Five cardiac arrests in eight hours.
Two packed up and sent to the ICU.
Three zipped up in body bags and sent to the morgue.
I kept my necessary professional detachment except for one brief moment of human connection.
Someone handed me the wallet of an unknown male found down in a public place in cardiac arrest. If we don’t know who this person is, we have to go through what they have on them in an effort to figure it out. On opening his wallet, the first thing I see is a picture of his son. Smiling, he looks about 12, in a school picture.
I pause for a brief moment and register the humanity of this person who has left his loved ones behind for whatever may or may not lie beyond this mortal coil. We did our best to save him.
Then I’ve got more work to do, because there’s other sick people who need my attention. A lot of them. All the while thinking I love my job.
What’s wrong with me?