Chapters (70)
- COVER PAGE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- DEDICATION
- PROLOGUE
- PART I BIRTH
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- PART II LIFE
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- PART III DEATH
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘You know I get fined if I smoke outside?’ he says as I approach the bar. ‘What is this fucking city?’ He flings his hands in the air. ‘It’s like living in a fucking police state. I tell you, I’m going to go back to Kythira and leave all this shit behind.’
Con hails from Paradise Lost, aka the small Greek island of Kythira. He always shows me photos. It’s all turquoise water and bleached white stone houses. His favourite line is ‘This wouldn’t happen in Kythira’.
‘I just got back from Europe,’ I tell him, ‘but I didn’t make it to Kythira, sadly.’
The Godfather and Estelle appear on either side of me. ‘Thank God you’re back,’ Estelle says with relief. ‘Wining and whining wasn’t the same without you.’
I laugh. ‘I was gone for, like, a week!’
‘Felt like six years,’ the Godfather says. He shakes hands with Con then orders a round.
‘A trip to Europe and a great addition to your CV,’ Estelle says enviously as we carry the beers to our usual table.
Everyone is worried about trying to make their CVs look more impressive so we have a better chance at getting onto a good training program.
‘My CV is terrible,’ Max says gloomily.
The Godfather sighs. ‘Same.’
‘Did you hear about Matt Whittaker?’ Estelle asks. ‘He topped the neurosurg exam, got the highest mark in the whole of Australia and New Zealand, and he still didn’t get a spot on the training program.’
‘What’s he doing now?’ Max asks, looking horrified.
Estelle shrugs. ‘Still working as an unaccredited. This will be his fifth year.’
‘I can’t believe that I thought being a doctor would mean job security,’ I say. ‘If I’d known there was no such thing, I could have been a fucking actress and actually had some fun.’
‘I’m getting this paper published,’ Max tells us, though he seems strangely morose about it.
‘That’s a big deal, isn’t it?’ I ask him. Most junior doctors love bragging about publications in prestigious journals. These days, it’s becoming near impossible to specialise without a PhD.
Max lifts one shoulder. ‘I guess.’ He sighs. ‘I just don’t know anymore. I mean, it’s so much work and I don’t even know if I’ll get onto the program anyway. And the exam is six grand. I can’t even pay the rent—how am I going to come up with six thousand dollars?’