I was in the second month of my surgical rotation as a student nurse. I had
often scrubbed with the senior resident, amazed at his incredible skill. I, of
course, was delegated to helping hold retractors or handing minor instruments
while experienced nurses or O.R. technicians assisted intimately with exacting
operative procedures.

As the tedious surgeries progressed, I glanced at this young doctor's face, concentrating seriously on his work. He had the face of a Greek god, tall, bent intently over his work. I would slap an instrument into his hand, imagining that he would feel my fingers and that an electric current would flow through him, hope
that he would look up ( he never glanced away from the task at hand ) and fall
instantly in love with me. I might as well have been the anesthesia machine. He
never spoke a word, not even to utter "thank you" when the case ended.

One evening, while I studied for my final operating room exam, my phone rang.
It was Dr. S, inviting me to go out for coffee. My heart pounded, pulses
throbbing - he had noticed me. I wondered how he got my telephone number. No
matter - we arranged that he would pick me up in thirty minutes.

I raced around like a hummingbird in search of nectar. I tried on three different
outfits, finally settling on a casual knit shirt and jeans, splashed on a light
fragrance, a little blush and lipstick and was ready ten minutes before he arrived.
I was already planning our wedding.

Dr. S was even more dazzling in casual clothes than in hospital scrubs. He opened the door of his red Mercedes convertible and I settled in comfortably, thinking, "I can't wait to tell my classmates about this tomorrow!" We talked about going to a
well known coffee shop near the campus. When Dr. S headed in the opposite direction,
out of town, I asked where we were going. "I want to show you something," he told
me.

Five minutes later, he turned off on a quiet road and parked under a weeping willow
tear near a small stream. He turned to me, smiling. "I thought we might get to
know each other better, first," he said, as he reached out to take me in his arms.
Though I had our wedding planned already, this irritated me and I pushed him away.

"No, S, this is not how I want to get to know you first. Coffee and conversation
would be fine," I told him.

He grabbed my arms tightly and pulled me toward him, touching my breasts. I began
to feel frightened, demanding that he release me. "Come on," he said, "don't play
hard to get...I know you want me...everyone does."

I struggled in the small car and S held tightly, tearing my shirt. Somehow, I
managed to get the door open and began running. I heard the Mercedes start and
roar past me. Two hours later, I finally walked into my apartment, exhausted but
I had learned a lesson. S might be a handsome, skilled young surgeon but he
certainly isn't the man I would want to marry.

Learn more about this author, Carmen Henesy.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

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