The Colours of Love

By Dragan Cvetkovic Kaspar

The Colours of Love is a real-life testimony on how a life should be lived and how it should not. It recounts my love for my parents, love for a woman that I loved more than my life, love for my daughter, friends, love for the countries where I lived. Love, crime and science-fiction-like experience, triggered by delusions and hallucinations, are interwoven in this narrative of life.

I wrote this book when I was 55 years old, as a culmination of my life. It recounts my utmost remorse for the things that I did, but I should not have done, and for things that I did not do, but I should have done. The consequences of my decisions resulted in extraordinary loss of property, physical and intellectual. I lost my share in five houses and one apartment; I lost my profession, my wife, my daughter, my social status and freedom. None of this was my desire. Why did this happen to me? I had all prerequisites to live a successful and wealthy life. My father was a medical doctor, my mother was a piano teacher; I was a medical doctor; my wife was a medical doctor. I had permanent residency permits in two countries, Sweden and Australia. However, I ended up in prison with almost nothing.

The book is written for adolescents who are just about to face challenges of their lives. It is also aimed at adults, as a mirror of how good or bad their lives are compared to a non-standard life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398472709

Dragan Cvetkovic Kaspar

Dragan Cvetkovic Kaspar was born in 1960 in Serbia. He is a qualified medical doctor. He also holds Master of Science degree in Immunology, from the University of East London, and postgraduate diploma in Jurisprudence, from the Faculty of Law, University of Sydney. He left Serbia in 1991, and lived in Sweden with his wife and daughter for 7 years, until 1998, when he and his family immigrated into Australia as skilled migrants. He is an Australian Citizen since year 2000. He wrote this book, The Colours of Love, in about 180 hours, over 35 days, whilst he was in prison.

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About the Author

Dragan Cvetkovic Kaspar was born in 1960 in Serbia. He is a qualified medical doctor. He also holds Master of Science degree in Immunology, from the University of East London, and postgraduate diploma in Jurisprudence, from the Faculty of Law, University of Sydney. He left Serbia in 1991, and lived in Sweden with his wife and daughter for 7 years, until 1998, when he and his family immigrated into Australia as skilled migrants. He is an Australian Citizen since year 2000. He wrote this book, The Colours of Love, in about 180 hours, over 35 days, whilst he was in prison.

Dedication

To my father, Tomislav; mother, Desanka; and my grandmother, Radmila, for the exceptional love and care they gave to me.

Copyright Information ©

Dragan Cvetkovic Kaspar 2022

The right of Dragan Cvetkovic Kaspar to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398472693 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398472709 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I wish to thank Austin Macauley Publishers for helping me to publish this book.

Foreword

The Colours of Love is a real-life testimony on how a life should be lived and how it should not. It recounts my love for my parents, love for a woman that I loved more than my life, love for my daughter, friends, love for the countries where I lived. It traces a life that was challenged by adverse events, tribulations and desolation far beyond any experience of an ordinary man. Love, crime and science-fiction-like experiences, triggered by delusions and hallucinations, are interwoven in this narrative of life.

For legal reasons, all names of living persons in this book are fictional.

I wrote this book when I was fifty-five years old, as a culmination of my life. It recounts my utmost remorse for the things that I did, but I should not have done, and for things that I did not do, but I should have done. The consequences of my decisions, or failure to make a decision when it was required, resulted in extraordinary loss of property—physical and intellectual. I lost my share in five houses and one apartment; I lost my profession, my wife, my daughter, my social status and freedom. None of this was my desire. Why did this happen to me?

I had all the prerequisites to live a successful and wealthy life. My father was a medical doctor, specialised in neurology and psychiatry; my mother was a piano teacher; I was a medical doctor; my wife was a medical doctor. I had permanent residency permits in two countries, Sweden and Australia. However, I ended up with almost nothing.

At the relevant times, I was not mentally ill. I did not use drugs. I was not alcoholic. I was not involved in criminal activities. I believed that I loved my parents, my wife, my daughter, my friends, the countries where I lived. Why did I end up in prison?

With God’s blessing, I reviewed my life. I put it in writing. It is now available to anyone who wishes to learn from other people’s mistakes, or just wishes to see how far human love can be stretched.

The book is written for adolescents who are just about to face the challenges of their lives. It is also aimed at adults, as a mirror of how good or bad their lives are compared to a non-standard life.

Chapter 1

I was forty-six years old and in a 27-year relationship with a woman who was my first, last and the only love and sexual partner. I loved her more than my life. I was asking myself, could I ever live without her? Seven months after she left me for good, I learned the answer to that question.

06 June 2007, 2:15 p.m. I was on the ground, having difficulties breathing and feeling a huge pressure on my back. I had the urge to get up and run, but I could not. I heard a male voice saying, Don’t move. You have slashed your throat. You are bleeding heavily.

The next I remember is the pain being stronger and stronger, me being in a vehicle, going along winding roads. Then a gap, until I heard a female voice, talking to me in my mother tongue and intense noises around me. I realised I was in hospital. Then another gap, until a male and a female person, in civil clothes, presented themselves as police detectives and asked to talk to me.

I realised that I had attempted to kill my wife and me. I was sitting in my car with my wife; me in the front passenger seat, my wife in the driver’s seat. The vehicle was parked in the carpark of the North Ryde shopping centre. I took a gyprock saw from my briefcase that was in front of my knees, to tell my wife about my suicidal thoughts. My intention was to get sympathy from her. As soon as I took the saw from my briefcase, my wife grabbed it with her bare hand by the blade, holding it firmly, and started to scream. I attempted to get it out of her hand instinctively. That was my last memory. The next one is me on the ground of the carpark.

I remember my initial interview with the police a few hours after the incident.

Chapter 2

My next memory is of two male persons, presenting themselves as police detectives, who charged me with attempt to murder my wife. My feeling was that this was shortly after my initial interview with the police. Several months later, I learned that this had happened on the third day of my hospitalisation.

Since then, I remember numerous police officers having shifts and watching over me in the intensive care unit. I learned that I had caused twelve stab wounds to myself, five to the abdomen, five to the chest and two to my neck. I had both lungs punctured and bilateral pneumothorax, as well as XI cranial nerve severed. I had also a long, about twenty-centimetre incision on the left side of my neck, where the hospital had operated on me to repair the nerve laceration.

During my six days in the intensive care, I was having flashbacks of the events that had happened during the incident—my wife and I sitting in the car, she exiting the car, the people gathering around the car, me leaving the carpark in my car, driving towards the exit and crashing into another car that was waiting at the exit of the carpark; then a policeman coming on foot towards left hand side of my car, pointing with a gun at me.

During the six days in the hospital, I was asking police officers, nurses and doctors to tell me what had happened to my wife. None of them came to me with an answer.

In the night between the fifth and sixth day of my hospitalisation, I had an extreme headache. I was not able to subdue it even though I was using patient-controlled, morphine-based analgesia. I could not sleep the whole night.

Sometimes during the night, I started to hear sounds like someone was clicking a pen, turning it on and off, repeatedly, and tapping with his shoes on the floor. That was followed with voices, in my mother tongue. A male voice would say, He doesn’t hear. The other would respond, No, he does hear.

In my head, I had vision of several people sitting at a table, in a nearby part of the intensive care unit, watching me and talking about me. I thought, "What’s big deal. I do hear their voices and sounds they make. Immediately, as a response to my thoughts, I heard a female voice saying, See, he does hear us." This was followed with several people laughing with satisfaction and approval.

One young female voice said to me, Sleep, otherwise you will go to prison. In my head, I had understanding that those people were doctors at the hospital, and the young female voice was of a nurse. For some reason, I linked her to be a daughter of a doctor that was in the group sitting around the table.

During the night, both male and female voices, advised me that I must sleep, otherwise I would go to prison. No matter how much I was trying to fall asleep, I could not. I was awake all the night.

The voices continued conversation with me. I was perceiving their voices as being environmental, outside my head. The most, if not all of my responses, were in my head, by my thoughts. In the intensive care unit, there was about dozens of beds, with patients, but I could not see them as my bed was separated by curtains.

The daylight came. I heard the people around the table leaving the unit. One of them said to me, We must go now Dragan. Sorry you must go to prison.

I was still having extreme headache. The new shift of nurses came to work. Few of them spoke to me. That conversation was normal; they were in front of me and my responses were oral.

Sometimes later, I started to hear female voices, in English language, coming from a distant part of the unit. I realised they were talking about me. Everything I thought or did was accompanied with their comments, all of them being cynical, ridiculing me, Look at him. He is a monster, but he is pretending to be nice, Oooo, Aaaa, Yes, Hmmm, No. Whatever I would respond in my thoughts, it would not be answered by anything else but making a ridicule of me.

This lasted for about half of an hour, when I started to hear a sound above my head, from the position where monitoring instruments were. It resembled to the well-known theme from the movie The Psycho when the son stabbed his mother in the bathroom with the knife. I understood that the sound was caused by the nurses that were watching over me. I heard one of them saying, You murderer. You are going to prison today.

That was my sixth day in the intensive care unit. A male person, who presented himself as a doctor, approached my bed and told me, You are now well enough to leave.

I asked him, Where am I going? He replied, I don’t know. We shall take the drains out, and then you can go.

I repeated my question to one of the police officers who was watching me at the side of my bed. He replied, You are going to the hospital of the Long Bay prison.

Few hours later, I was taken on escort to the Long Bay prison. The distant mocking by the nurses continued all the time. They were commenting on my every thought.

Chapter 3

12 June 2007. On my way to the prison, I was taken in a van. I was seating at the rear of the vehicle, prison officers at the front. During the trip, I was thinking of opening the door and jumping out of the vehicle to kill myself. As soon as I had those thoughts, I heard a click in the door beside me. The door was locked.

At the entry of the prison, at the gate, the vehicle stopped. One of the officers left the vehicle. I heard him talking to the people at the gate. Some of them said, Is this him? He who tried to kill his wife? Now he is with us. We shall teach him a lesson.

The officer returned to the vehicle, which continued inside the prison. They stopped, and asked me to leave the vehicle. They put me in a cell. From there, I could hear distant voices, coming out as from a long corridor. I could hear extraordinary laughs, shouting, banging, crying of both male and female voices. They sounded to me as coming from Hell. I was terrified.

Half an hour later, I was taken out to another cell. On my way there, we passed through a line of corridors. The voices from the Hell continued. Some were referring to me, Hahaha, he is here. We shall get him. Watch out mate!

The cell in which I was put had no bed. Only a mattress on floor, and a toilet and a sink. The floor seemed to be warm; it had floor heating. All my clothes were removed. I was only in my underpants. I had a blanket that was about one and a half meters long. They called it ‘safety blanket’.

That day I saw two nurses. They checked mu wounds. I asked them, Tell me what happened to my wife. Is she well? One of them replied, We don’t know. Ask tomorrow the welfare officer. She can get that information.

During the afternoon the voices seemed to quieten a bit. I fell in sleep for a while after I got medication. All of the sudden, I was awakened by male and female voices coming out of my cell, from the corridor. They were in my language, but with Bosnian dialect. They appeared to talk about me. I heard, He is not sleeping anymore. The other said, Now you are in our hands. You will curse your birth, pal. The other laughed.

In my mind, I visualised them as prison officers. They were talking about my crime and punishment. I understood they were aiming to torture me. A female voice said, You are now underground. Nobody cares about you. We shall kill you and bring someone else in the country using your identity.

I answered in my thoughts, "Why? I am not guilty. I did not wish to harm either of us. It happened without my control. Loud laugh and response came from the corridor, You monster. Nobody will believe you. You are a fool."

I replied, You are from the same country as me. Why are you against me? I do not have anyone. I have lost everything. My wife, my daughter, my profession… The reply was a loud laugh of the whole group.

Since then, I tried to stop my thoughts. I did not wish to engage in further communications. Reduced to a foetal position in my bed, I was trembling in fear and anguish. The voices from outside seemed to be gone. Few hours of silence replaced the terrifying line of noise. I fell again in sleep for an hour or so.

Chapter 4

Sounds of something that resembled to loud kisses brought me back to reality. Along with those noises, in the background, I heard two voices, a male and a female, talking to each other. He doesn’t hear.

No, he does hear, argued them.

In my mind I thought, "Are they talking about me? The female response was immediate, See, he does hear us. Hi Dragan."

I replied, Hi.

In my mind, I visualised them as being in a cell on the righthand side of me. The cell was separated from my cell with a large, glass window. They were standing in front of that window, watching me. The male was about my age, in his fifties. The female was a young woman, in her twenties. I gathered that they were father and daughter, and that he might be a police officer or something similar.

They were questioning me, Why did you do this? They spoke in my mother tongue, with accent from Belgrade. They appeared friendly and with compassion for my circumstances.

In my thoughts, I replied, I don’t know. I was not in control of myself. I don’t know what happened. Do you know? The male answered, No. We can’t tell you. We are here to hear your story. Do you remember what was happening in the days before the incident? What did you do and think on the day of the incident?

In details, I was describing to them everything I did, thought and felt in the days before the incident and on the day of the incident. All our conversation was by thoughts, with me occasionally uttering a word or two orally. I understood, they were pleased with my answers.

At some point of time, the police officer left the room. I heard him walking through the corridor. For some time, there was silence. Then, I heard something as boxes shuffling of the floor. The noise was first distant, then louder and louder. The young lady told me, That’s your clothes and other things. My father is bringing them for you. We have an agreement with the police to take you to our home if we are satisfied that you are not guilty.

No, I am not, answered I in my thoughts. She replied, You are saying this, but we need to be sure that this is true.

It sounded as the police officer returned to their examination room. He said to me, Your property is here. We need to ask few more questions.

All right, answered I.

Those few questions turned in one more, and one more question, continuing deep in the nigh. At some point, I could not avoid any more not to go in toilet, despite their presence. I went to toilet. The police officer was furious. He said to me, You should not have done this. This is disgraceful. Immediately, I heard the sound of shuffling boxes again. The young lady started to cry and beg her father, Dad, no. Don’t do this. Give him a chance. He is sorry. The police officer did not respond. The shuffling noise continued, becoming more and more distant as was the young lady’s cry. In my vision, I saw their examination room empty. Both were gone. All noises subsided. I returned to my mattress, covered me with the blanket and turned-on side. Exhausted, I fell in sleep.

Chapter 5

13 June 2007. That day I saw the welfare officer. She gave me a paper, which was issued by police. I read what happened to my wife. She sustained twenty-nine stab wounds. I was terrified and said, This can’t be true. I have not hurt her so much. There was no response from the welfare officer. Prison officers took me back to my cell.

In my cell, the voices started again. On this occasion, there were three of them, a male and a female adult, and one young lady. They were in Croatian language and familiar to me. The male said to me, Dragan, could you recognise us?

Again, those sounds and words were in my head, but sounded as if they were coming from outside, from the corridor, from a room that was on my righthand side and one level above my cell.

I answered in my thoughts, Your voices sound familiar to me, but so distant. The female voice said, Gustavsvik, Gotland, giving me a hint. That was more than enough to refresh my memory. I said, Zoran, Bojana and Marija? All three of them laughed in approval.

Those people were a family from Croatia, with whom my family and I shared a cottage for few months, whilst we lived as refugees in Sweden. I was in shock to realise this, and asked them, How did you come here? Zoran answered, We have moved to Australia several years ago. All three of us are prison officers now… In an utmost excitement and shock, I interrupted him, How can I communicate with you without speaking?

All three of them laughed; Bojana answered, You are put on a special program, designed for inmates. The Government has put a communication and tracking device in your neck. It is used to investigate your crime. Everything you think, hear, feel and see can be experienced also by us. The device can also be used to punish you, and inflict you pain, if you do something wrong. The pain could be such that you could be immobilised immediately. The device will be used whilst you are in the prison, but also after you are released.

As she was saying that, I felt some twitches on the left side of my neck, at the site where my wound was. All three of them were laughing and Bojana was saying, Click, click, click… As she was saying that, the twitches and squeezing intensified to the extent that it started to cause me a sort of pain. I understood that she was demonstrating to me how the device worked. Zoran told me, That will happen if you are not compliant; that and much worse. You could experience excruciating pain if you do something wrong.

Instinctively, I put my hands on my wound to ease the pressure and pain that I was feeling at the time. They laughed, You can’t protect yourself. You can’t hide from those who have control over your device. The beam penetrates walls and objects.

They continued with the click, click, click noises. My sensations went up and down. I felt both mental and physical pain. I asked them, OK, that’s enough. I got the point. It causes me pain now. They continued with clicking.

Zoran said, What can you do about? You do not have a choice. You rely on the mercy of your hosts; those who have control device in their hands.

I repeated, OK, that’s enough. I got the point. It causes me pain now. They just laughed and continued.

Eventually, I turned on my side in my bed, taking a foetal position and my hands over my wound. I was terrified with the news I got. The sensations and laugh continued for some time, decreasing in intensity, before I fell in sleep.

Chapter 6

14 June 2007. That morning, three days after my voices and communications by thoughts started, in my examination by nurses, I reported what was happening to me. That afternoon I saw a psychiatrist. He told me, You are a doctor. You should understand that you are suffering from delusions and psychosis.

I replied, Never before in my life I experienced something like this. I was suffering from depression before the incident, but not, never from psychosis. He replied, This is caused, most probably, by the stress related to the incident and the events thereafter, your imprisonment.

I agreed, and added, The exchanges and sensations are so real that I was almost convinced that everything was true. He did not reply. I was taken back to my cell.

As soon as I was in my bed, the voices returned. They were coming from the corridor, outside my cell. Two men were pacing up and down the corridor and talking in Serbo-Croatian language. They were prisoners who had cells next to my cell. I knew that they were of English-speaking origin. I was surprised that they were speaking in Serbian. I thought, maybe they were with Serbian background.

They were talking about me. I could hear one of them saying, He has tried to kill his wife. I hate him. I will teach him a lesson as soon as he starts to get out of his cell for walk.

I looked through my window. The voice was of the inmate that had a cell next to me. They saw me on the window, and continued to pace up and down talking about me in a scornful, degrading, threatening way. The other said, Yes, I’ll kill the bastard when I see him.

I was terrified but also aware that all this could have been my delusions and hallucinations. To check the psychiatrist’s claim that I was suffering from psychosis, I decided that on the first occasion, when I would be released from my cell for walk, I would talk to those men.

A day later, I got this opportunity. My next-door neighbour was speaking in fluent, native English. There was no animosity to me. On the contrary, the man was very friendly. He told me about his case. He told me that he was in prison for murder. He showed me a newspaper in which an article on his killing was written. He showed me a book which he was writing on his crime. I understood that I was suffering from psychosis.

In the next few days, I was transferred from general hospital ward to the psychiatric ward of the Long Bay prison hospital. During those days, I was having intense encounters with the Croatian family from Sweden. On occasion, they were talking nice to me, accepting that I was not guilty; the other times they were insulting me, vilifying me, and punishing me by causing the device in my neck to contract my neck muscles to the extent of modest to severe pain. Those encounters and sensations were so real that I started to doubt that all this was just my hallucinations.

Chapter 7

At the mental health unit of the prison hospital, I got a ‘one-out’ cell, that is a single man in a cell placement. The cell was one of about twenty-thirty cells located on each side of a corridor, with an office booth in the middle of the corridor. My cell was just opposite to the booth where the officers were located.

On my first day there, in the morning, I refused to go out for a walk. I did not wish to mix with other inmates. The inmates were walking up and down the corridor, talking loudly. It appeared that some of them were talking in English, the other in Bosnian, Serbian, Croatian, and Italian. Some of them were talking about me, arguing, He is guilty. I can see that from here. Some of them were threatening, I will beat him up when he comes out. The others were following those words with laud laugh.

I got out of my bed, came to the cell door and called an officer that was sitting in the booth. I asked him, Is out there any inmate from former Yugoslavia or Italy?

He answered, No, almost all inmates are from Australia. Some are from Africa. Why?

I said, I hear voices in my mother tongue. Thank you.

I went back into my bed and tried to distract my thoughts from those voices by thinking about my past; about the week before the incident; about the events on the day of the incident. I was trying to recall what had happened after my wife grabbed the gyprock saw by the blade, with her bare hand, and started to scream. All I could recall were the images which flashed in my head whilst I was in the intensive care unit. The feelings that I had were like those you have when you remember something from your dreams. Again and again, I was going through these events hoping that I would remember something more about the incident, but nothing came out.

My thoughts were wandering to and from the days and months preceding the incident. I was thinking about the time when my wife had left me for good, seven months before the incident; the reason that she told me why she had left me for good.

All the time, my thoughts were interrupted by the voices outside commenting on my thoughts, mocking me, laughing at me, shouting at me, You are stupid. You are fool. You are not worth of living. That’s why your wife left you. Kill yourself. You are not worth of anything…

My body was twisting and contorting in my bed trying to ignore those voices. I knew that those were just my audio hallucinations, but on the other side, the voices were so real and came from the directions of the inmates that were pacing in the corridor, that made me to believe that I really had a device in my neck.

In the middle of those qualms, I heard banging on my cell door. It was an officer. He told me, You did not eat your meal. You must come out. We need to search your cell. It won’t be long, just for half an hour.

I came out, but I kept myself away from the other inmates, until I was told, You can now go back into your cell if you wish.

Back in to my cell, I went straight into my bed. The voices continued to mock me, as they did whilst I was outside the cell. One of them told me in English, Look at your cell wall!

I looked around the cell. I could not see anything in particular. The voice said, In front of you, close to the ceiling.

I saw two rings, like wedding rings, linked together, and attached to the top of the wall. They looked as my wife’s and my wedding rings. The same voice said to me, Your wife wants to say hallo to you. Connecting!

I heard the sound as if a modem was connecting somewhere. Then silence. I stopped breathing, not to make a noise, waiting what would happen next.

The silence continued for an extended period of time. Then, I heard some noise, like coming from a microphone, and my wife’s voice, crying and saying in English, Dragane, I love you. Then a brief silence was followed by sounds of sobbing.

My lungs were about to explode. I felt cramp in my throat. I could not utter a word. In extreme grief, I heard myself saying, I love you, too, followed by an unarticulated explosion of air from my lungs and the outburst of loud cries. I was trying to suffocate those unarticulated sounds, but I could not. I covered my head with my blanket. I continued to swallow air to quench my cries, not to be heard outside. But this did not help.

Loud banging on my cell door returned me to reality. A female officer asked me, Are you OK?

I uncovered my head and nodded, Yes, and covered my head again.

I was not making noises any more, but the tears were flowing. Few minutes later, memories of my wife’s voice and words, echoing in my head, brought back cramp in my throat and my chest, and new outburst of loud cries.

The voices outside my cell started to mock me again. She doesn’t love you; you fool. She is with another man now. He is ten years older. He is her boss and her lover. He can give her everything she wants. Kill yourself. You are not worth anything…

My answers to all these comments were, Yes I know. I agree. Yes…

At that time, if I had a gun, as a means of painlessly ending my life, I would kill myself.

Mocking from outside, and my responses in thoughts, continued until deep into night, until I fell in sleep.

I was not sleeping for a long time. A loud banging on the cell door next to me brought me to the grim reality of being in prison and in a madhouse. Half an hour later, I heard a female voice saying, Brian, stop doing this. You are waking other inmates. Go to sleep. He stopped for a while. As soon as the female person was gone, Brian continued to bang and shout on his door for at least another half an hour.

Chapter 8

It was still dark outside. I could not sleep. My thoughts were roaming in the time when my wife, my daughter and I came to Australia. Our first days in a backpacker’s hostel. Renting a brand-new apartment in Ashfield, an inner west suburb of Sydney. Our excitement of being permanent residents in Australia. Our utmost dedication to settle down in the community as soon as possible, professionally, socially and personally. Our endeavours to find a job.

Our apartment in Ashfield was in a brand-new security complex, comprising of several townhouses and three three-storey buildings, with two apartments on each floor. Our two-bedroom, two-bathroom, two-lockup garages apartment was on the second floor. The suburb was about fifteen kilometres from the city CBD.

We came into Australia on skilled migrants visa, after spending six years in Sweden.

My dreamy meditations, of my family’s utmost commitment as newcomers, were poisoned with my memories of my wife’s and my experience with our first employers in Australia. I remembered my first employment interview, barely one month after we had settled down in the new apartment.

The interview happened just before Easter. It was with an international contract clinical research organisation (CRO). After I had sent a facsimile with my curriculum vitae, I was invited for an interview.

At that time, I was 37 years old, qualified medical doctor, with five years of postgraduate clinical experience and training in Paediatrics with a large children’s hospital, which had eighty beds and twelve specialists in Paediatrics. The year before coming to Australia I spent in London, UK, where I did my Master of Science degree in Molecular and Biomedical Immunology. I had the final exams and presentation of my dissertation only few weeks before arriving to Australia. In addition to medical qualification and training, and the MSc degree, I was also trained in Sweden in international clinical research management with a Swedish CRO. The three-month course was personally tailored for me. I had also proficiency in Swedish language. My aim was to assume either a Clinical Research Manager (CRM) or Medical Writer position within pharmaceutical industry.

The person who invited me for the interview was the Managing Director of the employer. She was a young, 30 to 35-year-old woman, who was also a recent immigrant in Australia. After I presented my qualifications, experience, skills and professional aims, she told me, We do not have currently a position that would match your background. I can offer you a Clinical Research Associate (CRA) position temporarily, until we get something more suitable.

My answer was, I need a job as soon as possible to support financially my family’s settlement. My wife is also a medical doctor, with eleven years’ experience within pharmaceutical industry. She does not have a job at the moment. I wish to give her opportunity to find a suitable job matching her profile. I would accept a CRA position, providing that it would be only a temporary position. My aim is either a CRM or Medical Writer position.

Her response was, We can’t offer you more than 48,000 dollars salary plus a company car.

I replied, This is not what I expected, but because this would be a temporary position, and is at an Associate level, I would accept that offer.

We agreed that I would start work first day after Easter.

At that interview, my wife accompanied me, but she was sitting in our car waiting for me. When I was back, I summarised to her the conversation that I had with the employer. When she heard the news, she was very excited. On the role I was supposed to assume, she told me, It is not what we expected, but because it is only temporary position it doesn’t matter.

Yes. Now you could relax and look for a position that would match your experience, I answered.

She replied, Dragane, I love you so much, and she kissed me.

I commenced my employment without receiving anything in writing. Three days after I was attending the office and working, I received a letter of offer from the Managing Director. In dismay, I read that my salary was 38,000 dollars. When I asked the Managing Director, Why 38,000 dollars? We agreed 48,000, she replied, That’s what I offered you.

I was in shock and said, Not at all. You offered me, and I accepted that my salary would be 48,000 dollars.

She responded, It must have been some misunderstanding. My reply was, I can’t accept this, not less than 45,000 dollars. I will resign.

As you wish, she replied and she added, In few months we may have a more suitable position for you.

OK, call me then, I replied and I left the company’s premises.

At home, when my wife heard the bad news, she told me, You did tell me that she had offered you and you had agreed that your salary would be 48,000 dollars, plus company car. It is not fair that they changed the agreement. My response was, What could I do. I will be looking for other jobs.

My wife and I continued to look for other jobs. Within a month, both of us had an offer for employment interview; my wife with an international CRO, for a CRA position, and me with a hospital for a Business Manager position.

My wife got the job immediately. Not only that she got the job, but the employer changed the initial CRA position to Clinical Research Consultant to suit better my wife’s experience. She was also promised that, as the current Medical Director was retiring, she would succeed him after he retires in few months. My wife’s starting salary was 60,000 dollars plus company car.

After my interview with the hospital, the decision was delayed. In the meantime, the Managing Director of the CRO, where I worked for three days, called me and asked me to attend their office for a job interview.

At the outset of the interview, she told me, We have a position that would be part-time Medical Advisor and part-time Clinical Research Associate position. Would that be suitable for you? My answer was, In contrast to my situation two months ago, when my wife did not have a job, now she is employed. In addition, as you know, I am not interested in an Associate position. Medical Advisor position would be of interest for me. If you can make that position fulltime, I would accept it.

She replied, That is not ideal for us. Would you be willing to do medical writing?

Yes, answered I and I added, The combination of a Medical Advisor and a CRA position would be very unusual and peculiar for the current circumstances in the CRO and pharmaceutical industries. The people would laugh.

She interrupted me, Yes, I agree. But I can’t offer you more than 45,000 dollars, plus a company car.

I replied, This is lower than what I would expect for the position, but the salary is now of secondary importance to me. My wife is employed now. For me now, it is the most important to assume a proper position and role with the company to be able to contribute to the company and develop myself further.

All right, I agree. I can offer you a position of Medical Adviser, but you will be required initially to do some CRA work until we employ a fulltime CRA. Is that acceptable to you?

Yes, answered I.

We agreed that I would start in a few days, as the company was moving to new premises.

On my return home, I found a voice message on my telephone answering machine. It was from Dr Dean, one of the members of the employment committee of the hospital, for the position of Business Manager, which I attended few weeks ago. The message was, Dragan, I am calling to tell you that you were not successful for the position you were interviewed. However, the committee can offer you a PhD position with our hospital, if that would be suitable for you. Please call me and let us know your decision.

That afternoon, when my wife came from her work, in consultation with her, I decided that I would accept the Medical Adviser position, as it would give me better start-up and development opportunities. I told my wife, Medical Advisor is a career position and would give us salary. The PhD position would take me in the entirely different direction and clinical work, but that would not be in Paediatrics, it would be in Orthopaedics, which is not my field. I would need to start all over again, from the beginning. I think, I should take the Medical Advisor position.

Few days later, when I started with the CRO, I called the hospital and told them my decision.

The happiness which my family and I were feeling because both my wife and I were able to find a career position, which was promising professional recognition and prospects for development, was extraordinary. We regarded those opportunities as God’s blessing to us for our utmost love and dedication to Australia and commitment for settlement.

Chapter 9

On the 1st of June 1998, four months after we arrived at Australia, I commenced my job as a Medical Adviser. In contrast to my first experience with the company, when I did not get anything in writing regarding my employment for three days, this time I got a letter of offer. The letter clearly stated that my job title was Medical Adviser and salary 45,000 dollars. However, there was reference that a job description was enclosed with the letter, which was not the case.

I asked the Managing Director, In your letter of offer there is reference to the job description, but no such description is attached to the letter. Why?

She replied, That is a new position here in Australia. I am expecting to receive that description from our head office in UK. I will give it to you as soon as I receive it. That was a reasonable explanation for me, and I just said, OK.

My first day in the office was also the company’s first day in the new premises, as they moved from the location, which I attended during my previous three-day employment. For the first week, I did not have a computer in my office to work on. For the job I had to do, the Managing Director told me to share a computer with another employee. This was not a viable solution, as that person needed computer for her work. All I could do during the first week was to read a clinical study protocol and the company Standard Operating Procedures, and take notes.

The second week, as I still did not have a computer, I brought my private laptop to the office to work on. That day, the Managing Director offered me to attend an annual conference for people working in the CRO and pharmaceutical industries. On that occasion I asked her, It is my second week here and I have still not received my job description. When I would get it?

As I told you, as soon as I receive it from our main office in UK, I will give a copy to you. Don’t worry, was her answer.

The professional conference was on the twelfth day of my employment. I did elect to attend only morning sessions, and to return back to the office to work in the afternoon. During the conference, in my contacts with other attendants, I introduced me as a Medical Advisor of the company. I did the same, in front of the whole auditorium, at the time when I asked a question following presentation of a prominent professor in Immunology. During my twelve days of employment, I also used the same title in my professional contacts with the company’s clients in Australia and overseas.

In the afternoon, when I returned to the office, I continued my work on the study protocol.

Sometime at the end of the working day, the Managing Director came to my office, with an A4 paper, and left it on my table saying, Here is your job description, and she left the office.

When I started to read it, it struck me as a sledgehammer to my head. The first I saw was the job title, Medical Research Associate. The blood rushed in my head. As I continued to read the job duties, I started to feel dizziness. My sight became blurred. I did not know what was happening. I took the document with me and went to see the Managing Director. I asked her, What is this? This is not what we discussed and agreed to.

Her response was, That’s what I received from our head office today.

But that is not what I discussed and agreed with you. The job title is Medical Research Associate, not Medical Advisor. And the job duties are all of an associate not adviser, I replied.

Her response was, Those two titles are interchangeable.

Not at all. Absolutely not. Those two positions are entirely different ones. Medical Research Associate is subordinated position to Medical Advisor. I can’t accept this. People will laugh at me, I replied.

The Managing Director did not respond. I continued, If those two position titles are interchangeable, could we change the one in the job description with Medical Advisor?

No. We need to change the one in your job offer, was her response.

That was the last drop for me. I was furious and was boiling inside, but I maintained a composed and calm appearance. I said, This is not what we discussed and agreed to. I can’t accept this new title. It is against my professional interest. I have presented me to your clients and other people as Medical Advisor. People will laugh at me. Talk to your main office. If they insist to change my position title and duties, I will resign.

OK. Come tomorrow and we shell talk, was her answer.

I do not have any recollection how I came home, or I know what I told to my wife. No memory at all. The first what I remember is what happened when I came back to the office next morning. The Managing Director was already there. I approached her and asked, What is your decision?

She replied, We need to change your position title, in your letter of offer, to Medical Research Associate.

No way. I do not accept this. I will resign, I answered.

As you wish, was her reply.

When my wife came home that day, I told her, I resigned. They wanted to change my Medical Advisor position title in the letter of offer to Medical Research Associate. My wife said, Don’t worry. You look better now. Last night I was afraid for your health.

I don’t know anything about what was happening last night, I replied.

My wife said, When you came home last night, you were disorganised and confused. On my question what was wrong, you didn’t respond at all. I asked you several times the same question, until you started to rummage through your briefcase until you took and gave it to me a document saying, ‘Look what I received this evening’. I read the document; I was shocked, and I asked you, ‘What’s going on again. Again misunderstanding?’ You were just nodding, with no words. During the evening you told me that you would go back to work next day and discuss the decision.

My response to those events was, It’s absolutely blank in my head. The whole period, since I got that job description, until the next morning.

Since that day, I started to feel about myself as a sh**. Constantly, day and night, I was going again and again through the events that happened during my three- and twelve-day work with the employer. I was asking myself, "What did I do wrong to be downgraded? No creative work I did during those days, but reading the study protocol, Standard Operating Procedures and correspondences. Was my question at the conference wrong? What did I do wrong?" What was wrong, was reverberating in my mind all day and night round. My professional and personal confidence plummeted to the level that I was hesitant to seek a new employment, go out, and even mix with people.

As the days were going by, I started to recover gradually. I stared to go out and look for jobs. In any of my evaluations of my circumstances with the previous employer, I could not find any error on my part. My conclusion was that the company was abusing my dedication for settlement to get a highly qualified and experienced person as cheap as possible. They feared that if they employed me as a Medical Advisor, for so low salary, I would realise this sooner or later and seek more money or change employer once I establish myself on the market.

Chapter 10

Since my family and I arrived into Australia, we were looking to buy a property in Sydney. The houses we were interested in were in 500,000 to 600,000 dollars range. To get that amount of loan, from a bank, we needed two salaries. Every weekend we would go out and inspect few properties. As the time was progressing, we realised that due to price rise of the properties, we were losing about 10,000 dollars per month by not buying a property. The failure of my two attempts to secure an employment, and my inability to get another one, was raising my family’s anxiety beyond tolerability.

Months were going by, but I was not able to secure even an employment interview. The most of the jobs that I sought were at an Associate level, due to availability. My wife was working as Consultant without any problems.

Sometimes in August 1998, the Medical Director of the company where my wife worked did retire. During the last 4 months, in light of that retirement, my wife was introduced to the company’s personnel and clients, as a new Medical Director of the company. However, shortly before the retirement, the Director of my wife’s company, the person who employed my wife, and presented her as a new Medical Director, resigned. A new person was appointed to manage the company as a General Manager. She was already an employee of the company in the same office.

Few days after she assumed charge of the office, my wife and the General Manager had a conversation about my wife’s role in the company. After that conversation, my wife called me. I was at home. Her first words to me were, We just spoke about my position. She doesn’t wish me to have position title Medical Director. She wants my title to be Head of Clinical Research. I am absolutely devastated. I do not know what to do. What would other personnel think about me; our clients? During the last months, I was introduced to them as a new Medical Director. It seems that something similar to what was happening to you is now happening to me. What shall I do?

I replied, Talk to her again. Explain your position. She may change her opinion.

In my next telephone conversation with my wife, she told to me, I did speak to her again. She said that she would think about.

After few days, in another telephone conversation, my wife told me, She has agreed me to hold title Medical Director.

That development was both a new shock and a relief to us, as there was an attempt by the employer to break the initial agreement, but eventually the employer followed the agreement.

Chapter 11

Few months later, sometimes in November 1998, a Clinical Research