Blessings

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Mary Craig . Blessings

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For my grandchildren,

Timothy, Danielle, Rebecca and Oliver

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When I got to the hospital, I didn’t go to the ward, but asked the girl at the reception-desk to tell the house-doctor that I had arrived. I was directed into a small waiting-room on the ground-floor. Within a few minutes a white-coated doctor walked in, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He was a man of about thirty or so, recently arrived from some Middle Eastern country, with no more than a sketchy idea of the English language, and none at all of the language of diplomacy.

‘You are the mother of . . . -er, -er . . .’ He riffled idly through the papers in his hand. ‘Ah, yes, Paul Craig?’ I nodded.

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