Friday Clinic in 3 Acts
The Physick's Friday
A Comedie Medicale in Three Scenes
Being a most true and faithful account of the Labours & Tribulations of certain Physicians-in-Training upon a Friday Afternoon, set within the Halls of a Family Medicine Practice of Nineteen Exam Rooms, Two Procedure Chambers, and One Great Central Hub
Dramatis Personae
| Role | Name | Description |
|---|---|---|
| Orlando | PGY-1 | A physician in his first year, earnest and much aggrieved |
| Viola | PGY-2 | A physician in her second year, pragmatic and wise beyond her station |
| Benedick | PGY-3 | A physician in his third year, enamoured of new technologies |
| Portia | Attending Preceptor | A seasoned healer, calm in tempest |
| Sir John Falstaff | Patient the First | A rotund gentleman of advancing years, grievously ill |
| Miranda | Patient the Second | A child of tender age, bright of eye |
| Titania | Mother to Miranda | A devoted parent, speaker of another tongue |
| Ophelia | Medical Assistant the First | Fleet of foot and sharp of mind |
| Puck | Medical Assistant the Second . | Merry, mischievous, ever in motion |
| Rosalind | Interpreter | A bridge between two worlds, summoned through enchanted tablet |
| Juliet | Front Office Staff | Guardian of the schedule, keeper of the telephone |
ACT I
Scene 1
The Great Central Hub. Friday, half past one in the afternoon. Computers glow upon their stations like so many hearth-fires. ORLANDO enters, clutching a sheaf of printed schedules, visibly distressed. VIOLA sits reviewing a chart upon her screen. BENEDICK enters from the corridor, bright-eyed, carrying a small recording device as though it were a jewel.
ORLANDO: O, what fresh torment doth this Friday bring! I am undone — betrayed by mine own diligence! On Monday last, when all the world seemed sure, I pored o'er charts till mine own eyes did blur — Four patients set, their histories reviewed, Their medications cross-checked, problems construed, Each lab result and imaging report Assembled with the care one gives a fort. And now — NOW — at the very hour of battle, Three of the four have fled like startled cattle! Rescheduled! Gone! Replaced by names unknown, And all my Monday labour, overthrown!
He collapses into a rolling chair, which spins him slightly.
VIOLA: (without looking up from her screen) Poor Orlando. Thou hast learned the oldest lesson That residency imparts upon the young: The patient's word is writ in water, friend.
ORLANDO: Three out of four, Viola! THREE of FOUR!
VIOLA: Aye, 'tis the way of things. I'll tell thee true — I review my charts but briefly the day before, A glancing pass, a skim of what's in store, Then rise with morning's light to do the rest, When schedules are more likely to hold fast. For patients are as fickle as the moon — What shines for Monday wanes by Friday noon.
ORLANDO: (groaning) Thou speak'st as one who hath been burned before.
VIOLA: Burned? Nay — forged. There is a difference. I was as thou art once, in PGY-1, Pre-reading charts a fortnight in advance Like some mad scholar hoarding ancient texts. And then — poof — half my clinic, vanished hence. Now I am wiser. Brief the night before, And thorough on the morn — no less, no more.
ORLANDO: (sighing) And so I sit, with new charts yet unread, And half the afternoon already fled.
Enter BENEDICK, holding up a small device with theatrical reverence.
BENEDICK: Good morrow, fellow sufferers of medicine! Or rather — good afternoon, for time doth fly When one possesses such a wondrous tool! Behold! I come equipped with sorcery — An engine of Artificial Intelligence That shall transcribe mine every patient visit, Compose the note, arrange the prose with care, Whilst I — WHILST I — do nothing but attend Unto the very patient sitting there!
VIOLA: (raising an eyebrow) AI notewriting? Thou art become a convert?
BENEDICK: A convert? Nay, a true apostle, madam! For two long years I scribbled in the night, My notes a graveyard of forgotten thoughts, Half-documented plans, and dot-phrases Strewn like bones upon a battlefield. But NOW — now I shall look upon my patients. I shall make the eye contact poets dream of. I shall nod with the attentiveness of saints! The machine shall catch the words; I'll catch the meaning.
ORLANDO: Doth it truly work so well?
BENEDICK: I used it Tuesday last. My note was done Before I'd even left the exam room's door. 'Twas beautiful — organized, succinct — More beautiful, I'll say, than half the notes I've written with mine own two weary hands.
VIOLA: Take care, Benedick. Trust but verify. A machine may write the words, but thou must sign them.
BENEDICK: Aye, aye, I read them through — I am no fool. But freed from documentation's heavy chain, I sat with Mistress Quickly yesterday A full ten minutes more than I'd have managed, And she did weep with gratitude, and said No doctor e'er had listened quite so well. That, friends, is worth a thousand keystrokes saved.
VIOLA: (smiling despite herself) Well. Perhaps there's merit in thy magic box.
OPHELIA enters briskly, placing a chart flag upon VIOLA's station.
OPHELIA: Viola, thy patient in Room Seven waits — Young Miranda, here for her twelve-month visit. Her mother, Titania, speaks only Spanish; The interpreter is summoned to the tablet.
VIOLA: My thanks, Ophelia. I shall go forthwith.
VIOLA rises and exits toward Room Seven. ORLANDO begins furiously reading a new chart. BENEDICK polishes his AI device lovingly.
PUCK: (passing through with a blood pressure cuff, singing) Through hub and hall and corridor I go, Rooming the patients, keeping up the flow! Vitals taken, chief complaints obtained — If Puck should rest, the whole clinic's detained!
He exits, laughing.
ACT II
Scene 1 — Room Seven
VIOLA enters to find TITANIA seated, holding MIRANDA upon her lap. An iPad rests upon the counter, and upon its screen appears ROSALIND, the interpreter, via video.
VIOLA: Good afternoon! Buenos tardes — ah, but wait, Let me allow Rosalind to do the speaking, For my tongue stumbles where hers dances free.
ROSALIND: (from the iPad, warmly) Buenas tardes, Titania. Soy Rosalind, la intérprete. La doctora Viola quisiera hablar sobre el desarrollo de Miranda. ¿Está bien?
TITANIA: (nodding, smiling) Sí, sí, por supuesto.
ROSALIND: She says yes, of course. Please proceed, Doctor.
VIOLA: Wonderful. Can you ask — is Miranda walking yet? Is she using any words? Does she point to things That catch her interest?
ROSALIND: (translating with animation, turning to address MIRANDA directly) ¡Hola, Miranda! ¡Qué bonita estás hoy! (to Titania) ¿Ya camina Miranda? ¿Dice algunas palabras? ¿Señala las cosas que le interesan?
TITANIA: (brightening, bouncing Miranda on her knee) ¡Sí! Camina por todos lados — no para nunca. Dice "mamá," "agua," "no" — mucho "no." Y señala todo — los pájaros, los perros, la comida...
MIRANDA points at the iPad and babbles.
ROSALIND: (laughing) She walks everywhere and never stops. She says "mamá," "agua," and "no" — much "no." And she points at everything: birds, dogs, food — And, it seems, at enchanted tablets too.
VIOLA: (laughing, making a note) Excellent — she meets her milestones well! Walking, words, and pointing — all on time. 'Tis music to a family doctor's ear. Rosalind, canst thou ask about her feeding? And whether she sleeps through the night?
ROSALIND: Of course. (to Titania) ¿Cómo come Miranda? ¿Duerme bien por la noche?
TITANIA: Come de todo. Le encanta el arroz con frijoles. Duerme... más o menos. A veces se despierta una vez.
ROSALIND: She eats everything — she loves rice and beans. She sleeps... more or less. Sometimes wakes but once.
VIOLA: A healthy, thriving child. This doth delight me. Rosalind, please tell her mother she is doing A most wonderful job. Miranda flourishes.
ROSALIND: (with genuine warmth) Titania, la doctora dice que usted está haciendo un trabajo maravilloso. Miranda está creciendo muy bien.
TITANIA: (placing a hand on her heart) Gracias, doctora. Muchas gracias.
MIRANDA waves at the iPad. ROSALIND waves back.
Scene 2 — The Great Central Hub
ORLANDO rushes to PORTIA, who sits reviewing charts at the precepting station. He is pale.
ORLANDO: Portia! I beg thy counsel and thy haste — My patient, one Sir John Falstaff, in Room Twelve, Doth present most grievously. His humours Are in disarray — a fever burns within, His breathing, laboured, rattles in his chest Like wind through some forsaken, broken bellows. His countenance is gray, his pulse is thready, His skin doth mottle at the extremities. I fear a sepsis born of some foul ague — A putrid fever of the lungs, I think, That hath progressed beyond what we may treat Within these walls.
PORTIA: (rising immediately, calm but urgent) Thou hast done well to call me. Let us go.
They exit to Room Twelve. A moment later, PORTIA reemerges, decisive.
PORTIA: His condition is most grave. This man requires The ministrations of a hospital. Ophelia — start a line, if thou art able, And bring the oxygen. Puck — fetch the monitor. Orlando — thou must call the hospital. Speak to the physician in the Emergency Room; Tell them of the putrid fever in his lungs, His disordered breathing and his failing pulse. I shall speak to Juliet at the front.
PORTIA strides to the front office. OPHELIA and PUCK spring into action.
PORTIA: (to JULIET) Juliet, I need an ambulance dispatched With all the swiftness that the county affords. Sir John Falstaff, Room Twelve — a man most ill With fever, failing breath, and mottled skin. He cannot leave by any lesser means.
JULIET: (already reaching for the phone) Say no more, good Portia. I shall summon them. Nine-one-one, or shall I call directly To the station house?
PORTIA: Directly, if thou canst. Time is our foe.
JULIET: (dialing) Consider it done. I'll route them to the side entrance And clear the hallway. Go — attend thy patient. Leave the logistics unto me.
PORTIA nods and returns to the Hub, where ORLANDO stands on the phone.
ORLANDO: (into the phone, with earnest urgency) Good doctor, I do call from Portia's practice — I am Orlando, PGY-1, and I send to you A gentleman, Sir John Falstaff, aged sixty-three, Who doth present with what I do believe To be a putrid fever of the lungs — A pneumonia most severe and septic. His temperature: one hundred and three degrees. His heart doth race at one hundred twenty beats. His blood pressure falls — ninety over sixty — And his breathing, laboured, with a rate of thirty. His oxygen doth measure eighty-seven Upon the ambient air. We've placed a line And started saline, and he breathes now with Supplemental oxygen by mask. I fear without thy urgent intervention, This fever shall consume him ere the night.
(pause, listening)
Aye — aye, I shall send all records hence. We thank thee, doctor. He is in God's hands And, shortly, yours.
He hangs up. His hands tremble slightly.
PORTIA: (placing a hand on his shoulder) Well spoken, Orlando. Clear, precise, and thorough. Thou hast advocated for thy patient well. Now — let us keep him comfortable and watched Until the ambulance arrives.
ORLANDO: I was afraid, Portia. I'll not deny it.
PORTIA: Fear is no enemy — 'tis a companion That sharpens every sense and guards the patient. The doctor who feels nothing, fears me more Than one who trembles but still acts with care. Come. Let us go to him.
They exit toward Room Twelve.
ACT III
Scene 1 — The Great Central Hub — Later That Afternoon
The light through the windows has grown long and golden. The ambulance has come and gone. ORLANDO sits, somewhat dazed. VIOLA returns from her last patient. BENEDICK enters, looking satisfied, his AI device tucked in his coat pocket. PORTIA reviews final charts. OPHELIA and PUCK tidy their stations.
BENEDICK: My notes — all five — are signed and sealed and sent. The AI did craft them well; I checked each one. And more: I sat with old Mercutio a quarter-hour And heard his story of his brother's death, Which I'd have missed if I were typing still. There's something to be said for looking up.
VIOLA: Miranda is a wonder — twelve months old And hitting every milestone like a song. Her mother beamed. Rosalind was magnificent — She spoke to mother and to child alike With such a warmth, it felt not like translation But conversation.
ORLANDO: (quietly) Falstaff is away. The hospital hath taken him. They said They'd start the stronger physick straightaway. I've never... I have never sent a man By ambulance before. My hands still shake.
VIOLA: (sitting beside him) They'll steady. And they'll shake again, in time, At the next one, and the one beyond. But look — Thou caught it. Thou didst see what needed seeing, Called for help, and spoke with clarity. That is the craft. The shaking is the cost.
BENEDICK: She speaks the truth. And Monday, thou shalt find He's mending — mark my words. The putrid fever Is no match for modern pharmacopoeia And one attentive intern.
PORTIA: (looking up from her charts) A word, if I may, ere we part this eve. Orlando — thou wert tested and proved worthy. Viola — thy care for little Miranda And her mother shows the heart of family medicine. Benedick — thy willingness to try new tools Whilst keeping still the human touch — 'tis admirable. This Friday hath been long, and full of trials, But look what we have done within these walls: A child confirmed in health, a man preserved, And all the ordinary, sacred work Of listening, translating, documenting, And showing up. 'Tis no small thing, my friends. Now — go. The weekend calls. Rest well, and know That Monday brings new charts —
ORLANDO: (with a rueful laugh) — which I'll review that morning, thank you kindly.
General laughter.
PUCK: (sweeping through one final time, dimming lights) If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended: That you have but slumbered here While these doctors did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding than a dream, Patients, charts, and Friday's race — Gentles, do not reprehend. Give your hands, if we be friends, And Puck shall make amends.
He winks, flips off the last light in the Hub, and exits.
FINIS
Written in the reign of modern medicine, for those who labour in its halls. (with a sprinkling of modern AI sorcery)