She made no haste to answer his question. It was an inquiry that required careful thought. Nevertheless it was her grandmother that first came to her mind. Though she did not believe that this was the type of response Adam was looking for, the experience carrying the weight of its impact because it was personal, she could not shake the memory easily. The impression it had left still lingered in many areas of her life, shaping thoughts, influencing choices. It had not been so much the decline of old age, a process that Viola had come to accept, but the sheer suddenness with which it had struck. Her grandmother had been one day a pillar of strength, dignity, eloquent intelligence, and rendered feeble and struggling the next. If the change had come more gradually, Viola thought she might have better reconciled herself to it despite the tragedy.
"I think," she still hesitated when at last she'd decided on her answer, trying to find the right manner in which to frame her thoughts. "After I spent a month just working with leukemia and bone marrow transplant, it was difficult to see the children, the terminally ill, the ones that just didn't respond well to treatments. Somehow to see their bodies wasting away at such a young age. It's unfortunate." Briefly, she pressed her lips together, and allowed a self-directed laugh to slide free in a slow, uneasy breath. "I know that isn't the most difficult case I've worked, and it isn't the goriest or grossest thing I've seen if that's what you meant by worst. Maybe I'll change my mind once I do spend some time in the emergency room, or I'm asked to assist a surgery. But somehow blood, or bodily wastes, or necrotized tissue don't typically bother me as much."