It’s 10:56 Thursday evening. ER is over and it’s time to walk the pups. I get my coat on, get the leash on the dog, flashlight in pocket, and I’m out the door. The air is crisp, and my mind is on a hundred other things.
It happens so fast. There’s no warning — just that sick recognition that something is wrong but there’s no time to do anything about it, like the moment before the car door locks and you realize the keys are still in the ignition.