I was standing at the bar one evening, drinking beer and gossiping with colleagues, probably discussing patients and their illnesses in that slightly swaggering way that young doctors have when talking to each other. I was probably also feeling a little guilty about not returning home more promptly to see my wife Hilary and our three-month-old son William when my bleep announced an outside call. I found the nearest phone to be told by Hilary, who sounded desperate, that our son had been admitted to the local hospital, seriously ill, with some kind of problem in his brain.
