I walk through the automatic doors into the airlock, fans blasting winter’s chill from my coat. I inhale and think how I could recognize the hospital blindfolded. The hospital’s air sterilizers leave a very distinct lack-of-aroma in the air. As I walk the long concourse to the tower elevators, memories flood with each new scent.

Toasty comfort from the blanket warmers used in anesthesia recovery.

The red-soapyness of betadine, mingled with pungent nose-hair-stiffening isopropyl alcohol swabbed by nurses before pushing hollow needles into veins with skill and a prayer.

For the end of this story, come on over to Deeper Story, where I’m posting today.

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