So their family physician had inquired with his colleagues and they had agreed that he ought to come to Nashville to have me treat his son.Here, I must confess, the politics of being at a university medical center came into play. I had been ‘requested’ — read ‘commanded’ — by the Chief of Medicine, to handle the Adams family as diplomatically as possible. It seems that they were hoping to tap Mr. Adams for a large donation and my treatment of his son was considered to be a great opening for the moneygrubbers (pardon me: ‘University Development’ staff) to use. So I was going to do what I could, within reason, not simply to treat the son, but to satisfy the father.My process starts easily enough, the same as it has for hundreds of years, truth be told. I took young Phillip into one of the rooms and took several vials of his blood. Actually, I didn’t draw the blood; my nurse/phlebotomist took it for me as I spoke to Phillip.And that was all that was needed initially. I escorted Phillip. To be honest I’d forgotten that Mark was in the house. As a result, I walked into the kitchen after my shower with just a towel wrapped around me. Mark was making coffee. “Oh, sorry!” I said, “I’d forgotten you were here,” meantime holding my towel close to me for fear of it slipping off. Mark stared only for a moment and then drew his attention away to the kettle. “Would you like a coffee?” he asked. “Yes, thanks,” I replied, “I was just going to do that,” and then, “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” as I quickly exited for my room to get dressed. My reflection in the mirrored wardrobe showed that the towel barely reached to the top of my legs which, if nothing else, helped explain Mark’s stare. I felt a tingle in my secret place at the thought. When I returned to the kitchen, Mark had my coffee ready and we made small talk over our cereals. Mark had to go to work, so we left the house together. In the few days before Mark’s next visit, a plan was formulating in my mind. Up to now mum.
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