It's not the sterile smell of a preoperative hospital room that strips you of more than your clothes. It's fear. Fear of what happens next, after the nurses knock you out and wheel you to surgery.
That's what exposes your emotions for all to see and hear.
It was at this moment of truth last September 1 at an Arizona hospital when a chatty young woman, resting comfortably in a bed, managed to crack jokes, tell stories, fill the place with her laughter and otherwise ignore the IV stuck in her arm.
In another bed, on the other side of a curtain, also tubed up, was a world-class and well-decorated athlete, fit and lean and powerful, who felt his throat tighten and facial muscles stiffen—the symptoms that surface right before a person totally freaks out.