PART 1: THE DOORS OF ETHICAL PERCEPTION

Mrs Robinson, if you don’t mind my saying so, this conversation is getting a little strange. (From The Graduate)

Every hospital department is a transit house. This one as well. Higher than the handsomest hotel, the lucent womb of Erewhon Academic Hospital shows up for miles. At the end of the corridor the swinging doors rattle incessantly. “The doors of perception,” as ethicist Sven Kremer calls them. People walk in and out daily; only one or two go directly to the right at the south exit. Nobody does that voluntarily. It is the small passage to the mortuary. Crack … the door almost falls off its hinges. Two power-lifters carry their load down the corridor. The two have been selected with care: nurse Steven is an amateur boxer and nurse Richard was—albeit in his younger days—champion weightlifter of Nutopiah North-North-West. Their freight breathes heavily. It is a human being. To be more precise: a woman.

Gwen Loyd, a 52-year-old nurse who has recently taken up her old profession again, whispers, “Gross…”.

Her male colleague, Jake Cummings, smiles: “What do you mean? Do I hear an unprofessional judgement of a discriminatory nature?”

“Well, haven’t you seen how fat she is. No wonder her gallbladder was overworked. How did they get her through the door? She must weigh 10 times as much as I do.”

“But you’re anorexic. A very lovely anorexic if I may say so.”

“Again, do I hear an unprofessional judgement of a discriminatory nature?”, with feigned indignation. Nobody, not even she, can escape Jake’s charm.

Jake: “Touché.”

A cynical Gwen, with her pale lips at their smallest: “Who is going to visit the whale? Is there a vet in …