I could smell something the minute I set foot in the trauma bay. It was a terrible smell -- kind of a strange combination of the dirtiest feet in the world and, erm, poop. I expected the patient to be filthy dirty. Sometimes we'll get a homeless patient who hasn't had a bath or a change of clothes in a long time, and he'll smell pretty ripe. And that is pretty much what I expected.
But when I got up close to him, he wasn't dirty at all. He was neatly shaven and his face was clean. The clothes piled at the foot of the gurney were relatively clean. But the smell was overpowering. It was my job to ask who I should contact to come to the hospital. He was soft-spoken and he was a bit drifty. He nearly fell asleep while giving me his girlfriend's telephone number. He seemed pleasant enough and I found myself wondering why this young man had been assaulted.
After I contacted his friend, I went out front to update the triage desk with the patient's name. The triage nurse said, "Oh, the assault patient. How's he doing?" I said that he had gone off to CAT Scan but was moving all of his body parts appropriately. Then I added, "He's kind of stinky." Everyone in the trauma bay had been aware of it. The triage nurse said, "Oh, that's the heroin. Heroin addicts have that very distinctive smell about them."
I had no idea.
The smell of love and kindness. And the smell of evil and heroin.
