Vote for Pedro

Our new patient Napoleon is hard to read. More Napoleon Bonaparte than Napoleon Dynamite. Asking him for intimate personal information - like, for example, whether he feels thirsty - is more taxing than you'd think. He gives out these details piecemeal, like a serial killer toying with the police. Finding out when his bowels last opened takes the entire day, and usually ends up with me negotiating with the nurses to get him a double helping of dessert. He's a master, and gives away nothing for free.

He's pretty clear on one thing though: he's smarter than I am. He peppers our conversations with references to the times he's Googled his condition, and the self-help groups he's been to.

As far as he's concerned, a medical degree doesn't count for much if you don't actually have the disease. We've disagreed on so many aspects of his treatment that I've honestly considered telling him that I too have a complex intestinal disorder, just so he'll hear me out.

I can't fault him: his rules apply to everyone. Consultants get the same disdain as entry-level graduates. Studies in major journals are rejected: the authors don't have the symptoms, so they don't know what they're talking about. Napoleon's logic is impeccable.

This Frenchman's a tough nut to crack. Short of acquiring his disease, which may or may not necessitate a bizarre infectious agent, I'm not going to win this argument. I'm not even on a level playing field. This could well be my Waterloo.