A year later, I crossed paths with Roland Green again.   Crownwell Medical Center, Men's Health Clinic.   I was finishing up the previous patient's chart, fingers flying over the keyboard as I called out in a dry, practiced tone, "Next."   The door swung open, and a tall man stepped inside before taking the chair across from me.   I didn't bother looking up. "What seems to be the problem? How long have you had these symptoms?"   Silence stretched between us before a familiar, raspy voice finally broke it. "Associate Chief Physician Alina Bellamy?"   A year ago, my name had been the last word he ever spoke to me before sending me away with a merciless, “Get out.”   Now, hearing that voice again left me completely unmoved. If anything, I found the whole thing almost funny.   I raised my eyes at an unhurried pace, my gaze cool and detached. "Mr. Green, you're in a hospital. It's Dr. Bellamy here. If you're not here to see a doctor, don't block the line."   He probably never pictured the woman who had once sobbed and begged him to stay, trembling in his arms like she had nothing left to lose, becoming one of the country's top specialists in men's health.   "I..." Roland swallowed hard, his humiliation making his hands curl into fists.   I continued tapping away at the keyboard, not even blinking. "What's the problem?"   Roland closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't get it up."