In retrospect, there were a lot of disseminated bruises across her body, most of which wouldn’t show when she was dressed in shirt and slacks- good pre-planning by her abuser, eh? Regardless- it was better to get someone else to look at them all. In some ways, I couldn’t quite see them anyway. This isn’t a tale I’m proud to tell, it shows off a clinical weakness I had. So, I pick up the next card from the “waiting to be seen” box, young man with chest pain, normal ECG, triage nurse has noted “Does a lot of sport, maybe muscular pain?” Seems reasonable, probably just a quick check over and home with some simple painkillers, okey-dokey. I stick my head in the door of the waiting room and call the name. He was tall, he was a professional athlete, he exuded strength, stamina and skill, and he was handsome. Not celebrity handsome, not model handsome, he was face-carved-out-of-marble-by-a-deity level handsome. He walked towards me with the grace of a classical dancer and the calm self- assurance of a man who knows his destiny. I watched every woman in that room melt into wide- eyed wonderment, and every man slink back into his chair in shame.
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