I had to ask her. It was a standard medical question and, besides that, I was just plain curious. “Kelsey, why did you try killing yourself?”

Her bright blue eyes now gazed into her lap, as she nervously twisted locks of her hair. No answer was immediately forthcoming, but she seemed to be formulating a response, so I remained silent. I wondered what could make a 14-year-old want to end her life. Was she having trouble with her parents? Was she pregnant? On drugs?

“My boyfriend broke up with me and . . .” She began sobbing, but sniffled twice and continued on, “. . . and he's gone and I'm afraid that no one else will want me!”

Given her stunning beauty, I imagined that she would be as popular with boys as a winning Lotto ticket would be with bankers. No one else would want her? Hadn't she ever looked into a mirror? “Kelsey, you're a very pretty young lady. I'm sure that you will never have any trouble finding someone to date. Furthermore, I think you are too young to worry about such a thing. Just go out with your friends and have a good time. You will have plenty of time to date when you are older.”

“But I'm fourteen!” she countered.

“That's my point,” I said. “You're young. Enjoy it.”

“Fourteen isn't young. My mom was married when she was fourteen!”

I wondered what state would allow such a thing. Then I remembered President Clinton's state of origin, and his penchant for young flesh—well, any flesh that lacked a Y chromosome. Perhaps there was a connection. I speculated as to the state.

“How did you know?”

“Oh, just a guess,” I responded.

“So, if it's OK with the state, then it's OK to do, right?”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes states, in their infinite wisdom, permit people to do things under extenuating circumstances even when these things are generally not advisable.”

“What's an extenuating circumstance?” she inquired.

I pulled a chair next to her bed and sat down. “Want to hear a true story?”

She looked interested. “Sure I do.”

“I'll tell you about Nancy.”

Nancy was a 16-year-old patient whom I'd had years ago. Nancy had cystic fibrosis, a disease that sent young people to an early grave. At the time, we had no cure for the disease, and the treatments for it were abysmal. During one of her hospitalizations, Nancy's parents agreed to her marriage following her discharge from the hospital. Waiting for her to finish college—or even high school, for that matter—might be too late. Nancy was doomed to miss many years of her life, but she was determined not to miss out on everything which life had to offer. It was a good thing that she compressed her joy into such a short life, for her life was indeed short: eighteen years.

“But you're different, Kelsey. You're healthy. You have plenty of time in which to live life. Don't try to rush it.”

“Why don't guys ask me out more often? Only one guy has wanted to be my boyfriend.”

“I think they are intimidated by you. Very attractive women are generally not asked out as often as other women, because most men assume that the prettiest women will turn them down.”

“That makes sense. I wonder why my psychiatrist never told me that?”

“I don't know. Why don't you ask him?”

“I can't ask him,” she answered.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because he was just forced to move out of state.”

Seeking a clarification, I inquired, “Forced to move?”

“Yes. My Dad forced him.”

“Your Dad forced him? Why?”

“Because my Dad found out that he was my boyfriend.”

That psychiatrist is not the only doctor with a penchant for pubescent girls. One of my friends told me about his girlfriend, whose sexual initiation was provided a decade earlier by a doctor in his mid-thirties. As in the case described above, the girl's father eventually found out and forced the doctor to move out of state. That doctor got off too easy, and he is probably hanging out with another ninth grader.

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