Remorse

I was waiting for a kidney biopsy procedure for my patient in hospital. I had prepared everything the day before. That's something simple. I knew every step, and the way to the procedure room was easy. I knew every corner, every turn on the way from one building to another in the hospital I have been working for nearly thirty years.

So off I went, once I knew the patient was ready. I was running, to be honest; it was my habit not to keep people waiting after receiving a call. Like maybe I had been running a race. I stopped abruptly at the corridor intersection before I could see someone pushing a cart. The side collision gave me a chance to practice somersault - if it is the right word - and righting reflex. I managed not to break my bone, but not my skin.

I felt like the urge to curse, to shout, to pick up the cart and chuck it through the corridor, see the cart smashed. I was terribly sorry to have thrown a tantrum, and to that end, I was exceptionally empathetic to my 86-year-old lady who needed a kidney biopsy.

If there's one thing I've learned yesterday, it's the meaning of the word "redemption."