A chest physician in London chose his medical school because of a football club.
He grew up in London, but he supported a team up north; so that is where he went to train. The school there sent him to Africa to study tuberculosis, and that is where his interest in breathing began.
On the hospital listings where patients look him up, he is “a lung specialist and Consultant in Respiratory Medicine.”
A consultant on Harley Street who treats dizziness has a clinic bio that opens by calling him internationally recognised. Its last line mentions the first home computer he ever owned, which he is still nostalgic about.
Both lines were already written; in places nobody starts reading.
A patient who meets a list of titles meets a CV. A patient who meets the football club meets a person, and people trust people. Once there is trust, the patient tells him the thing she planned to leave out. Everything after that moves more easily.
Lines like these are gold. Every time I research a doctor, I find lines like these: on his own About page, at the bottom of a bio, in an interview from years ago, in a listicle. Most of my work on a profile is digging for that gold and putting it back on top.