“Your reports came and whispered in my ear.”
He was amused and annoyed and frustrated and angry in equal measure.She was joking about his heart attack?
Her face wasn't amused though.
Nilay leaned back, crossing his arms. “Then they should tell you what happened on the night of myattacktoo.”
“Tight chest and sweat, you took it for a case of heartburn and let it go on. Felt better after drinking a soda or an equivalent. Woke up refreshed but had the good sense of consulting your GP, or whoever it was that referred you here.”
Fuck, she was a doctor.
“I walked it off too,” he pointed, in a bid to keep on top of her.
“Probably saved you from a major attack.”
His eyes bugged.
“Really?”
“Was your soda cold?”
“I didn’t say I drank a soda.”
“Ok, Mr. Patel. I am not here running an investigation. If you want an accurate diagnosis and move on to a treatment plan, then you will need to be honest and not poke back. This is about your heart, not mine.”
He swallowed.
“A chilled Coke, and then a glass of iced water,” he deadpanned.
She took one of his reports’ pages and flipped it over to the blank side. Nilay stared in fascination as she picked up a pen from inside her bag. It was a Montblanc Meisterstuck. She couldn’t afford that on an assistant’s pay.She was a doctor, then.
“How long did it last at night?”
She began to write down something at the top of his sheet. He peered. Her handwriting was beautiful. Art. Impeccably curvy but legible even from the other side.
Mr. Nilay Patel
41/M
She wasn’t a doctor!Bingo. Doctors never had good handwriting.
“Did you feel the pain anywhere else? Jaw, shoulder, back?” She kept talking to him, her eyes on the paper in front of her. She wasn't writing his symptoms or her questions, but weird-looking test names. More tests?! The slither of fear that he had settled in the last ten minutes began to crawl up his neck again.
“Left shoulder had some dull ache in the morning,” he recollected.
“Any shortness of breath?”
“A little.”
“Palpitations? Sweating?”
He hesitated. She glanced up and her eyes moved to his forehead. It was damp. Nilay sat a little too straight and looked at her sharply. “You know everything anyway, don’t you?”
“It’s a pattern,” she said flatly. “Prolonged restlessness after an angina is expected.”
He shifted, restless again under her clinical calm.
“You should’ve come in sooner.”
