Instead of shaking all over, I read the newspapers. I listened to the radio. I had my lunch
Colm Tóibín: ‘It’s curable,’ he said, 18 April 2019
“... that I would present myself in the hospital the following Sunday afternoon. The Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh has a poem called ‘The Hospital’, which begins: ‘A year ago I fell in love with the functional ward/Of a chest hospital.’ This did not happen to me, but it was surprising how quickly the routines of the hospital became comforting and ... ”