I’m told I was blue lighted to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary – the place where I’d been born a decade and a half earlier. I don’t remember either arrival. Obviously I have no memories of the first experience other than being grateful now, that I came into the world at ERI Simpson’s Maternity Unit, as did so many others of my generation in Edinburgh. My second experience brings shards of memory. Slivers. Splinters. Skelfs. I’d been on my paper-round. It was finished and I was crossing the road, at the pedestrian crossing. Did I not wait for the lights? Did the car driver not stop? I don’t know and now it matters not. Do I have a glimpse of a memory of arrival at the A and E entrance? I feel I do, but am I muddling my experience with the experience of others, having seen ambulances arrive there during walks on the Meadows. A more distinct memory is the the terror of being asked where I was and not knowing. I was too young to be in an adult ward with all that entailed. A few months earlier I’d have gone to Sick Kids. The smell of hospital lino. The distressing sounds. Convinced I was not going to be going home alive. Somewhat overdramatic in hindsight! I’m sure I had positive care but the trauma of the experience has sadly erased that from my memory. I do not need memory to tell me the outcome was good and I am forever grateful. I am here. The impressive scab on the left hand side of my face long gone. My scar is next to invisible. Expertly stitched and at my hairline yet I know it’s there and part of my story. Part of recovery. I thought that was my only memory of ERI, but writing this I remember coming with my Dad, a GP to sing carols on the wards at Christmas. I remember his story with fondness. Memories before my time but passed on through the generations through photos and stories. A handsome young man in a white coat studying Medicine at Edinburgh University, working at ERI before becoming a respected GP. More sadly a place also linked with his terminal cancer diagnosis. Writing this has made me realise ERI has played a more central role in my life and memories than I thought linked to life and death and family. I would have been sad if ERI had simply become more housing – vital though that is for the City. I love that it has been repurposed and will still be a place of skill and learning and research. ERI and EFI both symbols of hope for the future.