‘Kitty’s hospital teaching system is more based on the American one,’ Wolfgang is saying to Tomas and another Swedish surgeon who has come over to say nice things about my poster. ‘Don’t you remember that conference we went to in Boston?’

‘It was unbelievable!’ Tomas recalls. ‘They invited us into theatre to watch, and I’ve never forgotten the junior doctor in there! He was like a robot!’

Wolfgang adds, ‘The surgeon was just firing off question after question—I didn’t even know the answers to some of them—and this intern was just answering and answering and answering …’

‘And then, when he finally got one wrong, the surgeon started shouting about how stupid he was.’ Tomas shakes his head. ‘If we did that here, we’d be fired!’

‘Might make our junior doctors more scared of us, though,’ Wolfgang says with a grin.

I feel as if I have fallen through a crack in the universe and stepped into a parallel world. The operating theatres look the same and the scrubs are the same but in other respects it’s totally, wonderfully different. I can’t believe there are surgeons other than Dr Prince who think the idea of bullying their juniors is needlessly cruel.

I have had to travel to a hospital on the other side of the planet to rediscover my love of doctoring, but miraculously it has happened. Standing in the conference room on level four of Lund University Hospital, I feel happy with myself for the first time in a long while.

‘I think this will look good on my CV,’ I tell Wolfgang, feeling cheerful. ‘I reckon it’s pretty impressive.’

‘Very impressive,’ he says kindly, even though he’s published a million papers and regularly performs lifesaving operations. ‘We will tell Jack how great you’ve been.’

Wolfgang insists we have a photo taken of the three of us and tells me to email it to Dr Prince. He stands over my shoulder, reading my message.

Hi, Dr Prince,

I made it to Lund. I’ve had a great time. Here’s a photo of me, Wolfgang and Tomas with the poster; the conference was a big hit.

Thanks again for organising it all for me. See you back at work.

Kitty

‘Say we said tjena!’ Wolfgang instructs me.

I add: Wolfgang and Tomas say tjena, then attach the photo. I’m wearing white scrubs to match the Scandinavians. We look like evangelical Christians rather than doctors, I think.

Wolfgang studies the photo. ‘We look like we are from a mental institution,’ he says mournfully. ‘The blue Australian scrubs are much better.’

I laugh so hard he looks suspicious.

‘You were thinking the same! I know it!’

‘Not at all!’ My half-hearted attempts at denial are drowned out by uncontrollable laughter.

When we have recovered our poise, Wolfgang turns to me. ‘We have planned a dinner for you tonight. Tomas spent all last night cooking. You must come.’