Drumroll, Please

Tonight, we are awarding the Oscar for Stuff That Wasn’t In The Job Description.

And the winner is…

“Beth, are you on call? Great! We need you to come sing to the wee lady in the bed next door!”



  1. I will remember this. If ever I am ill in hospital I will ask to have somebody come and sing to me. When I am dying you yourself shall come and sing to me. I intend to use my dying days to call in favours and enjoy treats, but although I had thought of lots of meaningful conversations and sick communions and the last rites at least twice, personalised singing had not occurred to me before Can you start practising ‘When a knight own his spurs’ please?

    • If you’re planning for a second round of last rites, won’t that make the first round seem a bit… you know, not actually last? Unless, of course, you’re viewing the first round as a mere rehearsal.

      Speaking of sick communions, the other thing that happened at the weekend was that on Sunday, when I wasn’t at church but rather was sitting on the floor of a ward trying to cannulate someone’s foot, I happened to be present while a sick communion was being said, which, although I wasn’t participating so much as I was inadvertently eavesdropping, was rather wonderful for me.

  2. Reminds me of the time as nurse in training when a friend called me to Orthopaedics to hear a young Irish ‘Brother’ sing “Danny Boy” it was spellbinding, unforgettable.

    • Old enough to have earned the dubious privilege of being sung at by six ward nurses and the on-call shanghaied-into-it junior doctor. Young enough to be more excited by the cake than the singing.

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