Draw the draft

And sometimes the most complicated consent form in the hospital was the one nobody truly wanted to sign.… At 8:30 p.m., the emergency department doors opened with a metallic bang. A paramedic pushed a stretcher through the entrance. “Eight-year-old male. Pedestrian versus vehicle. Blunt chest trauma. Hypotensive en route. Possible splenic and thoracic injury.” Behind him came another paramedic, still wearing the expression of someone who had spent too long arguing with telephone operators. “We called two hospitals before this one,” he said. “Both declined. One said they didn’t have an operating room available. The other said they couldn’t guarantee pediatric surgical coverage.” Dr. Kenta Arai looked down at the boy. His name was Sota. There was dried blood around his mouth, but the external wounds were surprisingly small. The ultrasound showed fluid accumulating in the abdomen. His blood pressure continued to fall. The CT scan confirmed what Arai had feare...

It was a way of meeting people she had never been able to meet—and, through them, meeting the person she had become.… When she was seventeen, Yuko believed that books were windows. She would sit at her desk long after everyone else in the house had gone to sleep, reading novels, essays, biographies, philosophy, and books about distant countries. She had no particular system. One week she might be reading a Russian novel; the next, a book about anthropology; after that, something about economics or astronomy. What she loved was not knowledge itself, but the feeling that another human being had temporarily lent her a pair of eyes. A book could make her understand why a stranger behaved as he did. Another could persuade her that an opinion she had always considered absurd was perfectly reasonable from another point of view. Some books contradicted one another completely, yet she enjoyed that contradiction. At university, her friends sometimes teased her. “You re...