“Humor me,” he said “How does one train at Oxford and the Sorbonne, become a consultant, spend two years with Medicins Sans Frontieres, and end up here? Forgive me, but anyone might think you’re hiding from something?”
I really thought he might be there to give me trouble, and the focus on me, from a patient who is nervous, isn’t that unusual. But he’d read my CV, which, I find, is. Also, he didn’t seem nervous, or affable in the least. I decided I’d suddenly become a target of a rather snakey human being. And when he told me he was there to save my life, it took a bit of control not to scoff at him. I kicked him out of my office, telling him he must leave the building. Protect me, how awful. And he needs something from me. Ha, typical! Suddenly two burly men are dragging me into a vehicle and my patient is chasing me in an airplane. Bond had led my families angry associates straight to me, damn him. And then he tells me he’s my best chance of staying alive.
And you wonder why I don’t love my job, the unique opportunity to meet many kinds of people!