I wonder whether any of this makes sense to anyone. I want to make clear that I’m not ashamed now of the experience I’m talking about; but I’m curious about why I was ashamed at the time, about the way shame can attach itself to incidents that aren’t in principle shameful. My mother was a nurse and I was glad of that as a little boy (I remember telling her so) because when I was ill she could look after me and make me better. But as I grew older I came to resent this concern with my health. It seemed to me it was excessive, marking me off from ‘normal’ boys. I was prone to heavy colds and was taken to the doctor, who diagnosed sinusitis. In the end I had to have an operation for it (a sinus washout, it is called). This seemed to me not something that would make me better and happier but something imposed on me against my will: it wasn’t like having to have your appendix out because it is causing you terrible pain. I experienced it (this sounds melodramatic, I know) as a kind of violation. My response was shame and anger (I had learned early on that the two, for me, went together): I wouldn’t tell anyone else I was going to hospital for an operation, and once when my father mentioned it to an acquaintance I embarrassed him with my protests. Besides, I would have to be put to sleep for it and I hated the idea of being unconscious. I don’t think it ever occurred to me to talk to my parents about what I felt. Anyway, I went into hospital for the operation. They put me to sleep, and I woke up from the anaesthetic feeling sick but that soon wore off. The nurses were kind to me, and in retrospect it wasn’t such a bad experience. I was well enough to go home three days later. But for about a year afterwards I regarded the days of the week as lucky or unlucky, depending on whether I’d been in hospital on a given day or not. My image of myself had been hurt. Perhaps to compensate I continued to indulge in grandiose fantasies of being a war hero or sporting champion, for neither of which I had the necessary qualities. But when I first came across the word ‘narcissistic’ in my early teens (without it being clearly explained) I knew that this was me. It took me a while to realize that shame can be linked with narcissism.