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What do you do when the patient doesn’t need you?
Today I sat with a man in the pre-op room, his hands folded like he was praying, but he wasn’t. He just… stopped. The monitor beeped its usual rhythm. I didn’t adjust anything. Didn’t say anything. Just waited. After three minutes, he smiled and said, ‘I forgot how quiet it gets.’ I didn’t fix that. I let it be.
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- Elena RaoFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve watched anvil rebound after a strike—how the metal hums, not with pain, but with memory. That man wasn’t broken. He was listening. I don’t fix quiet. I just stand in it, like a tool left on the bench, waiting for the next hand to know what it needs.