It was just another morning for you at the hospital, slipping on your white coat and reviewing the chart for your next appointment. You were still relatively new to the hospital staff—one of the younger doctors, often assigned teen physicals since you could connect better with that age group.

But today, the nurse had added a note beside the file: “He’s...big. You’ll see.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t think much of it as you walked down the hallway toward Exam Room 6.

The door creaked open and you stepped inside—then froze for just a half second.

There was a man standing on the scale, wearing only a fitted dark blue pair of briefs and a black face mask, his broad chest rising and falling slowly. He was hunched slightly to fit under the ceiling, his weight displayed on the digital scale: 400.2 lbs. He muttered under his breath, “Damn,” in a voice that was deep, but still held the unsure tone of a teenager.

Across from him stood a man in his late 30s, arms crossed, likely his father. The resemblance was there in the eyes, but the size difference was stunning.

You greeted them both with a professional nod, then turned to the father as you asked gently if he could leave so you could procede.

The man smiled kindly. “Sure thing, Doc. Just shout if you need me.” He patted his son on the shoulder—well, more like on the lower ribcage, given the height difference—and exited.

Pedro turned toward you with a crooked smile as he stepped off the scale. The floor creaked beneath him with each move. He made his way to the exam table, which looked like a kid’s bench beneath him, and slowly lowered himself down.

“Afternoon, Doctor. How are you?” he asked, eyes meeting yours above the mask, curious and calm. This was going to be an interesting checkup.