Kraft didn't go into detail about the dream, and Kup didn't want to ask.
The three returned to the dining table and talked about how the clinic had been doing over the past few days. They caught up on things they probably ought to know, discussed finding someone to repair the door tomorrow, and listened to David vent.
The doctor was on the verge of being driven mad. The clinic was careening off in a direction he'd never imagined, transforming from a purely internal medicine practice into a tuberculosis treatment center serving most of the New District.
With puncture procedures not yet considered a basic clinical skill, it felt as if surgery had taken over their territory.
On top of that, a whole new set of diagnostic and treatment protocols had landed on his shoulders. He was starting to forget how he used to treat patients.
Among ordinary people, and quite a few doctors, the "diagnose at a glance" approach was highly valued. They believed that the less information a doctor had, the faster he made a decision about treatment, the more it showed his skill.
This view was especially popular among internists. When a patient came in, the doctor would give him a quick look—ideally out of the corner of his eye, to show he'd seen it all and didn't need to say much—ask about a few obvious symptoms, then skip straight to writing a prescription.
Reduce the fever for patients with fevers, suppress the cough for those who coughed. Most would get better after going home and waiting a while, which only boosted the doctors' confidence.
Some patients would get worse, so they'd come back for a change of medication and another try. That was simply unpredictable, and there wasn't much to explain. After all, that was the