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Back Going Under Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I BIRTH
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. PART II LIFE
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. PART III DEATH
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. FORTY-TWO
  50. FORTY-THREE
  51. FORTY-FOUR
  52. FORTY-FIVE
  53. FORTY-SIX
  54. FORTY-SEVEN
  55. FORTY-EIGHT
  56. FORTY-NINE
  57. FIFTY
  58. FIFTY-ONE
  59. FIFTY-TWO
  60. FIFTY-THREE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. EPILOGUE
  69. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  70. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

How do I really feel about Fabien? I ask myself after we’ve said goodbye. Love? What is that, anyway? Feelings and longings and desires … where do they even come from? Organs and blood vessels make up my body, but love and desire exist somewhere else, don’t they? Somewhere away from an operating theatre, inside the light of a candle that burns every day and night, and never dies. I hear Mum’s voice again. That bloody quote, following me around.

Remember man that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.

Is there any point in love if it’ll turn to ash anyway? Why waste all this time and energy on feelings that will only end up scattered as particles among the ether? At least surgery is tangible. Love is just air and words, and painful disappointment.

Being in Lund has renewed my sense of purpose as a doctor, and that fills me with deep satisfaction. But larger questions about life swirl below the surface. Surgeons cut open skin and touch the organs that give us our life’s blood, our personalities, our souls. The intimate places that my future scalpel slices into are still shockingly unknown to me. Maybe I am afraid of feeling too much. How can I possibly be a good surgeon if I can’t learn to suppress my emotions? My head begins to ache, and I can’t think about it anymore. Doing neurosurgical training, I thought the brain was confusing—but I realise now that it’s got nothing on the heart.

THIRTY-ONE

thirty-one

Winnie and Max meet me at Sydney airport. I’m so surprised to see them waiting for me at the gate I nearly fall over.

‘How did you get here?’ I ask, knowing Max’s licence is suspended for at least six months and Winnie doesn’t like driving.

Winnie looks affronted. ‘We did a few practice runs. I was good!’ She turns to Max, who is keeping very quiet. ‘Wasn’t I?’

‘Really good,’ Max says encouragingly, then mouths from behind her shoulder, ‘I nearly died.’

We drive back to number 19, trying not to wince too obviously every time Winnie turns a corner.

‘We’re meeting at the pub,’ Max informs me. ‘Everyone wants to hear about your trip.’

‘I was only gone a week,’ I say. ‘Nothing that great happened!’

‘So what?’ Max retorts. ‘While you’ve been overseas having fun we’ve been at work, which has been shit as usual.’

Reality slaps me in the face like a brick. I suddenly forget about my jetlag and am desperate for a beer.

Max and I head straight for the pub on the corner. Con is in his usual form.