Hey
If we can't find a way out of these problems
Then maybe we don't need this
Standing face to face
Enemies at war we build defences
And secret hiding places

Military metaphors, my weapon of choice as I go through the battlefield of life. There I go again, damn things tripping off my tongue before I have a chance to stop them. Most of the time I think that the metaphors sum up life extremely well, despite the scorn that my wife pours upon them at every opportunity. She's never had much time for the military anyway. Her main complaint appears to be that I use them to excess in a professional context – granted that she never listens to me outside of the board room, I doubt if she would know how much or little I use them during our personal disagreements. She fails to understand that it is my ability to see each board meeting as a battle, each proposal that we want to push through as a war to be won that allows me to be so successful. I don't lose battles. This is all fine and good when we are fighting on the same side for the same cause – although she would never admit it, in these circumstances my tendency to plan each offensive with military precision is an asset to her. It's when we are fighting against each other that things get bloody – we are both as stubborn and egocentric as each other and surrender is not a word that is in the Beauchamp vocabulary. Neither of us will ever admit defeat – we'd sooner die fighting.

It is this 'fight to the death' mentality that led me to do something particularly despicable in a recent board meeting. It was, I'd be the first to admit, a low act – throwing my wife and her career to the wolves in order to save my own back – but I really had no choice. Her reputation was, at best, tarnished, before I crossed to the dark side and betrayed her. Nearly blowing up the hospital and having her registrar die on her patch had seen to that. The allegations from Mr Curtis's wife that Connie had bullied him (another fine example of her contempt for all things military) made a bad situation a thousand times worse and she had to bring in the heavy artillery – me. This earned her no friends with her staff or on the board. I on the other hand had – have – a spotless reputation, both as a surgeon and a politician, and this is something I was unwilling to sacrifice in the vain pursuit of saving Connie's rather more battered executive status. Apart from anything else, her working and me not would do nothing for our joint income.

Admittedly my intention when I initiated the disastrous MRSA cover up had not been to turn around and stab my beloved in the back but sometimes needs-must and I did what I had to as it became clear that our dirty little secret had been exposed. Calling her into the boardroom that morning I felt more than a little guilty about what I was about to do to her but I stifled this feeling. Connie and her career were simply casualties of a greater war and when she calmed down and stopped threatening to kill me with her bare hands (a feat which I have no doubt she is capable of) then she will see this.

I might need you to hold me tonight
I might need you to say it's alright
I might need you to make the first stand
Because tonight I'm finding it hard to be your man

If it was just in the boardroom which I had betrayed Connie perhaps my guilt would abate more readily but what came next – to be more precise, what came after she stormed out having called me every name under the sun and a few that she made up for good measure – complicates matters somewhat. In the fallout from the cover-up fiasco, one particularly unenviable task still remained and considering my wife's murderous intentions it was an assignment that I undertook myself. Someone had to inform the relatives of the MRSA's first fatality that he had not, as they thought, died of multiple organ failure as a result of septicaemia but in fact died of complications following infection with MRSA. This would be a difficult task at the best of times but particularly given that the relatives in question form a large contingent of our nursing staff – charge nurse, ward sister and senior staff nurse to be more precise.

When I called her to the office I was filled with innocent intentions – to offer comfort to the woman who had just lost her Grandfather and was now being forced to watch her family crumble in the fallout. If nothing else, this good deed would assuage my fear that I would be going straight to hell for treating Connie has I had and, if I'm honest, I liked Sister Williams. She was attractive for a start – more obvious about it than my beautiful wife but sometimes being obvious is no bad thing – Connie's enigmatic tendencies can be rather hard work at times. I sat beside her and informed her of the truth behind her beloved Grandfathers death, sparing her the in depth details of Connie's alleged culpability for the cover up – earning my wife a slap from an overwrought Ward Sister would be adding insult to injury. Or perhaps injury to insult. Anyway, after this she understandably became upset and the vulnerability in her eyes drew me to her. Vulnerability is something of a rarity in my life, it being a trait that Connie believes is synonymous with weakness. It turns out that I find helplessness something of a turn on as I found myself drawn into an embrace with Chrissie and this was quickly followed by a passionate kiss. At this point precisely Connie walked in, all ready for round two of 'why Michael is a useless lying bastard, a personal opinion by Connie Beauchamp' and came face to face with the sight of me and Sister Williams getting to know one another considerably better. I think at this point it's fair to say that I am a dead man.