Angela Scicutella

One fine spring day, I strolled out of the hospital, heading from the ER to the clinic building—wearing my white coat, with my stethoscope draped around my neck, surrounded by residents and students, chatting happily about the weather and sports. It was a wonderfully ordinary moment. Suddenly, I found myself knocked to the ground and my stethoscope broken—the bell separated from the aquamarine tubing—unable to fathom what had just occurred. A golf ball trickled by me, rolling toward the curb.