Her moment of reflection is interrupted by one of the nurses. ‘Dr Patel,’ she says breathlessly. ‘If you can spare us a moment, we urgently need a second opinion.’

Dr Patel’s professional mask slips instantly back into place. ‘What’s up?’ she asks.

‘It’s Dr Milne. We’ve got a bit of a situation.’

‘What kind of situation?’

‘There’s a patient in Majors with a suspected punctured lung, and the treatment he’s proposed is highly unusual. We’re a bit concerned.’

‘I see. I’m on my way. Tilly, are you OK to carry on here?’

‘Yes, absolutely.’

After she leaves, a sudden calm descends. The initial flurry of activity is over for this patient. Now all we can do is watch and wait. I glance up at the screen displaying his vital signs. They’re not great, but they are at least stable. Like Dr Patel, I find myself wondering what could have driven him to feel so desperate that life didn’t seem worth living any more. He’s not my first suicide attempt patient, and he won’t even be my first suicide if he doesn’t pull through, but there is something about them that hits you right in the core. Could I ever see myself in a situation like this? I’d like to hope not, but I’m sure this patient didn’t think like that either, until whatever it was changed for him that led him here.

As I’m watching him, his eyelids flutter and I move hastily to his side.

‘Mr Barwell?’ I ask. ‘Can you hear me? You’re in hospital, and I’m Tilly, one of the senior nurses.’

The fluttering was obviously unconscious as there’s no reaction. I check his vital signs again and I’m encouraged to see that they are starting to look a little better. His breathing also seems to be improving.

‘How’s he doing?’ Dr Patel asks as she sweeps in a while later.

‘Still unconscious, but his signs are much better,’ I tell her.

‘Good. His son has arrived and is clamouring to see him, so let’s move him into Majors and reunite them. I’m always surprised by the effect a familiar voice can have.’

It takes a few minutes to move the patient, but he’s barely settled in the new bay before we’re joined by his son.

‘You stupid, stupid bastard!’ he cries as Amrita lets him through the curtain and he sees his father on the bed. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

To my amazement, Mr Barwell’s eyes flutter again and, after a moment, they open, scanning the room in confusion.

‘Mr Barwell,’ I say again. ‘You’re in hospital and I’m Tilly, one of the senior nurses. Can you tell me what happened?’