The Scent Memory of a Chaplain

One of the strange side effects of being a chaplain at a level one trauma center I did not expect is my new library of scent memories. I recall somebody somewhere with a fancy degree has said that our scent memory is the most accurate form of memory we have and triggers subconscious responses based on past experiences connected to that smell. neat, nifty, wonderful... if you're a pastry chef or a florist. But I now have these smells burned into my memory with images and emotions that nightmarish and horrific... very surreal. I have the almost sweet metallic smell of blood dried and caked and flowing freely mixing with images of disfigured bodies and trauma room chaos, exposed body parts, and frantic and crying family members. I see images of bereft patients and families talking close to my face with the smell of vomit and bad breath passing over me. When I smell stale urine, I remember rumaging through the urine saoked clothes on a dead man, looking for something that might tell me who he is or who might want to know he's died. The smell of excrement recalls images of patients soiling their beds as they talk to me. If there is a body fluid smell out there, I've got a sad or atrocious memory to match it. I don't have nightmares about my scent memories. But I do have those flashes of memory interrupt my thoughts when I pass by or catch a whiff of something similar. It reminds me that I am human. Underneath the logical analysis, mountaintop mystical experiences, and amazing sentience, I am still literally flesh and blood. Nothing more humbling than the reminder that I am a sack of fluids held up on a frame of bones, working on electrical impulses. It also reminds me that despite my calmer demeanor and more efficient manner regarding trauma and suffering, I am still affected. My heart is not stone, my soul is not numb. I've smelt suffering, I've smelt death. Of course I know I will also die. The point worth remembering, however, is that today I live.