The Transcription Factor

Yes, this is Dr. Ramachandran.
Yes, it’s me.

Yes, the result of your blood test is in. I’d like to get you in for a consultation - can you please accept my planning request?
Okay, let’s see - see you tuesday morning then. Goodbye Ms. Pierce.

Good day Ms. Pierce, good of you to come in.
At this, Ms. Pierce actually didn’t say anything, but only sat down and waited.
Ms. Pierce, do you know what a transcription factor is?
No. Well, yes I do, but, not that well.
Ramachandran looked irked at timidity, it was not a modern quality.
You have a high lipid content in your blood Ms. Pierce, and it has made you fat.
Obesity is no joke Dr.
Neither is being fat.
Ramachandran pushed off with his legs so that his office chair sailed backwards to a rack of small plastic bags. His hand was already outstretched to fetch the one that was hers. When he returned he held up a small zip lock bag with exactly one little pink capsule in it.
What’s that?
Immediately after asking she looked down into her lap - and, with delicate and practiced motion opened the zipper on ther purse, took out a pink lipstick, and started applying it. The whole while he talked, she didn’t look up from the small makeup mirror.
It is a methylation pattern corrector, Ms. Pierce. It’s to change the expression of your DNA, make a few changes. It’ll make you slim again, Ms. Pierce.
But, Dr. Ramachandran, I have a few questions.
At this, the good Dr. held up his wrist to look at it, but in the absence of any glock remembered his impoliteness, and stared Ms. Pierce directly in the eyes, which he found a little intense; so that the Dr. was already a little on his heels when Ms. Pierce asked:
But I thought the DNA expression made me who I am. Surely you are not trying to make you someone else Dr. Ramachandran?
Not someone e...
Because I rather like who I am.
No, not someone else, Ms. Pierce, simply slimmer, less lipids...
At this Ms. Pierce actually took a small packed of malt candy, fished one out between index and long finger, and gently put it on her tongue. Then she extended the bag towards Dr. Ramachandran.
He looked at it as if someone was trying to hand him a turd, which she took as a no.
The Dr. let out a small sigh, and leaned forward onto his elbows.
Look, I can’t force you. It’ll just be better for you. But, if you don’t want it...
He held his palms flat out in front of him in a mixed gesture of resignation and surrender.
At this Ms. Pierce lifted her right foot over her right one.
What will it do, exactly?
Ramachandran looked at the bag.
It’s designed to do two things. It’ll slightly increase the rate at which you feel like using energy, and you’ll be wanting that sugar a little less. I suspect, but this is not sure,that you will like hard fats a little less, like, you’ll find yourself cutting the rinds off chops. Not drastic.
Ms. Pierce looked down and put her hands on her waist, and unsaddled her legs.
Tell me, Mr. Ramachandran. Do you like me?
She did not look shocked when he was very silent.
It was not contempt, exactly, he thought. Or pity. Not pity. Not resignation, not completely - or sadness. She was not pensive, or angry.
Her hand reached for the little pill, and when she rose she picked it up. Then she threw it in the trash, and walked out.