“Enfield Aitchess?” I called to the waiting room.
A 65 year old man shuffled towards me and shook my hand. He seemed slightly out of breath.
“My name is Dr Dawlatly, please come in and take a seat, Mr Aitchess,” I said as we entered my room.
As he sat down he mumbled, “Most people just call me ‘En,’ actually, doctor.”
“Okay, En, what brings you here today?” I asked.
“It’s these darn winters doctor. I just don’t seem to be able to cope with them,” he started. I looked at him, encouraging him silently to continue.
“I seem to have some sort of functional deficit once the weather turns cold. Nothing seems to work properly, and I was wondering if you had some sort of diagnosis or treatment doctor?” he asked, looking at me hopefully. more…