU, he's having limited success. I'm trying to remember the ventilator settings, and that he is still married. Peter is still sweating...and is totally oblivious.