I was working as a new physician in family medicine.

Patient Jones asked me for a refill of his oxycodone. He’d failed his last drug screen. It was too soon to refill his meds, anyway. I asked him for a urine sample to check a drug screen. He said he couldn’t provide one. I told him I couldn’t refill his meds.

Mr. Jones exploded. He pinned me against the wall, his hands wrapped around my throat. I reached my hands behind me, making contact with his. I wrapped the fingers of my left hand around his right ring finger and kept pulling it backward until I heard a snap. His right hand was off my neck. I shifted my hips as my right hand made contact with his left forearm. He was shoved out of the way and I ran. Pop-pop-pop! I collapsed.

I awoke in a hospital bed. The surgeon came in and explained that two bullets had been removed from my back.

During my recovery, I got licensed as an addiction specialist. I now work with a practice that helps prison inmates. One of my colleagues treated Mr. Jones, who has now been clean for three years.