I never intended to be drawn into the world of medicine. I was trained, and remain, a journalist, a recorder of facts and events. I suppose that's what I'm doing now, but it seems I'm living in a totally different world as well. Perhaps I should start at the beginning.
I was referred to Dr. James Wilson when my primary doctor noticed an abnormal growth. I would go on, but that's medical information and privileged, thank you very much. In any event, I couldn't help notice how careful Dr. Wilson was, and how caring. I could tell he was invested in what happened to me, not just as a doctor, but as a human being. It turned out the growth was completely benign, and it seemed Dr. Wilson was even more relieved and pleased than I was.
"Great news," he said as he flipped open my file with a brilliant smile on his face, "you're going to be just fine. No sign of malignancy."
"Oh, wow," I said, releasing a huge sigh of relief, "that's wonderful."
I took a few deep breaths and as I did, I glanced at Dr. Wilson. He was still smiling, but it was his eyes that drew me. They were warm and a deep brown, and were shining with what seemed to be unrestrained contentment.
"Thank you, Dr. Wilson," I said, smiling back at him.
"My pleasure," he replied, his voice as contented as his smile.
A few moments passed before my curiosity got the better of me.
"Dr. Wilson, I-"
Before I could go on, however, his door opened unexpectedly. An older man brazenly made his way into the room. He was taller and, compared to Dr. Wilson, somewhat unkempt. He leaned slightly on a cane, which he spun as his eyes found Dr. Wilson's. As Dr. Wilson looked back at the older man, he closed his eyes momentarily, as if praying for patience.
"House, is there any chance that you can let me finish with this patient before you interrupt my day?" he said, and there was an unusual, hardened, but powerful quality to his voice I hadn't heard before.
"Hmmm," the older man said, as if thinking hard, "don't think so."
"I'm sorry about this," Wilson said quietly to me, but I simply smiled to indicate I wasn't bothered at all.
"It seems Cuddy is on one of her 'crusades' again," said the man, whose name I supposed was House, as he flopped into the couch set against the opposite wall of the office.
"Is she?" Wilson said neutrally, one eyebrow raised, betraying nothing.
"She's actually expecting ten hours of clinic duty from me this week," he said, sighing in apparent exasperation. "She must be stopped."
"Imagine that," Dr. Wilson said, "the Dean of Medicine expecting one of her doctors to do his job." He was clearly admonishing the man, yet there was a distinct note of amusement in his voice as well.
"Uh-uh," said the older doctor as he leaned back, "the road to hell is paved with such expectations. Dr. Gregory House will not be ruled, and nor will any doc while I live."
The last was said with blazing eyes and a bad Scottish accent, clearly recalling one of Mel Gibson's stirring speeches in "Braveheart". I couldn't help but giggle. The blue eyes of Dr. House then turned to me, and he smiled at my appreciation of the joke. Suddenly, something I'd read recently flashed through my mind.
"Wait, Dr. Gregory House," I said slowly, struggling to remember, "the same Gregory House who gave that speech on Viopril? The one that almost sent Edward Vogler into an early grave?"
"See, Wilson," he said to the somewhat bewildered oncologist now sitting in front of me, "a fan of my best work. Thank you," he said, standing and bowing as if a curtain had just come down, "thank you."
"How do you know Dr. House?" Dr. Wilson asked me curiously.
"I'm in my final year of journalism school at NYU," I replied, "and so is my roommate. She was covering the press dinner you gave that speech at."
I turned toward Dr. House.
"She was expecting a standard story, pretty boring stuff. I couldn't believe the story she told me she was running for our paper when she got back."
My hand began moving across the space in front of me to indicate a headline.
"'Rogue Doctor takes on Pharmaceutical Giant.'" I recited, making the older man positively beam.
"Please stop," Dr. Wilson said, shaking his head slightly at me, "before his head swells to parade balloon proportions."
I smiled at Dr. Wilson, but nodded in agreement nevertheless.
"I think I'll contact NYU," House said suddenly, nodding and moving towards the door.
"You're going to ask for a copy of the article, aren't you?" Dr. Wilson said resignedly.
"Please," House said nonchalantly, "what kind of egomaniac do you think I am?"
"Get me a copy, too," Wilson called as House made his way out of the office.
"Will do," House's voice came back.
"I'm sorry about that," Dr. Wilson said, returning at once to his professional demeanor, "are there any other questions I can answer?"
"No, that's all right," I said, "but does he usually do that? Barge in on you while you're with patients?"
"I'm so sorry," he said apologetically, "that was a completely inappropriate interruption-"
"I'm not mad," I said reassuringly, "I was just wondering."
Wilson looked at me oddly for a moment. Quickly I tried to explain.
"Idle and total curiosity," I said, shrugging self-deprecatingly, "it comes with the job description."
"Fair enough," he said, smiling, "yes, he does do that all the time. It's maddening, but it…comes with the job description," he continued, extending a hand toward me gracefully.
"What job description?" I asked, not quite understanding.
Dr. Wilson took a deep breath, and a sudden closed-off expression came over his face. It seemed there was a well of emotion there he was doing his best to conceal.
"Best friend," he said quietly, his head bowed over his desk slightly, avoiding my eyes.
Suddenly he seemed to snap out of his reverie, and was his usual self, but now I was more curious than ever. There was something to this man, and both my journalistic interest and what I had just witnessed between the two doctors was screaming to know what it was.
"Well thanks again for everything, Dr. Wilson," I said, standing up, and glancing at the edge of his desk where a stack of business cards was sitting. "Do you mind if I take your card?"
"Of course," Dr. Wilson said, "call me if you have any other questions."
"Thanks," I said, making my way out of the brightly lit office. Before I left the hospital I took one last look through the glass window at the man who had been my doctor. He was reading through a chart intently, and seemed bowed with a weight beyond an ordinary head of oncology. From that moment on I knew what my next story had to be. The quiet best friend of the brilliant Dr. Gregory House.