Andrew Miller: May this war resolve quickly, so we can get on with building a world with less darkness

The alarm on my phone detected the deepest phase of my sleep before forwarding space-time itself to 5.30am and shouting in my ear.

My adrenaline was released and a bad mood sprang upon me from the pre-dawn shadows like a leopard, sinking its teeth into my skull.

I had spent an hour in the middle of the night pondering Iran.

Nothing good that way comes.

What has a distant war — the worst failure of human ingenuity, diplomacy and virtue — to do with me?

I think therefore I am.

Individuals are like microplastics — we are inconsequential alone, but together quite important.

As a child, I heard about famous wars from grandparents, parents and teachers, many of whom served in uniform.

Their fervent hope was that we would never have personal reasons to cry on ANZAC Day like they did.

Secret intelligence used as a justification for hostilities sounds all too familiar, since Vietnam and Iraq.

I picked up my coffee and went to work, where bite-size problems cause less dissonance.

Caffeine for me, oxygen for the patients, it’s all much easier to process.

The leopard’s grip on my head loosened.

We monitor oxygen levels in our patients’ blood continuously, with pulse oximeters.

An acceptable reading is over 95 per cent saturation, and less than that will attract attention.

One of my worst dad jokes is “call me if the oxygen levels exceed 100 percent.”

The last patient obstructed a little, coughing and holding their breath during the procedure.

Passing 85 per cent, heading lower is much more concerning than 85 per cent and rising.

Like your bank balance, it is not just the raw number that matters, but the direction and rate of change.

By applying a face mask firmly, turning up the oxygen and adjusting manual ventilation pressure, I could hold a stream of oxygen in their throat, so that when they did take a gasp it was ready to rush in.

Their desaturation plateaued after a few stuttering breaths.

I had drugs ready to deepen sedation or even paralyse the vocal cords and diaphragm — I would make them breathe properly if I had to.

It didn’t come to that.

The list was done, everyone was recovering and my leopard was asleep again.

Manageable problems are a tonic for the soul.

I put on a rare tie and went to the Supreme Court to take my seat, and rise, and sit again in the public gallery.

My eldest daughter was about to be admitted as a lawyer, in a ceremony that was already 500 years old when young Charles Dickens was working as a law clerk around London’s Inns of Court.

We family and friends sat like kids in assembly, shifting and whispering, excited in the presence of awesome authority and tradition.

The court officer told the bloke in front of me to take his sunnies off the top of his head.

Everyone was glad it was him and not us.

I think I got something in my eye, as my daughter proudly declared and affirmed that she will truly and honestly conduct herself as a lawyer and officer of the honourable court to the best of her knowledge and ability.

The Honourable Justice Larissa Strk added some threads to a great tapestry of legal leadership by invoking the four cardinal virtues of Aristotle as a theme for her remarks.

She also referred to imperfection, assuring us all that the turns, stumbles and tumbles they had experienced on their way to that threshold day would make them better practitioners.

The cardinal virtues which foster eudaimonia — good governance and life — are prudence, justice, courage, and temperance.

I recalled Aristotle’s warning that the figure of the militaristic general, the man who could conquer but not govern, was not the highest ideal.

No hawkish leader has yet proven him wrong.

May this war resolve quickly, so everyone, everywhere can get on with building a future world with less darkness in the shadows.