I am writing this on Ash Wednesday. It is bitterly cold and the birds, having promised to behave themselves and not kill anybody, are feeding busily in the garden. By and large they look a pretty healthy lot. I am again wondering about the whereabouts of all this global warming. It is certainly not evident around here. Thankfully, thus far we have been spared the snow, slush and ice, with its attendant crop of injuries. This is fortunate for the Minister of Trolleys as such weather exacerbates the problems of the country's already overstretched A&E units.
She is fortunate also that the protest by republicans which paralysed the centre of Dublin 10 days ago did not lead to more serious injuries requiring hospitalisation. As I have pointed out ad nauseam, the capacity does not exist to allow our service to cope with a major emergency. The past weeks again have seen repeated instances of hospitals going off call to ambulances, due to gross overcrowding.
More able commentators than I have written about the disgraceful scenes that sullied and shamed our capital city. As usual the ordinary citizen carries the cost of this inarticulate savagery and violence which, combined with the mayhem and murder of the past 30 years, has set the cause they purport to espouse further back into the distant future, if indeed it happens at all. I do not blame the Government or the Garda, it is hard to contemplate and foresee such elemental, unreasoning and vile behaviour.
It goes without saying that these thugs do not speak for the overwhelming majority of our people. They do, however, speak volumes for themselves and their perverted ideals. We can only move forward with dignity, respect, consideration and understanding of each other. The majority of decent people in this land would have it no other way.
Ash Wednesday recalls other memories. Sisters, consultants, most nurses, and, even later on, future leaders of the nation appeared with prominent black daubs on their foreheads. Few interns were as biddable. Most ignored the frowns and disapproval of the authorities, religious and lay, and kept a clean forehead for the day. In extremes a burnt cork provided a solution if apostasy was forced on one. I was never sure if the use of a burnt cork constituted a mortal or venial sin.
A majority also, feeling that life was tough enough, abjured giving something up for Lent. Not all of course; there were always worthy souls who gave up such staples as drink, tobacco, even chocolate. Devil-like, we surrounded them with temptation, and great was the rejoicing when one of these paragons was cast down thus demonstrating Wilde's words: "I can resist everything but temptation."
Some did not succumb and I very much fear have not joined the fallen to this day. I hope they have enjoyed themselves, but earthy soul as I am, I cannot imagine how.
Easter was but a step away and on June 30th, our intern year ended. I have spoken of career choices and now another aspect of the completion of internship began to weigh heavily upon us as the days passed.
Our little community, which had by and large retained its cohesion and mutual loyalty over the previous six or seven years, was about to disband. We had been through this in schooldays but we all felt this was different. We would be scattered to the four corners of the earth and in various medical disciplines. We all realised with great sadness that some among us would never meet again. Others would, as career paths crossed when working in the same hospitals as junior doctors, or being located in a different city or country. Some met when studying for further exams. Weddings and the occasional sad funeral of a colleague brought some of us together, as did class reunions with their intimations of mortality. Our little world had not been that comfortable or well paid, but it had been ours, and we would all miss it.
Pledges to meet and renew friendships were made over the final days. The last party was given and goodbyes were said to sisters, nurses and staff. Gradually, some began to slip away to jobs and/or homes overseas. The core shrank and empty places appeared at the table.
Our last days together were upon us. I found this hard, shaking hands with friends one might never meet again as we mutually wished each other the best in our future lives. Even to this day this memory makes me sad but, as Alan Bennett put it, "memories are not shackles" and we knew that life had to move on.
The final drinks, the last evening together and the interns of 1962 in the Mater Hospital dispersed to whatever life might hold in store. I think we had a slight feeling of disappointment that the building remained standing after our departure, as surely we had been unique.
I did not disperse very far, as it happened, less than one mile to be precise. I had determined to do the primary exam in surgery in the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland in the next year, and I needed a job that would allow me the requisite amount of time to study. Accordingly, having finished in the Mater, the same evening found me installed in far superior quarters in the Bon Secours hospital in Glasnevin. I was the resident house officer for the next period of my career. The junior staff consisted of one doctor and that was me. This was a private hospital and a different way of life. There were different nuns, but the same caring ethos.
Maurice Neligan is a cardiac surgeon.
HEARTBEAT
Maurice Neligan