Trauma Room Two

by Philip Allen Green

To help them say good-bye. To answer any questions they have. To be one more person who will never forget their daughter.

Like precious rocks gathered from the bottom of a river, I hold them up in my head, turning them round and round in the bright sunlight, inspecting them, trying to understand them.

It is made to withstand the doing of terrible things, all in the hope of achieving something wonderful.

If a case is too traumatic, too upsetting, and I close off all emotions, it can be weeks before the feeling part that makes me who I am returns.

She smiles—a big smile, a loving, kind, giving smile. It is a precious gift just to me that I will carry forever.

First, it is OK to be afraid. That is normal. Second, introduce yourself, use your first name. Third, hold the person’s hand as he or she departs this life. That will be enough.

I can see it is a cross. Two gold, female angels sit on the horizontal beam of the same cross, their bare feet dangling off like children sitting on a swing, their hands clasped together across the apex. It is strangely mesmerizing with the snow falling all around me.

Whatever, in the course of my practice, I may see or hear (even when not invited), whatever I may happen to obtain knowledge of, if it be not proper to repeat it, I will keep sacred and secret within my own breast. —FROM THE HIPPOCRATIC OATH