I’m a senior trauma surgeon. I’ve cut the clothes off hundreds of dying crash victims without a second thought. But when a 7-year-old girl, pulled from a horrific pile-up, violently grabbed my scissors and begged me not to cut her ruined sweater, the sheer terror in her voice made me freeze. What I found hiding beneath the wool changed my life forever.
Family
There’s a distinct, almost haunting smell that clings to the trauma bay whenever the worst accidents roar through the hospital doors. It’s a heavy metallic tang of copper that mixes unsettlingly with the
