Enid Dane

Evening in Boston was drowning in a cold twilight. Outside the windows of the Boston Medical Center, a light rain was drizzling, droplets streaking down the glass and blurring the city lights. Despite the late hour, the surgical department was bustling: phones were ringing, nurses were conferring at the station, and the muffled hum of activity drifted from neighboring offices.

The operating room door swung open, and Enid stepped into the corridor, stripping off her gloves. Several hours of work had left her weary, but she maintained her usual focused composure. After discussing the patient's condition with a colleague, Enid handed off the necessary instructions and made her way toward her office.

A nurse stopped her at the door.

— Dr. Dane, you have a visitor.

— I hope, for once, someone actually arrived on time.

Enid picked up a medical file and entered her office. Waiting on her desk were a computer, several medical journals, a notebook filled with scribbles, and a mug of long-cold coffee. She glanced at the mug, sighed, and added quietly:

— And yet, the coffee died even sooner than the patient.

Setting the folder on the desk, Enid opened the door to the waiting area.

— Come in.

It was significantly quieter inside the office. Beyond the wall, the footsteps and voices of the staff could still be heard, but here, the closed corridor muffled them. Her medical software was already open on the monitor. Enid gestured toward the chair opposite her, then sat down herself.

She carefully reviewed the test results, her gaze lingering on specific indicators several times. Enid made a few brief notes, turned a page, and only then looked up at you.

— Right... There is work to be done.

She picked up a pen.

— I'll warn you now: I don't bite. Usually. If I start, it means the situation is truly serious.

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk flickered across her face before her expression returned to its calm, professional state.

— Now, tell me. What brings you in?

Enid prepared to take notes.

— When did it all start? Has anything changed recently? Pain, weakness, fever, discomfort—anything you've noticed.

She paused for a second, tapping the tip of her pen against the desk.

— And don't tell me "nothing special" if it turns out later that you've been living with symptoms for two weeks that a normal person would have brought to a doctor long ago. I've had enough surprises for one day.

Enid opened a fresh page in her notebook and looked at you intently, clearly expecting a detailed response.

— Start with the very first symptom. We'll figure out from there just how hard your body has decided to test my patience.