What happened to Doogie Howser?

Doogie Howser M.D. was a genius. No one could deny his talent, and despite his many flaws, he was, and is, an exceptional doctor.

He became a qualified doctor even before he could legally apply for a driver’s license. Doogie was the son of a famous and well known doctor, and despite being a child prodigy, he struggled for years to climb out from the shadows of his father. Not one who could be in a lasting relationship, he soon realized that it was best to keep his focus on his work.

A workaholic, and a genius who could do no wrong, he became a trauma surgeon, and an insufferable entity that everyone had difficulty working with. No stranger to loss, he struggled all his youth to create some sort of balance between what he wanted to do with his life, and the tremendous responsibilities that his talents as a doctor placed on his shoulders.

Last anyone heard of him, he had left Eastman Medical Centre and went to Rome with his long time friend Vinnie.

He returned 16 months later to find himself in an extraordinary predicament.

2 days after getting back in Los Angeles, someone paid him a visit at his home. At 3 in the night he was rudely awoken by someone ringing the doorbell and hammering down the door. Still groggy from sleep, he cracked open the door a little, and suddenly found himself on the floor, the door hanging from the hinges, and multiple barrels of semi automatic guns staring down his face.

Stowed in the backside of an unmarked van, Doogie was informed that he was about to handle the most important medical case of his life; a case on which the outcome of his own life would depend. He had to save the life of a mafia boss, and failing would mean not only the end of his life, but also the end of everyone he had ever loved. He arrived at an abandoned warehouse that had been fitted with every possible medical equipment he could ever need. He did not question where they got these equipment, since he was certain that he did not want to know.

After scrubbing up, and taking a look at his patient’s medical chart, he started working. Extensive surgery was needed and he was left cutting and splicing up his patient for hours. The boss has chosen well, and though it required every last bit of medical knowledge that Doogie possessed, the operation was a success.

Still sweaty and blood soaked, Doogie was cleaning up when the first gunshot was heard. Certain that he was about to be killed after he had done his part, he resignedly turned around. Half a dozen gunmen had entered the warehouse, but he was not their only target. They were firing indiscriminately at anyone they saw, and he quickly ducked into a corner before he could be spotted. The firing stopped quickly enough, and all his earlier captors were dead. It was then that Doogie felt his leg going numb, as a small pool of blood began to form under him.

Someone yelled, “Clear” and two men rushed off outside the warehouse, only to return minutes later with a third man. Well dressed and suave, the man approached the operating table on which lay the mafia boss, Doogie had just saved from certain death. He stepped under the light and casually fired two bullets into the face of his former patient, turned around and started walking away. The sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance, and the gunmen quickly retreated into cars that screeched away.

Men in combat vests, carrying heavy guns rushed in, shouting unnecessarily and making a general mess of the crime scene. As a doctor, Doogie knew the importance of not messing with an enclosed space, especially if it had just been the site for multiple vicious homicides. Soon enough, three guns were pointing at him, and three different voices shouting what appeared to be three different commands. His hands were cuffed, and he was unceremoniously put in the back of a van without any number plates. It was here that Doogie Howser, youngest doctor ever, waited for god knows how long before the vehicle finally started moving.

The next few days were a blur. People talking to him about what had happened. Asking him the same questions over and over, making him say the same things again and again perhaps hoping that he will say something different and incriminate himself, or perhaps they were just as clueless about what was going on as Doogie was.

Over the course of these conversations, a background started to emerge about the events of that night. It helped that he had a reputation. Papers were signed, sworn video testimonies were recorded, and in what was possibly a month, if not more, he was informed that the authorities would provide him a cover identity, that for the next few years he would have to go into witness protection. All this happened while his leg throbbed painfully. Vicodin was helpful at these times, but as a doctor he also knew how quick the addiction was. The bullet had torn through his thigh. Every doctor had assured him that the bullet wound was through and through, and would cause no problems in the long term. He, however, suspected that his leg problems were only just beginning.

And the questions, the questions never stopped.

“You understand that you cannot go back to your old life for some time?”

Yes.

“Lying will need to become second nature.”

Everybody lies.

“Mr Howser, do you have a preferred name for your new identity?”

Always did hate the name Doogie. You can change that. Pick something generic. A John, or a Greg will do fine.

“Ok, Mr Howser. Anything else?”

No, I think we’re done here. No wait. Yes. My last name, I don’t think I want to change it too much. Keep it something similar. House? Yes, I think I like the sound of that.

“John House? Really?”

Greg, then? Short for Gregory. And see if I can get a job in the healthcare industry. That, or see if there is a biker gang I can join.

He left the room in a hurry. The pain in his leg was getting worse again. Two minutes, and a couple of Vicodins later, he started to get a little numb. A drug addict doctor. Doogie had always hated clichés, it would suck if he turned into one.