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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

‘Oh, fifty milligrams,’ the surgeon says, seeing straight through me, ‘but it depends on what you want, of course.’

‘Just what I was thinking!’ I exclaim enthusiastically. ‘Very good. Ah, good.’

I quickly chart the fifty milligrams of dexamethasone and tell the nurse in charge to get Jason to the ward as quickly as possible.

I look at the time: 2.30 am. Nothing stops the clock, I remind myself. As bad as things can get, nothing can stop the clock. In seven hours, I’ll be crawling into bed.

I walk into the waiting room and call the next patient.

‘Just come with me, I’m one of the doctors on tonight,’ I say, forcing a smile.

The patient gets up, swaying. She glares at me. ‘Well, it’s about time, you motherfucker!’ she declares loudly before falling over.

I’m so tired I don’t even blink. ‘I’d probably prefer it if you called me Katarina,’ I say, grabbing her under one arm and hauling her off the floor.

Nothing stops the clock.

THIRTY-EIGHT

thirty-eight

The weeks in the emergency department, while stressful, move quickly. It might be the odd shifts or the fast pace, but it starts to feel as if I’m going to sleep, waking up, going into the emergency department, then going home. During my runs of night shifts I lose contact with my friends aside from the odd text and spend daylight hours in a chemically induced coma before waking up in the dark to go to work.

I emerge from my stupor only briefly to a text from Wolfgang Dietrich informing me that he and Tomas have booked their flights to come to a conference in Australia and they are looking forward to the dinner I promised them. I feel forgotten emotions of excitement and happiness, and file this information away, telling myself that when the run of night shifts ends I will patch things up properly with Winnie and also tell her the good news that we will be hosting a dinner party. For now, though, it’s back to the grind.

As I drag myself through the front doors of the emergency department at eleven for a night shift and see, yet again, the packed waiting room, I realise that most patients have zero idea of what constitutes an emergency.

Emergency means life-threatening anaphylaxis. Emergency means high-speed motor vehicle accident and abdominal trauma. Emergency means suicide attempt and huge drug overdose with acute liver failure. It doesn’t mean a mild tummy ache that could be cured with Panadol, or a mosquito bite.