Smell

This particular elderly couple impressed me. Their walls were flooded with pictures. Mrs. Rosen was the artist of the family. Small talk, a check-up visit, and then the social worker and I got up to leave. I had only listened and watched, having been introduced as a medical student. Mr. Rosen looked at me and asked if I still took anatomy, telling me that medical students were spoiled. I asked him why. “The formaldehyde,” he replied, “you never had to smell a rotting body on a battlefield.”

Suddenly his face became alive. His inquiry was an expression of a pained experience, and by questioning me, he was inviting me into that experience. I felt as if I had glimpsed the real Mr. Rosen and not just the body in the wheelchair. I had not been prepared for this clear view of a man's soul. Nothing I could say would show my understanding. I felt utterly disarmed and naked. My life seemed shallow in comparison, my inexperience embarrassing.

We left the apartment, but I could not stop thinking of the encounter. It was rare to see so clearly a human for what he was. As a physician, I knew it would be something with which I would have to be comfortable. What was the proper response?

Riding back to the office I told the social worker what had happened to Mr. Rosen and …