Mum warned me of the dangers in engaging in a relationship with one’s colleagues, but I ignored her. At the drug-dependency unit, the psychiatrist and senior doctor was strong, sure and decisive. As I fumbled to understand my patients, he listened calmly, interpreted my meandering thoughts and congratulated me on my intuition. He was flirtatious and I allowed myself to be reeled in. He wasn’t my type physically, but he looked sharp and sexy in his charcoal-gray suit, white shirt open at the collar and Church’s shoes. He had welcomed me to the DDU on my first day with an hour-long induction meeting in his office. He sat behind his desk with his feet up, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head. I’d bloody read Desmond Morris’s The Naked Ape and done a whole undergraduate degree module on body language, so why the hell was I mesmerized by this person trying so hard to be the alpha male? I was finally in my last placement; I was splitting my time between the DDU and a palliative-care unit—a new center for the research and treatment of those with HIV and AIDS.
