Mark’s chest tightened as he walked out the door of the clinic on Friday. It was only lunchtime, and already his patience was wearing thin. He wished he could finish early and go for a long run on the beach but he had a full afternoon of patients to see. Since his run-in with Sylvia last week about Denise Fairweather’s treatment, she’d been agitated and irritable around him. And now a few more of Sylvia’s patients had come to see him, so their interactions lately were a constant exchange of ‘why are you giving her this?’ and ‘what’s your rationale for that?’ and ‘what kind of name for a medicine is silybum marianum?’ and ‘yes Sylvia, I know what I’m doing’. She obviously didn’t like anyone stepping on her toes. Control freak. As usual, Mark had packed his lunch to eat in the clinic, but there was no way he could stand another lunchtime debate. He’d grab something in town. But right now he couldn’t eat.
