Trip the Light Fantastic, Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Meanwhile, in a land not so far away, Reid the Healer discovered that, much to his surprise, he had an issue to remedy himself. Alas, as a matter of the heart, he didn’t believe his considerable talents as a physician could assist him in finding his answers. However, he was a genius of immense proportions. If there was a way, he would find it.
“Good afternoon! This is Mr. Gunderson’s office. How may I help you?”
“Yes, hello, ummm….” Reid started, thinking quickly about how to best achieve his goal. Familiarity and manners were called for, damn it. “Yes, good afternoon to you as well. Pardon me dear, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, certainly sir,” the gatekeeper replied. Her accent was deliciously Southern. Though Reid wasn’t one for social pleasantries, he had a mission to accomplish. “My name is Annabelle.”
“Annabelle! My, what a lovely name! And is that a Southern accent that I hear?”
“Well yes sir, it is! I’m from North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina! Vanna White is from there, you know.”
Reid fought the strong urge to snap back with a retort to acknowledge the inanity of Vanna White and her letter spinning “talents” but this was not the time. He needed Annabelle’s help.
“Ah, yes, Vanna White! What a lovely woman. I’m sure your town must be quite proud of her success....well…anyway….”
“Oh yes sir, “Annabelle interrupted, “Vanna’s been on the Wheel for years. She’s a true hero in my hometown.”
“I have no doubt,” he remarked, biting his tongue yet forging ahead before she could become distracted again. “Listen, Annabelle, I’m Dr. Reid Oliver, a neurosurgeon from Northwestern and…”
She interrupted again before he could spit out his request. “A neurosurgeon? Really? That sounds very exciting!”
“Yes, indeed,” he continued with the insipid small talk. “Every day is a new adventure. Now, as I was saying, I was actually hoping to speak to Mr. Gunderson to follow up on a gentleman who was injured at the fundraising gala. It was a friend of his and I helped treat the patient…”
“Oh, you’re THAT Dr. Oliver! Mr. Gunderson said you were wonderful!”
“He’s very kind, absolutely. Annabelle, I really hate to bother him but I’m sure you can understand that doctor-patient privilege prevents me from passing information through you about this matter.”
“Oh, I see. So you can talk to him about someone else but not leave a message with me…right?”
Reid choked back his surprise that she’d actually rubbed two brain cells together and called his bluff.
“That’s right.”
“OH, of course. But Dr. Oliver, I’m afraid he’s on a call right now. Would you like to hold?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’m sure he’ll want to have the latest news as soon as possible.”
“Alright then, Doctor. I’ll be back shortly.”
Luckily, Mr. Gunderson ended his other call and Reid was patched through quickly.
“Dr. Oliver! What can I do for you today, old boy?”
Old boy? I’m younger than your shoes.
“I just wanted to follow up on your friend from the hospital. You know he was released that evening, of course.”
“Yes, I was there.”
“That’s right…of course…but I just wanted to commend you for your quick action. It made all the difference.”
In whether I used a band aid or a butterfly bandage, Reid thought.
“Why thank you Doctor. I’m just glad that I was able to find you.”
“And Mr. Gunderson, I know you’re quite busy, but I did have one other thing to discuss with you quickly, since I do have you on the phone.”
“Sure, shoot.”
“I’d like to follow up with a few potential funders that attended the gala. I’m wondering if you could share the guest list with me so I can get in touch with a few of the most promising suspects? “
“There were hundreds of guests Doc. Why don’t I just ask Annabelle to get the specific names from you and she can send you the contact information?”
Damn it.
“Yes, you see, I’m afraid that’s the trouble sir. When I dashed over to the hospital to treat your friend, the business cards that I’d collected somehow got waylaid from my tuxedo in the doctor’s locker room. I think I’ll need to scan the whole list to jog my memory.”
“Well…I normally wouldn’t do that Reid, but since your wing is the prime benefactor for the whole operation, I can’t see the harm. I’ll ask Annabelle to email it over to you right away.”
“Very good sir. I’m hopeful we can find just the right people to help us with the project.”
Among other things.
>>>>>>>>>>
Reid Oliver was a not a slave to his inbox. In a physician’s world, email was not the language of urgency. His pager or cell phone? Those were entirely different matters all together. When he was needed for an emergency or for a patient issue, that’s how his colleagues contacted him. They were immediate and effective in reaching their target. But email was not of daily concern to him, that is until today.
Each time his computer registered a small “bing” for the next hour, Reid disgustingly likened himself to Pavlov’s dog, turning immediately to the screen in the hopes of the treat he desired. At 4:55PM, it finally arrived.
“Judith,” he said, popping his head out of his office door and addressing his administrative assistant. “Hold all my calls until the end of the day, unless there’s an emergency of course. I have a patient issue that’s going to require a considerable amount of research and I need to be focused.”
“Yes sir, Dr. Oliver. I’ll take care of it.”
With a turn of the door lock, Reid took a deep breath as he considered what he was about to do. It made no logical sense. It might take forever. It might be completely fruitless. Yet, for some reason he couldn’t identify, he was powerless to stop himself.
He sat at his desk and printed the invitation list that Annabelle had sent to him at Mr. Gunderson’s direction. While she had luckily forwarded the Excel spreadsheet, which would make his task easier, unfortunately it contained more than 2000 people. This was going to take a lot of time. So he began by scribbling down a few notes to help guide his work:
What I Know About Mr. Dumas:
· Male
· Does not live in Chicago
· Lives about an hour away
· Current age -20-30
· Time of transplant: Within past 10 years
· Fiancé named Michael
So he began, like the scientist he was, to methodically narrow the list of guests by eliminating names based on the characteristics he knew did not fit Dumas’ profile. First, he sorted the sheet based on the Gender column then deleted all the female invitees.
Damn these ridiculous events. They were swarming with blue bloods, attorneys, the old guard medical staff at the hospital and the up and coming hot shot doctors. Most were men. That had reduced it to 1352.
He hit the mother lode though with his next step. He tabbed over to the “City” column that contained mailing addresses and sorted again. Dumas had said he had about an hour drive to make it home from the gala location. By deleting all addresses in Chicago, another 1000 names dropped off the list. Bingo.
Then he filtered the addresses again. He had checked the United Network for Organ Sharing’s online database, identifying the locations of transplant centers around Chicago that had treated male recipients in Dumas’ age range within the past 10 years. By identifying guests that did not live in the surrounding areas of that short list of transplant centers, another twenty names were eliminated. It was not a precise method because patients could move or seek medical care outside their home cities, but it was his best approach as a starting point.
Now we’re cooking. Only 332 people to search through.
332 people? he thought. That’s ridiculous. How am I ever going to search through that many men and find him? And he’s engaged. E-N-G-A-G-E-D.
Reid Oliver was not a believer in fate. Or romance. Or finding the man of your dreams. Or even that there was such a thing as the man of his dreams. Even if he existed, you certainly wouldn’t find him at a snobby hospital fundraiser with his fiancé. F-I-A-N-C-E.
He grasped the mouse and moved the cursor towards the top menu, shaking himself from his secret fantasy to find this man with whom he was somehow so enthralled. He would shut the file down and let it be.
There is no point, even if I somehow found him. There is no point.
His finger hovered, ready to click the file closed.
Or is there?
And against all scientific logic, Reid’s instincts drew him back to his task, eliminating the men, one by one. Searching the internet for clues: engagement announcements, stories about kidney transplants at the centers, and the occasional unrobed photograph of a young blond bachelor enjoying the fruits of another. In all his years, he’d enjoyed the transitory company of men like himself. Handsome, driven, virile, serious…unattached. Yet there was something about Dumas. Something that felt like…more. He had to find out what it was.
Meanwhile, in a land not so far away, Reid the Healer discovered that, much to his surprise, he had an issue to remedy himself. Alas, as a matter of the heart, he didn’t believe his considerable talents as a physician could assist him in finding his answers. However, he was a genius of immense proportions. If there was a way, he would find it.
“Good afternoon! This is Mr. Gunderson’s office. How may I help you?”
“Yes, hello, ummm….” Reid started, thinking quickly about how to best achieve his goal. Familiarity and manners were called for, damn it. “Yes, good afternoon to you as well. Pardon me dear, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, certainly sir,” the gatekeeper replied. Her accent was deliciously Southern. Though Reid wasn’t one for social pleasantries, he had a mission to accomplish. “My name is Annabelle.”
“Annabelle! My, what a lovely name! And is that a Southern accent that I hear?”
“Well yes sir, it is! I’m from North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina! Vanna White is from there, you know.”
Reid fought the strong urge to snap back with a retort to acknowledge the inanity of Vanna White and her letter spinning “talents” but this was not the time. He needed Annabelle’s help.
“Ah, yes, Vanna White! What a lovely woman. I’m sure your town must be quite proud of her success....well…anyway….”
“Oh yes sir, “Annabelle interrupted, “Vanna’s been on the Wheel for years. She’s a true hero in my hometown.”
“I have no doubt,” he remarked, biting his tongue yet forging ahead before she could become distracted again. “Listen, Annabelle, I’m Dr. Reid Oliver, a neurosurgeon from Northwestern and…”
She interrupted again before he could spit out his request. “A neurosurgeon? Really? That sounds very exciting!”
“Yes, indeed,” he continued with the insipid small talk. “Every day is a new adventure. Now, as I was saying, I was actually hoping to speak to Mr. Gunderson to follow up on a gentleman who was injured at the fundraising gala. It was a friend of his and I helped treat the patient…”
“Oh, you’re THAT Dr. Oliver! Mr. Gunderson said you were wonderful!”
“He’s very kind, absolutely. Annabelle, I really hate to bother him but I’m sure you can understand that doctor-patient privilege prevents me from passing information through you about this matter.”
“Oh, I see. So you can talk to him about someone else but not leave a message with me…right?”
Reid choked back his surprise that she’d actually rubbed two brain cells together and called his bluff.
“That’s right.”
“OH, of course. But Dr. Oliver, I’m afraid he’s on a call right now. Would you like to hold?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’m sure he’ll want to have the latest news as soon as possible.”
“Alright then, Doctor. I’ll be back shortly.”
Luckily, Mr. Gunderson ended his other call and Reid was patched through quickly.
“Dr. Oliver! What can I do for you today, old boy?”
Old boy? I’m younger than your shoes.
“I just wanted to follow up on your friend from the hospital. You know he was released that evening, of course.”
“Yes, I was there.”
“That’s right…of course…but I just wanted to commend you for your quick action. It made all the difference.”
In whether I used a band aid or a butterfly bandage, Reid thought.
“Why thank you Doctor. I’m just glad that I was able to find you.”
“And Mr. Gunderson, I know you’re quite busy, but I did have one other thing to discuss with you quickly, since I do have you on the phone.”
“Sure, shoot.”
“I’d like to follow up with a few potential funders that attended the gala. I’m wondering if you could share the guest list with me so I can get in touch with a few of the most promising suspects? “
“There were hundreds of guests Doc. Why don’t I just ask Annabelle to get the specific names from you and she can send you the contact information?”
Damn it.
“Yes, you see, I’m afraid that’s the trouble sir. When I dashed over to the hospital to treat your friend, the business cards that I’d collected somehow got waylaid from my tuxedo in the doctor’s locker room. I think I’ll need to scan the whole list to jog my memory.”
“Well…I normally wouldn’t do that Reid, but since your wing is the prime benefactor for the whole operation, I can’t see the harm. I’ll ask Annabelle to email it over to you right away.”
“Very good sir. I’m hopeful we can find just the right people to help us with the project.”
Among other things.
>>>>>>>>>>
Reid Oliver was a not a slave to his inbox. In a physician’s world, email was not the language of urgency. His pager or cell phone? Those were entirely different matters all together. When he was needed for an emergency or for a patient issue, that’s how his colleagues contacted him. They were immediate and effective in reaching their target. But email was not of daily concern to him, that is until today.
Each time his computer registered a small “bing” for the next hour, Reid disgustingly likened himself to Pavlov’s dog, turning immediately to the screen in the hopes of the treat he desired. At 4:55PM, it finally arrived.
“Judith,” he said, popping his head out of his office door and addressing his administrative assistant. “Hold all my calls until the end of the day, unless there’s an emergency of course. I have a patient issue that’s going to require a considerable amount of research and I need to be focused.”
“Yes sir, Dr. Oliver. I’ll take care of it.”
With a turn of the door lock, Reid took a deep breath as he considered what he was about to do. It made no logical sense. It might take forever. It might be completely fruitless. Yet, for some reason he couldn’t identify, he was powerless to stop himself.
He sat at his desk and printed the invitation list that Annabelle had sent to him at Mr. Gunderson’s direction. While she had luckily forwarded the Excel spreadsheet, which would make his task easier, unfortunately it contained more than 2000 people. This was going to take a lot of time. So he began by scribbling down a few notes to help guide his work:
What I Know About Mr. Dumas:
· Male
· Does not live in Chicago
· Lives about an hour away
· Current age -20-30
· Time of transplant: Within past 10 years
· Fiancé named Michael
So he began, like the scientist he was, to methodically narrow the list of guests by eliminating names based on the characteristics he knew did not fit Dumas’ profile. First, he sorted the sheet based on the Gender column then deleted all the female invitees.
Damn these ridiculous events. They were swarming with blue bloods, attorneys, the old guard medical staff at the hospital and the up and coming hot shot doctors. Most were men. That had reduced it to 1352.
He hit the mother lode though with his next step. He tabbed over to the “City” column that contained mailing addresses and sorted again. Dumas had said he had about an hour drive to make it home from the gala location. By deleting all addresses in Chicago, another 1000 names dropped off the list. Bingo.
Then he filtered the addresses again. He had checked the United Network for Organ Sharing’s online database, identifying the locations of transplant centers around Chicago that had treated male recipients in Dumas’ age range within the past 10 years. By identifying guests that did not live in the surrounding areas of that short list of transplant centers, another twenty names were eliminated. It was not a precise method because patients could move or seek medical care outside their home cities, but it was his best approach as a starting point.
Now we’re cooking. Only 332 people to search through.
332 people? he thought. That’s ridiculous. How am I ever going to search through that many men and find him? And he’s engaged. E-N-G-A-G-E-D.
Reid Oliver was not a believer in fate. Or romance. Or finding the man of your dreams. Or even that there was such a thing as the man of his dreams. Even if he existed, you certainly wouldn’t find him at a snobby hospital fundraiser with his fiancé. F-I-A-N-C-E.
He grasped the mouse and moved the cursor towards the top menu, shaking himself from his secret fantasy to find this man with whom he was somehow so enthralled. He would shut the file down and let it be.
There is no point, even if I somehow found him. There is no point.
His finger hovered, ready to click the file closed.
Or is there?
And against all scientific logic, Reid’s instincts drew him back to his task, eliminating the men, one by one. Searching the internet for clues: engagement announcements, stories about kidney transplants at the centers, and the occasional unrobed photograph of a young blond bachelor enjoying the fruits of another. In all his years, he’d enjoyed the transitory company of men like himself. Handsome, driven, virile, serious…unattached. Yet there was something about Dumas. Something that felt like…more. He had to find out what it was.