It's a virus.  Or it's fatigue.  Perhaps you're not eating enough fruit, or something - I don't know.   It could be one of a hundred piffling little matters with which ordinary people like you waste my time.  Day after day, month after month, I have to put up with arseholes coming to me and complaining that they're feeling listless, or they've got a headache, or that their elbow hurts, or their liver's exploded, or some such nonsense.   Do you think I care?  Do you?  Do you really?  No I don't.  I couldn't give a toss.  Do you think I spent twenty-eight years at medical school just so that I could listen to sad little nobodies telling me that they feel a bit poorly?   Hell no!  I studied day and night so that I could drive around in a big car and smoke fat cigars.  I sweated over textbooks and charts so that I could discover some fantastic new disease that would make me rich and famous, and make everybody think I'm great.  I gave up the best years of my life so that I wouldn't have to put up with this shit, and look where it got me - pandering to bloated, ill-educated, arrogant, ignorant, recalcitrant, pie-eating, soap-dodging, lumpen, insipid, crapulous, iniquitous, obtuse, tedious, fatuous, apathetic, squalid little twats who just want to tap me for a sick note so that they can get a few days off work.

Sorry, I'm having a bit of a bad day. Take a couple of paracetamol and come back in six weeks if there's no improvement.