The New York Times had an amazing article Saturday on the Arizona shooting and the trauma doctors who helped the victims. The article slowed down what must have been a frantic series of events. Or perhaps doctors do slow tasks down in concentration. One of these victims died, the other lived, and it was all decided by where the bullets landed:
"I had her heart in my hand. We filled it with blood. It still didn't want to beat. So, it was over. We're finished." ....
He followed the possible trajectories .... He ran his fingers down her intestines, making sure there were no holes .... "I have held every piece of her organs in my own hands," he said. "Her heart was in my hand, her spleen was is in my hand. Her liver was in my hand. There is no better scan than that."
[slightly paraphrased]
Intimacy like this has to be non-judgmental. These doctors must have moments of great clarity in their work. The article brought tears not just for the victims and for the event, and for the country, but for the window into the peace of what a doctor sometimes does, mastery without judgment.
Or maybe I'm flat-out wrong and there's nothing peaceful about it -- emergency surgery in a trauma center with no time for thought, only decision.