It had been the transplant waiting game for sometime, always waiting for the call which would see him fly away to get his new heart. In the meantime he dealt as best he could with the cocktail of drugs – the frusemide dance and his constant companion the dobutamine pump which prevented him mucking for bait. Though it certainly didn’t stop him going for a fish whenever possible at preposterous hours of the morning.

I remember his enthusiasm for his subject and his pet interest, the endothelial glycocalyx, which became my pet interest and together we devoured reams of papers and planned our research. He patiently taught me the basic science, and encouraged my fumbling attempts to come to grips with the material. It was a fragmented process, arranged around his health, his work, and my freaking out about this and that exam. Every now and then there’d be a message about some potentially catastrophic problem, but a few days later he’d emerge, looking battered, but determined to keep working and never flagged in his love for teaching nor his eagerness to do get started on the project. But it was always fun getting together, having a yarn and a scheme.

He gave me confidence, encouraged my interest and provided guidance. It was in his course that I first thought that maybe I can do this medicine thing.

It was something we had discussed, and he faced death with calmness and acceptance. He was a teacher through and through and gave me insight into his thoughts, an understanding of where he was and why.

It was a privilege to have been his student, and I will be forever grateful for the things he taught me about science, medicine and most of all life.