You didn't argue with him

Registrars quailed and more than one

Seasoned sister had fled in tears while

He was loaded, a

Private practice financing

Mansion, country cottage, horses, boat

All the trappings

A pretty if fading wife who'd put up

With a lot.

He was in his prime.

Then that bloody virus hit and he was

King no more

Elective surgery on hold

The normal feast of kudos locked down.

Despite his pride he felt obliged to muck in and

While helping turn over a punter in intensive care

He came a cropper.

When his oximeter

Fought for oxygen as he

Coughed his head off, gasping,

He knew the score,

Knew what the odds were,

Foresaw in full Technicolor

The gruesome pantomime of ICU, and

As for the horror of a ventilator...

His wife found him in the double garage with a messy

Gunshot wound to the neck

(Those golden hands betraying him at the end)

Just where a tracheotomy might be