with MRSA. The nurses won’t so much as change a bedpan. Well, what do you expect, letting accountants run the hospitals, bloody bean counters. Bring back the nuns, that’s what he’s been saying for years. The nuns knew how to run a bloody hospital.
He knows he sounds like an outdated, antiquated old fart. He’s past his sell-by date, he’s aware of that. Still, he’d been hoping to limp over the finish line.
It’s been on his mind for a while, the dreaded retirement. Lately, he’s found himself thinking about it more and more. Part of him has been thinking, no dinner, no fuss. But the next thing he’ll find himself rehearsing his speech, he’ll be picturing himself struggling to his feet, tapping a spoon against a glass. A hush falling on the room. He glances down the table and sees… who does he see?
Who would come to his retirement? Who would he even want to have there? In his mind, he scans the faces of his colleagues and it occurs to him, he couldn’t count a single one of them as a friend. Not a single one who he would ever meet up with for a drink. He’s never been invited to any of their homes and it never occurred to him to invite any of them to his. There was no wife to make friends with their wives, no wife to throw dinner parties that would further his career. And of course he never went to any of those medical functions. God, how he hates those ghastly functions.
He should have played golf. But how could he have played golf? He had two little girls to rear, he wasn’t free to bugger off and spend his weekend on a bloody golf course. And anyway, it was far from golf he was reared. Still, he should have played the odd game of golf, it might have been the saving of him now. He never played the game, he can see that now. You have to play the game.
Would any of them stick up for him? That’s what it came down to. If none of them would speak up in his defense, he was done for. He was as good as finished.
An outsider all his life, the herd had never allowed him in. Their instincts were infallible, they could smell it off him. A good doctor he may have been, but he wasn’t one of them.
He was never lonely until now.
HE MUSTERED ALL his courage and raised his head, opening his eyes onto the harsh daylight. He used his elbows to push himself up off the armchair, stumbling like an old man as he got to his feet. He shuffled over to the music cabinet. Maybe some music would save him from himself.
He didn’t know very much about music. He’d like to know more about it, he really would, it’s something he’s always been meaning to get around to. Opera, that’s what he likes, he sees himself as an opera buff. But all he has in his repertoire is a few compilation CDs, Christmas presents and the like. He’s ashamed of his ignorance, he regrets it. It would be such a comfort to him now, to be a music lover.
He remembers his first tantalizing taste of opera. He’d been given a wireless for Christmas and he had it in pride of place on his bedside table. He was studying for his exams, it must have been his Leaving Cert. He can still remember the frigid cold of his feet under the desk, the ache in his neck as he bent over his books. The merciless damp of the winter morning, you were hungry for any morsel of comfort. The radio was on low, he wasn’t even aware it was on until the music started. He lifted his head from his books, pricked up his ears, and listened.
A heavenly sound. He didn’t even know what it was they were singing, all he knew was that it was beautiful. And in that moment he felt his mind open up, like a parcel falls open when you remove the twine. He sat there in a spell.
Suddenly he was aware of the world outside his window, a world of infinite possibility. He imagined all the people sitting in great opera houses around the world, decked out in all their finery, listening to this same beautiful music. He imagined people in large-windowed apartments looking out over
He knows he sounds like an outdated, antiquated old fart. He’s past his sell-by date, he’s aware of that. Still, he’d been hoping to limp over the finish line.
It’s been on his mind for a while, the dreaded retirement. Lately, he’s found himself thinking about it more and more. Part of him has been thinking, no dinner, no fuss. But the next thing he’ll find himself rehearsing his speech, he’ll be picturing himself struggling to his feet, tapping a spoon against a glass. A hush falling on the room. He glances down the table and sees… who does he see?
Who would come to his retirement? Who would he even want to have there? In his mind, he scans the faces of his colleagues and it occurs to him, he couldn’t count a single one of them as a friend. Not a single one who he would ever meet up with for a drink. He’s never been invited to any of their homes and it never occurred to him to invite any of them to his. There was no wife to make friends with their wives, no wife to throw dinner parties that would further his career. And of course he never went to any of those medical functions. God, how he hates those ghastly functions.
He should have played golf. But how could he have played golf? He had two little girls to rear, he wasn’t free to bugger off and spend his weekend on a bloody golf course. And anyway, it was far from golf he was reared. Still, he should have played the odd game of golf, it might have been the saving of him now. He never played the game, he can see that now. You have to play the game.
Would any of them stick up for him? That’s what it came down to. If none of them would speak up in his defense, he was done for. He was as good as finished.
An outsider all his life, the herd had never allowed him in. Their instincts were infallible, they could smell it off him. A good doctor he may have been, but he wasn’t one of them.
He was never lonely until now.
HE MUSTERED ALL his courage and raised his head, opening his eyes onto the harsh daylight. He used his elbows to push himself up off the armchair, stumbling like an old man as he got to his feet. He shuffled over to the music cabinet. Maybe some music would save him from himself.
He didn’t know very much about music. He’d like to know more about it, he really would, it’s something he’s always been meaning to get around to. Opera, that’s what he likes, he sees himself as an opera buff. But all he has in his repertoire is a few compilation CDs, Christmas presents and the like. He’s ashamed of his ignorance, he regrets it. It would be such a comfort to him now, to be a music lover.
He remembers his first tantalizing taste of opera. He’d been given a wireless for Christmas and he had it in pride of place on his bedside table. He was studying for his exams, it must have been his Leaving Cert. He can still remember the frigid cold of his feet under the desk, the ache in his neck as he bent over his books. The merciless damp of the winter morning, you were hungry for any morsel of comfort. The radio was on low, he wasn’t even aware it was on until the music started. He lifted his head from his books, pricked up his ears, and listened.
A heavenly sound. He didn’t even know what it was they were singing, all he knew was that it was beautiful. And in that moment he felt his mind open up, like a parcel falls open when you remove the twine. He sat there in a spell.
Suddenly he was aware of the world outside his window, a world of infinite possibility. He imagined all the people sitting in great opera houses around the world, decked out in all their finery, listening to this same beautiful music. He imagined people in large-windowed apartments looking out over
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