The doctor took the stethoscope from his ears and peered over the top of his half-moon glasses.

He listened carefully as my wife explained her recent medical history and the sudden pain earlier in the evening.

“How do you feel now?”

“The pain has eased a bit now, thank you Doctor.”

Dr Ahmed carried out a basic examination, taking Sally’s temperature, blood pressure and pulse.

“Does that feel sore?” He pressed the area where my wife had indicated as the source of the pain.

“A bit.”

“Mmm,” he began thoughtfully. “I don’t think there is real cause for concern, but given your past health problems I would feel happier if you stayed in hospital overnight and had some further tests carried out. How do you feel about that, Mrs Farrier?”

My wife, Sally, looked at me, silently inviting my view. I looked at my watch. It was 11.30 pm. Sally’s pain had come on after our evening meal. We had contacted the after-hours general practitioner service and were given an appointment at 10 pm.

The after-hours service is arranged on a rota system. We had been allocated a slot at the Townsville medical practice and the service was provided by a duty doctor and a nurse. We had to wait in the small waiting room until another patient had been seen. It was almost 11 o’clock when Dr Ahmed called us into his office.

Decision time. Sally and I had a quick chat before informing Dr Ahmed that we agreed an overnight stay in hospital with a full range of tests would be best.

Dr Ahmed nodded his approval and picked up his phone and made a call. He placed a hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “I’m locating a bed for you.”

There was a short conversation with someone at the other end of the line and then Dr Ahmed put the phone down. “The best I can offer you is Mountfield Park. Will that be OK?”

Of the three hospitals that served our area, Mountfield Park was the furthest, some twenty miles away. We knew the hospital, having visited friends there. We recalled it as a bewildering building that had been added to over the years as the local population grew. The original part was Victorian, with major additions dated from the 1950’s when the National Health Service developed the site. The most recent additions were completed in the 1990’s.

Despite the patchwork nature of the building, we had heard that the standard of care was excellent. We were quite happy to accept Dr Ahmed’s offer of a bed.

“I could book you an ambulance to get you there, but you could probably get there quicker if you drive there yourself.”

We decided to drive there ourselves. Apart from getting there quicker, I would be able to drive home after Sally was settled. It was past midnight, when we were on the road to Mountfield Park, having called briefly at home to collect a few essentials.

Traffic was light so we soon reached the large campus of Mountfield Park. I drove along the winding driveway passing a number of small buildings that served a variety of purposes including specialist clinics and administrative functions. On the left side of the driveway was the brightly lit Accident and Emergency unit. An ambulance had drawn up with blue lights flashing. The A and E staff were hurrying to meet the new arrival. I continued along the driveway to the main reception entrance. During the day, the main reception would have been a bustling hive of activity, but now it was eerily quiet and deserted.

A little way past the entrance was a car parking area where I pulled up. We walked the short distance back to the main door to find that it was locked. I peered through the glass doors but there was no sign of anyone in the spacious atrium. I pressed a bell push next to the door and almost immediately a male voice responded over the intercom. I explained why we needed access. I visualised the security guard in some far-off office observing us on the CCTV screen. Evidently satisfied that we were bona fide visitors the door unlocked with a buzzing sound and we were admitted to the atrium. The reception area was the newest part of the hospital and rather grand. The reception desk had no staff in attendance, the cafeteria was closed, as were the book store, the pharmacy and the flower shop.

Our destination was, according to our instructions from Dr Ahmed, Ward 28B. A quick study of the direction signs told us that we need to go up to the second floor. There were several wheelchairs parked by the wall so I took one and wheeled Sally over to the lift. Given the vastness of the hospital, there was no way of knowing just how far away Ward 28B was.

Upon leaving the lift a sign indicated that Wards 10 to 30 were along the corridor to the left. I wheeled Sally along the corridor until another sign indicated we needed to turn right for Wards 20 to 30. Finally, a left turn took us to Ward 28B. As we progressed through the corridors, the different styles of architecture became apparent. Ward 28B was a 1960’s build with plain pale green walls. Somehow the 1960’s architecture managed to look even more dated than the older parts of the building.

The ward sister was expecting us and led us to a bed in a room with four beds, separated by board partitions. The sister spoke in a whisper, not wanting to disturb the other patients who were sleeping. I was gently ushered out of the ward, promising that I would return the following day during visiting time.

When I left the ward, I had no idea where I was in relation to the exit where I had left the car. Luckily, I immediately saw a sign that said EXIT in large block letters. I followed the directions along corridors and down some stairs until I arrived at an electronically controlled door that slid open with a buzzing sound as it detected my approach. I walked out into the cool night air as the door slid shut behind me. Wait! I realised my mistake after the door snapped shut. I was not where I needed to be. I had exited the hospital in a totally different place to where we had entered. I should have pressed the button and asked the unseen security guard to let me back in so I could retrace my steps to get back to the main reception area.

Pride prevented me from admitting my stupid mistake. In any case, I reasoned, if I walk round the outside of the hospital I must eventually get back to the place where I left my car. That was mistake number two.

I set off confidently, keeping the building to my left. After about twenty yards, the wall turned left and I dutifully followed. By now, I was in almost total darkness, but I could see a dim light spilling from a window. I quickened my step but then was disappointed to find the window was in a long section of covered walkway that had been constructed to connect the main building to an annexe. There was no path adjacent to the walkway. The architect had clearly not made any provision for idiots who chose to wander around outside in the dark.

I stubbornly stuck to my plan and stumbled over the rough ground until I reached the point where the walkway connected with the annexe. I then had to make a right turn to follow the line of the annexe. When I arrived at the corner of the annexe, it began to dawn on me that this could prove to be a very long night. The various extensions added over time had made the building absurdly irregular.

I turned the corner, staining my eyes, trying to penetrate the darkness, made worse by the shadows cast from the tall buildings. I moved slowly, looking for any sign of a way out. Then I stumbled over a raised manhole cover, lost my balance and fell to my knees, banging my head against the wall. Bugger! I cursed out loud and, in my pain, decided it was time to give up my attempt to circumnavigate the hospital and return to the door I had recently exited.

I was about to turn and make my way back when I saw that a pale light was showing through the windows of a row of upper floor windows. I estimated that the wing where the lights were showing was about sixty feet away from where I was standing. I decided I would have one more try to locate another entrance. If it didn’t work out then I would turn around and retrace my steps.

As I got closer to the wing where the lights showed, it became clear that it was one of the older, Victorian parts of the building. Although the upper floor seemed to have lights on, the ground floor was in total darkness. The signs were not promising.

My spirits were lifted when I spotted a door. It was not one of the modern electronic type, but just an old-fashioned wooden door. Was it too much to expect it to be open? I twisted the handle and pushed. There was some resistance, but the door did open onto a small lobby with stone stairs that led up into the darkness. I thought I could see a pale light through the bottom of another door at the top of the stairs.

After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped into the lobby, my feet crunching on dead leaves and other debris that had accumulated there. Obviously, this entrance was not in regular use. My assumption was immediately confirmed as my face met an unseen cobweb. I clawed at my head in an effort to rid myself of the sticky, clinging entanglement. I gritted my teeth and continued up toward the beckoning light, filtering under the door at the head of the stairs.

Taking each step slowly and carefully, it took me several moments to reach the head of the stairs and lay my hand on the handle. Please let the door be open. Surely once in the illuminated area beyond I could easily find my way through the labyrinth of corridors to the main reception area.

I turned the door handle and pushed. To my relief, the door opened onto a dimly lit corridor. I was a little surprised that the light was not stronger, but reasoned that perhaps the lights were deliberately turned down to help restless patients sleep. I looked right and left for any sign of activity, but all was silent. I knew from the outward appearance of the wing that my escape route must be to my left. I looked in that direction to see another door and a turn to the right along another corridor. There were no signs to indicate which way led to the main part of the hospital. Should I go through the door or turn along the corridor?