A life in letters: Earache

I remember being treated one afternoon for an ear infection by a doctor at Monklands Hospital at Airdrie. It was at a time in the late 1980s when I was deeply depressed and anxious, and the small physical pain seemed so insignificant in comparison with my greater angst that I almost cancelled the appointment. However, half an hour after work, I was sitting in the hospital corridor, waiting to be called for treatment.  The doctor was so concerned, so gentle as he examined the ear and prescribed treatment. His compassion prompted both gratitude, and melancholy, because it seemed that no concern, no treatment could reach the greater, unspoken pain which hungered for healing.