I work all day with students in a small room crammed with respiratory equipment surrounding a hospital bed that supports a high-fidelity Human Patient Simulator. Occasionally there are students who have, to be delicate, abandoned their hygiene and decorum. In such a confined space this situation can be nearly lethal. I remember, while cleaning out the bilges on the crabbing boat or emptying the "Easter Basket" in the waste treatment plant on the ranch, that there are times when odors become living things, trying to snuff out your fragile light. What is intangible becomes tangible, what should be spirit is incarnated to flesh - you can feel it crawling into your pores, saturating your hair, coating your tongue and glazing your eyeballs. I survived by taking short gasps through my open mouth and completing my task with inhuman alacrity, ignoring the ringing ears and watery vision while aware that my next few meals were ruined. Such fish-like antics are considered hurtful to the tender makeup of my pupils so I croaked on, feigning ignorance. But the next day I bought a large fan and appropriated a warm scented-wax device from home. Now my small lab smells like pears drenched in vanilla. And I love it.
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