“Dr Dow!” Jenny squealed. “You’re needed in emergency room 204.” Her blonde curls bounced about her petite shoulders as she bobbed beside me.

I rubbed my eyes before replying. “I’m aware of that, Jenny. How’s the patient, Mr -” I tried to continue, but was unable to conceal a yawn.

“Mr Peters, you mean? Oh, he looks terrible. He can’t even speak.”

“Medical terms, Jenny?”

“I’m your secretary, not a doctor. But Prof Greene said something about ventricular tac…”

“Lord,” I sighed, while dressing in my surgeon scrubs. Jenny stared at the bags that encircled my eyes in obvious concern.

“John, is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Well, its 4am, I’ve only had two hours of sleep, and my wife has left me. But other than that, no, I’m fine.”

“But why, John? I thought we were so discreet…”

“Not enough,” I replied grimly.

I left Jenny in my office and ran to where the dying Mr Peters lay. I felt a pang of guilt and pain when I saw a woman at his side, sobbing. But I pushed feelings aside, and concentrated on logic.