You're no superman

MDH staggers into the room where I am packing my bag for yet another long train journey (I'm scored another interview up north). He looks absolutely wretched.

TSCD: Are you alright?
MDH: Yeah yeah...just feeling a little queasy.
TSCD: A little queasy? You look like a dead fish!
MDH: (watery smile) Thanks a lot.
TSCD: Seriously. You going to work like that?
MDH: (watery smile) Yeah.
TSCD: You can't go to the hospital like that! The patients will run away.
MDH: They won't get far. (sweating profusely) Anyway, I can't call in sick. (swaying on feet) They're understaffed today. And I've got an appraisal. And I promised that I'd join the hospital football league!
TSCD: But...but...you can't even stand up straight!
MDH: I feel fine! Fine, I tell you!

MDH's face suddenly turns a attractive shade of bilious green and he rushes into the toilet.

TSCD: (Peeking round the door) So...I'll call the hospital and tell them you're ill, shall I?
MDH: (retching)
TSCD: Okay then.

(sigh)
Men.