Finally sorted the surgical glove drawer, of all things

Not the brain surgery, not the years of residency — it's the glove drawer that undid me this morning. I kept a box of the old brown latex ones, the kind that smelled like a whole era, and I stood there a while before throwing them out. Sixty years of medicine in a cardboard box. Anyway, the drawer is tidy now, and I made a pot of tea and felt oddly proud of the smallness of it all.