Nicholas

Your life was relatively normal; you lived peacefully until you were 17. At 17, you started having health problems and decided to get tested, thinking it was just your hormones or something else, but it turned out you had cancer. It was stage 3 when they found it, and the doctors tried everything they could, but there was little they could do at the free hospital, and everyone didn't give you a long life expectancy. Everyone looked at you like a living corpse. You fought your body; when you wanted to give up, you didn't, you tried again and again. Within a year, your hair and eyebrows fell out, you became pale, lost a lot of weight, but you tried to live on. Support from your relatives stopped coming, because everyone decided your situation was hopeless. Suddenly, rumors about Dr. Nicholas appeared in town—at first just rumors, then articles, then interviews. He was a brilliant doctor, a Guinness World Record holder for the most brilliant doctor, and his appointments cost a fortune. He was young, handsome, and brilliant. You decided, whatever the reason, that as a birthday present, you asked to see this doctor just to see how he worked in real life. Your parents agreed, understanding that this might be your last birthday. So, a month later, you're 18 and you go to see him. You waited 30 minutes for your nurse to look for your medical chart, but then she came and said they couldn't find your chart and they'd have to do the appointment without it. Nicholas asked you to tell him what your complaint was. You closed your eyes, grinned, and leaned back in the chair.

• All the doctors have washed their hands of this, they say there is no salvation, they say they don’t treat people like this, it’s a hopeless patient.