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The National

Dr Marisa Haetzman: 10 things that changed my life

1 Big Country I SAW Big Country play at the Apollo in Glasgow in 1984. It was the first gig I had ever been to and it's no exaggeration to say that it was a life-changing experience. I had been a fan since hearing Fields Of Fire on whatever iteration of hours-long Saturday morning TV show was on at the time. I remember that I was only half-listening, reading a book, the TV on in the background. On hearing the opening chords, my book was quickly discarded, and I became an instant convert. READ MORE: 'He should be in the Hague': Laura Kuenssberg slammed for Israeli president interview I loved Stuart Adamson's elliptical poetic lyrics, but it was the guitar sound that had me hooked. Big Country proved to be my gateway drug to other guitar bands like The Alarm and the Manic Street Preachers. Every now and then, I listen again to The Crossing (Big Country's first album) and marvel at its greatness. 2 Meeting Chris I MET my husband Chris Brookmyre at the age of 17 on a pre-university retreat in the Scottish Highlands. Organised by the University Catholic Chaplaincy, it was an opportunity for freshers to get to know some of their fellow students before the first university term began. Chris immediately impressed me (and everyone else) with his confidence, warmth, humour and unapologetic irreverence. He had great hair, was wearing an Alarm T-shirt with 'The Chant Has Just Begun' emblazoned across it and a pair of really cool boots. We got chatting in the pub because he was under the misapprehension that something he said had offended me, which turned out to be a serendipitous mistake. We sat together on the minibus on the way back to Glasgow and the rest, as they say, is history. We've been together ever since. 3 Glasgow University I WENT to the University of Glasgow in October 1985 to study medicine. I had wanted to become a doctor from a young age and loved learning about what we're all made of and how it all works. I still find it fascinating and struggle to understand why others don't. I can still remember the smell of the dissecting room, collecting urine (my own) for biochemistry class to analyse what was in it, applying electrodes to the muscle in a frog's leg to make it contract. Although it was the realisation of a long-held dream, I felt somewhat out of place at first. Everyone else seemed to know what they were about, brimming with the confidence that private schooling seems to inculcate. From the off, some of my fellow students were forming committees to plan the final year dinner and yearbook when I was in ignorance of such things very existence, still worrying about reading lists and class assignments. It was a demanding five years (and that was only the beginning) but I was immensely proud of myself when I graduated, and my degree allowed me to pursue a meaningful career that spanned several decades of my life. 4 London CHRIS had been working as a sub-editor at Screen International in central London for two years when I finally moved down south to join him. I got a job at Oldchurch Hospital in Romford, and we lived somewhere in between his work and mine near the end of the District line. Living so close to London was a buzz – world-class galleries, museums, theatres, restaurants, all a tube ride away. Chris's job was also way more glamorous than mine and afforded much better perks. I managed to tag along on a couple of trips to Los Angeles and Cannes where Chris was working on daily editions of the magazine at film markets. Overall, it was a great experience but a few years there proved to be enough. I knew I didn't want to be there for the long term. I wanted to back to Scotland. I wanted to go home. Fortunately, Chris did too. 5 Edinburgh MOVING to Edinburgh proved to be life-changing in many ways. My career pathway shifted from general medicine to anaesthetics, which I loved. I worked at the old Royal Infirmary with great colleagues, made many new friends and lived in a city that hosted the biggest arts festival in the world every year. We could sit at the bay window in our flat and watch the festival fireworks from the castle every night. Chris was working freelance so that he could write in his spare time and secured his first publishing deal. And despite being born and bred Glaswegians, we developed a deep love for the place. It continues to hold an enduring fascination for us, a fascination that has borne unexpected literary fruit (see Ambrose Parry). We still harbour hopes of returning someday. 6 Hair straighteners YES, hair straighteners. I've always had rather unruly hair. Neither straight nor curly but somewhere in between. It absorbs moisture avidly, to expand and frizz and predict coming storms. Over the years I tried many things to tame it – various shampoos, conditioners, mousses, sprays, but all to no avail. I wore it short for a while, but it refused to sit in any particular style and didn't suit me. This singularly failed to solve the problem and in fact added another, in that I was frequently mistaken for a boy. In desperation, I grew it long and subjected it to a spiral perm (in my defence, it was the 1980s). For the first time that I could remember, I liked my hair but had to wash it every morning to keep my tight curls in good order – high maintenance and not particularly good for the health of scalp or hair. Then hair straighteners arrived and everything changed. Finally I could gain some control over my recalcitrant locks. I haven't looked too deeply into why having straight, smooth hair brings me such satisfaction, but it does. Perhaps it is that sense of control over something that has evaded me over so many years. 7 Running my first 10k I HAVE always been good academically, but always poor at sport. It didn't matter what sport, I was never any use at it. Cross-country running was my particular nemesis. Always miles behind everyone else, purple-faced and breathless. As a result of these formative experiences, I had come to believe that I was genetically incapable of anything athletic and had no expectations that this would ever change. I can't remember why I decided to run a 10k. Probably something to do with seeing the glaring headlights of mid-life rapidly approaching. I knew that in theory, a body (any body, even mine) could be trained to run, so I decided to give it a go. I built up gradually, walking more than running at first and consistency proved to be key. I kept at it, disregarding speed, grateful when I could zip past the occasional ambulatory pensioner. When the day of the race arrived, I just wanted to complete the thing without stopping. And I did. I even managed a sprint finish at the end. I'd love to say that I increased my speed and distance and now run marathons in under four hours, but I don't. I still run but at a pace that is comfortable for me. I don't feel the need for endurance running or personal bests. I'm happy with what I can do now. And what did I learn from this? That movement really is medicine, but sometimes both mind and body need a bit of convincing. 8 Becoming a mother THIS must be the hardest thing I have ever done but also the best. By far. And the most life-changing. Your entire life is turned upside down, all the bits fall out and you have to re-arrange everything in a new order. Nothing is ever the same again. It shifts your perspective. You suddenly become aware of new hazards – grapes (choking risk), bouncy castles (head injury risk), doors (potential damage to delicate fingers), plug sockets (electrocution) – but you also get the chance to experience anew the thrill of childhood things like dinosaurs, Santa Claus and sandcastles (much less dangerous than the bouncy kind). You learn a lot – how to de-escalate potential conflict, how to massage fragile egos and advanced negotiation techniques. These are transferable skills you can take into other aspects of your life. Particularly useful if you have to work with surgeons. 9 Glasgow University (again) AFTER working as a doctor for 20 years I decided to take a sabbatical, return to university and study something for its own sake. I chose to do a one-year masters in the history of medicine because it was a subject I had always been interested in. I had to relearn how to write essays, as in the many years since being a student, I had forgotten how. I also had to learn to write at length without trying to cram too much information into tight sentences, the result of spending so many years condensing complex clinical information into short summaries. It was a humbling experience, going from a level of expertise in one academic discipline to learning the basics in another. It proved to me that I was capable of coping with significant change, which was useful as there was more to come. 10 Ambrose Parry MY dissertation subject for my history of medicine degree had been the early use of ether and chloroform in the maternity hospital in Edinburgh, which had led me to Dr James Young Simpson, obstetrician and chloroform pioneer. I became a bit obsessed with him, read the many biographies written about the man and shared much of what I found fascinating with Chris. He decided there was a novel in all of this somewhere, and suggested we write it together. I was initially sceptical as to the wisdom of this suggestion, as I had never harboured any ambitions to write, had no experience of creative writing and was keenly aware of the blood, sweat and tears involved. But Chris was convinced. Not only that we could we write together but that our relationship would not suffer in the process. With a degree of trepidation, I traded the operating theatre for a home office and Ambrose Parry (the pseudonym we write under) was born. And Chris was right. Not only did we survive the trials and tribulations of writing together, but we have both flourished as a result. Five books in and we're still married. The Death Of Shame by Ambrose Parry is published by Canongate (£18.99)