"Ring, Ring!"
17 June, 2014
We wake early in hospital 50s dorm, single tubular steel beds. The black bakelite square phone in the middle of the room is ringing. First up, I answer it. They want the middle-aged receptionist - a bosomy woman with dark hair asks for Mr Freeman. "Yes, that's me" I reply. "The Dr wants to speak to you about your father's death". She wants to make an appointment but I explain I am in Tasmania - can't he send me an email report.
I am frustrated - after all - why the fuss - he is already dead. But we wrangle that he will phone me instead. Then she hangs up.
I put the phone down.
"Ring - Ring" I pick it up.
The receptionist says "The Dr is ready to talk to you. He wears a grey suit - an elder slim man with a paunch. The phone hangs up - or perhaps I wake.
I am frustrated - after all - why the fuss - he is already dead. But we wrangle that he will phone me instead. Then she hangs up.
I put the phone down.
"Ring - Ring" I pick it up.
The receptionist says "The Dr is ready to talk to you. He wears a grey suit - an elder slim man with a paunch. The phone hangs up - or perhaps I wake.
