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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

‘We have a cannula that fell out,’ she says—the words every intern dreads. ‘No one can put it back in and the night doctor has gone home sick.’

I picture the long walk to the private and immediately try to deflect responsibility. ‘Are you sure it’s me you call? I don’t even know if I’m allowed over there,’ I say, stalling.

‘You’re the surgical intern?’

‘Yes,’ I admit, sensing defeat.

‘Our protocol is if our doctor isn’t here and the intensive care registrar is busy, we call you.’

When a nurse invokes a protocol, there’s little point in arguing.

‘Is the intensive care registrar busy?’ I ask, already knowing the answer.

‘Yes,’ the nurse replies flatly. ‘So as soon as possible would be good.’

Sighing, I stand up and start the trek through the dimly lit ward down the stairs and out the front doors to climb up the hill to the private hospital. Surely there are better things to be doing at two o’clock on a Thursday morning. For example, I could be having sex with a nice man, who I would have met because I had a normal life where I wasn’t at work all the time. Or I could be at a bar with some friends meeting said man. Or, even better, I could be asleep in my own bed.

Entering the private hospital, I locate the nurse who called me and she directs me to room 834. I gather up the cannula equipment and head down the corridor. Just as I’m about to turn into room 834, I notice the door to the room opposite is open and the light is on. Peering in, I see the patient is standing up, wrestling with his IV pole.

I’m about to step into the room and offer him some assistance when he looks up and our eyes meet.

For a moment the world spins, and I drop my equipment on the floor.

I don’t know how to react, so I tear my eyes away from Dr Jack Prince, patient, hastily gather up the equipment I dropped, and charge into room 834.

‘Hi, I’m the doctor from the public hospital just here to put a drip in!’ I exclaim, my face flushed and my heart pounding. I start to put in the cannula, my hands shaking.

‘Have you done this before?’ the patient asks me, looking suspicious. I swallow a laugh. How can I tell him the truth? That I’ve put in thousands of cannulas and the reason why my hand’s trembling is because the man in the room opposite is my former boss who nearly died the day after we kissed, Casablanca-style, under a streetlamp outside my house?

‘A few.’ The cannula goes in smoothly, almost to my distress. Now I’ll have no excuse to stay. I hover at the door, stalling. ‘Do you need anything else?’ I ask desperately.