They say you leave the job, but the job never truly leaves you. It clings to you like the smell of antiseptic on a wool cardigan. I spent thirty years as a triage nurse in the busiest Emergency Room in Chicago. Over three decades, I learned to read the color of a person’s skin from across a chaotic waiting room, to hear the distinct, wet rattle of a failing lung before the stethoscope ever touched the chest, and, most importantly, to recognize a lie. I stood on the expansive limestone patio of my daughter Emily’s home, a glass of iced tea sweating...
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