Whitman?” “Brigid, I’ve asked you to stop calling me that for the past five years.” He said it with a smile. “Okay, Brooks. I need your advice.” “Ask away.” I knew Dr. Brooks Whitman from his frequent visits to the hospital. He was a general practitioner with his own private practice in the Eagle Rock area, so he often came into LACH. Even though he was old enough to be my grandfather, he still had a full head of silver hair. I had liked him from the day we met at the start of my residency. He was always trying to mentor me, and I was grateful for it. Someone like him would be invaluable for me to know if I ever took the plunge into private practice. We sat outside LACH in one of the garden courtyards at a picnic table. It was mid afternoon, so few other people were around and I felt like we were in relative privacy. I took a deep breath. “Brooks, have you ever dated one of your patients? I mean, before you were married?” He grinned. “I married one of my patients.”
