The woman was clutching her left shoulder with her right hand. Intermittently, as she spoke, she would press against it, as though she could fix her heart by coaxing the arm into a well-massaged, relaxed and quiescent state. Her skin was loose and wrinkled, falling away from her hands, her arms, her face, her bones that were most likely thinned out and brittle. Despite drowning in her own skin, she looked her stated age of 82. Maybe even a few years younger. I had originally approached her and let my crossed arms lay on the railing that had been pulled up from her emergency room bed. But regardless of my physical closeness and what many have told me is a great bed side manner, the woman did not warm up to me initially. She was serious. She had a serious complaint, of course, otherwise why bother taking a day off work going to the emergency room. She would later tell me that she worked as a Walmart cashier. She loved working there, being surrounded by people. She didn't want this job--this world--to be taken away from her because she didn't take the warning signs of a heart attack seriously.
- true story from my emergency medicine rotation -
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