Heartbeat: In writing of the interns' social life in the dark ages, I had reached the point when our little group in the Mater, 20 or so, were about to give our first residence party.
There were three immediate problems. Firstly, all parties in the doctor's residence were forbidden. Secondly, no nurse under any circumstances was allowed set foot in that den of iniquity. Thirdly, topographically, the residence was located across a courtyard from the convent. Both were situated near the North Circular Road entrance to the hospital, where fortuitously the A&E entrance was also located. Traffic here was constant and a few souls more or less would hardly be noted.
As young doctors we approached the problem clinically. We reasoned 1) there had been such parties before our time, 2) that our own female colleagues lived happily among us, and any other ladies, nurses included, would be equally safe, 3) as there was no way in which we could move either the convent or the residence, we would just have to accept matters as they stood. There was also the requirement that a segment of our small group, dare I say a skeleton staff, would be unable to participate due to the unfortunate necessity of having to deal with patients in the hospital and the A&E department.
The event was planned for a Saturday night, when, in theory, there should be no elective activity. Unfortunately, this was counterbalanced by the ability of the citizenry determinedly enjoying their own partying, to arrive with varying degrees of trauma and inebriation, in our own A&E department. Particularly so as the ill chosen night was Halloween.
There was surprisingly no trouble in finding volunteers to man the barricades and tend to the patients. The registrars were more circumscribed as a relatively high proportion, medical and surgical, had to be available for serious emergencies. The proportion at the time was 50 per cent, as there were only two of each. As manpower was needed, any gaps in the ranks were filled by conscripting resident medical students.
The planning was meticulous. We would need food (very little), drink (lots), music and, above all, given our location, security. We were well aware that hospital parties were considered fair game by all our party-going acquaintances and that "their name was legion" and just as demonic.
This time we were on the receiving end. Endless, or so it seemed to us at the start, supplies of drink were obtained, of every sort, even minerals. This was before the days of bottled water and anybody requesting the latter beverage would probably have been admitted to the psychiatric unit for the night.
The wine was not that most likely to appeal to the oenophile interested in quality although we had plenty interested in quantity. As I remember, most of the bottles had foil caps. Lastly there was the residence punch. We knew well enough not to drink any of this lethal potion ourselves and only excused it on the grounds of getting the party off to a good start.
Surprisingly, it usually proved popular. At our first party, the intern responsible for its production passed out before we had even started, due to frequent and injudicious sampling of the product in preparation. It was generally a mixture of fruit juices, rocket fuel and anything else we could find. The wise stuck to the beer.
Security ranged from giving a few quid to the porters in casualty to guard our flanks, to actual pickets on the stairs leading to the residence. Incidents were few and in truth we wanted none for fear of waking the sleeping dragons across the way in the convent.
On the same subject we had to scour the residence for breakable objects. Foremost among these were the religious statues liberally adorning our living quarters. It was not that our guests would be as iconoclastic as Cromwell's troopers. While we wouldn't mind them stabling their horses in our quarters; breaking the statues was a real no-no. Accordingly, the statues were quite literally put to bed, usually in the rooms of those on duty.
Many a weary resident crawling into bed found themselves sharing with a life-sized saintly figure. Sometimes we had difficulties with a corona of lights representing a halo adorning some of these statues and perforce these were left dangling in the niche previously occupied by the statue. In the dark to those unfamiliar with our quarters, this could be quite unsettling.
As Edmund Burke put it: "nothing in progression can rest on its original plan". In reality, if we could stop the whole enterprise from degenerating into chaos, and enough of the residents were around to clean up afterwards, and there was not too much broken; we considered the venture successful.
I suppose in retrospect I could write a book about hospital parties, but I suppose in the interests of patients it should suffice to note that there are loads of hazards in hospitals, many having no relation to medicine.
Pondering afterwards how the good sisters could sleep through the noise emanating from just across the courtyard, especially when the windows were thrown open and bawdy verses chorused into the night, led only to one obvious conclusion. Our good sisters knew full well what we were about and tolerated their young doctors enjoying themselves, provided they did not wreck the joint.
"How do you feel this morning, doctor?"
"Not too good Sister, to tell the truth."
I have briefly escaped to the past but things to which I must return continue to stir in the present.
• Maurice Neligan is a cardiac surgeon.