He jumped to do as she bid, and I took a seat on the couch beside her and Julia as he did.
The music started, a fast tempo with a ton of B-roll footage of the hospital, its halls, and the busy streets of Manhattan. The intensity was exciting, so much so it made my heart beat a little faster. It flashed to the front entrance of St. Luke’s Hospital off of 59th Street, and then zoomed in the front doors and through the halls, stairwell, and around the corner to the front entrance of St. Luke’s Obstetrics and Gynecology at superspeed, almost as if they’d strapped the camera to a rocket.
But when the doors of my office opened, the actual camera shot faded and the graphic for the show formed, the last words to fade in: Dr. OB, and a picture of me.
Gigi squealed and squeezed my knee, and Kline gave me an encouraging smile from the chair beside us.
The camera shot picked up again as the cameraman walked down the hall lined with our exam rooms to my office at the end. As soon as my face filled the frame, a knot formed in my stomach. I wasn’t sure why; up until this point, I hadn’t felt anything but excitement. But in that moment, there was a strange sense of foreboding. I didn’t know if it was the expression on my face or just the uncertainty of it all.
But, it wouldn’t be long before I knew why.
I introduced myself and the practice and explained that I couldn’t wait to invite viewers into my world. It was all very innocuous. But then the image of me froze, a flirtatious smile on my face, and rapid-fire, so fast you could barely make out the words as they flashed, a list of everything in my world—or the one they intended to paint—scrolled across the screen.
The one I expected—medicine. One I encouraged—innovation.
And then, a whole litany of adjectives that were sure to haunt me for the rest of my life.
Sex.
Scandal.
Intrigue.
Secrets.
Lies.
I sat immobile.
The graphic for the show filled the screen again, and the indication of my segment, Dr. OB appeared at the bottom. Only this time, a ghost of the letters “s-c-e-n-e” filled the space right after.
Dr. OBscene. Dr. Obscene.
Me. They’re talking about me.
Several minutes of footage following me around the hospital ensued, but I was numb to it all. The only thing that penetrated was Kline jumping from his seat and Georgia leaving the room with my niece. Dick and Savannah came back at some point, and they could have yelled for all I knew. But to me, everything was silent.
My whole life was flashing before my eyes.
The camera shot followed me into the locker room of the hospital, something I’d had no clue they even had permission to do—an ignorance I had a feeling they intended if the shaky recording and barely cracked door were anything to go by—and continued filming as I pulled my shirt up and over my head and started to pull off my scrub pants. There was nearly a full ass cheek exposed by the time the shot panned away.
A Grey’s Anatomy-like scenario where they actually filmed you taking your clothes off and having sex in the on-call room wasn’t nearly as appealing in real life. I’d thought they’d follow me around, present me with opportunities to show off my expertise and show the difference I wanted to make in my patients’ lives—not belittle my intent with creative editing and show me getting naked instead of the emergency C-section I’d performed not even an hour earlier. There was a difference between looking hot and capable and looking inappropriate—and this crock of shit was definitely painting me as the latter.
Christ, my career was on the line here.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I had my phone out and in my hand, searching for the number of someone who would have some answers, and I really only had one question. What in the fuck was going on?
Settling on Tammy Schuler, a member of the board for St. Luke’s and one of the biggest advocates for all of the positives the show would bring to our lives, I hit Call and pressed the phone to my red-hot ear.
She answered on the second ring, and her voice was cautiously chastising. “Will, calm down.”
I hadn’t even said anything, but I guess that was the power of my fury as it radiated through the phone.
“Calm down?” I asked, deathly quiet. “You want me to calm down?”
“Listen—”
“They’ve got me on camera undressing, Tammy!” I exploded. “How the hell were they allowed to film in the locker room anyway? Where was Legal on this one?”
“They didn’t exactly detail in their contract that they’d be filming you undressing, Will.”
“Then let’s go after them! This is an invasion of all professional privacy and a complete misrepresentation.”
“Will…” She paused. “God, Will.”
“What?”
“They didn’t outline that they planned to do it on their side, but we didn’t outline that they couldn’t on ours. I’m sorry.”
“So…what? I’m just supposed to sit here and let this happen for the next twelve weeks? I thought this was a goddamn docuseries, not one ass cheek away from the start of a porno!”
“Our hands are tied for the next thirty-six, Will. We’ve checked with the lawyers, I assure you, but we have no legal recourse. Every single planned episode—yours, Scott’s, and Nick’s—will air.”
“Fucking shit.”
“Will.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s not exactly professional language.”
She actually laughed a little, and I considered what kind of technology it would require to have my hand reach through the phone and strangle her. Have they invented it yet? Can my brother-in-law afford it? He’s fucking loaded, so I’m sure he can.
“No, it’s not, but it’s fine. I was just going to tell you the positive news.”
“I’m not really seeing how you can spin this one in a good direction, Tammy.”
“How about five hundred thousand hits in an hour?”
“What?”
“That’s how many people have visited the hospital website in the last hour.”
I rolled my eyes. “And? I’ve always thought of hospitals as one of those things that sell themselves. People get injured, they come. It’s not like they’re choosing a spa.”
“You’d think that, but you’re wrong. People do choose hospitals, Will, and as much as you don’t like this personally, people are choosing our hospital because of this show.”
“And they’re all checking in to the psych ward?”
Deep down, I knew she was right. People really did choose hospitals. I’d seen it enough in my time as a physician, but still…this was about me and I was pissed. Emotion sometimes skews rational thought.
“Will.”
I sighed. Goddammit. “Fine. I guess it is what it is.”
“It is.”
“Then you better keep me on salary until I’m dead, close, or convicted of an actual crime.”
It was her turn to sigh. “The hospital cannot actually promise to keep a job for you, but I can guarantee the circumstances have been noted.”
“My sacrifice has been noted.”