His symptoms were maddeningly vague, and over time, gradually changing. Test after test revealed nothing, and each week he would return with a similar complaint, with subtle variations hinting at something new, something different. Endless possibilities were considered and discarded, until finally his doctor became convinced that there was only one plausible diagnosis – hypochondria. Several psychological evaluations later, however, it was concluded that, too, was not the problem.
Still the symptoms persisted. And so, like every other Thursday, the doctor listened to his complaints, speculated on a few possibilities, made an examination and, unable to find anything, sent him once more on his way. The doctor followed him to reception and collected the next patient, not noticing the little smile he flashed the very pretty receptionist, just like he did every week.