Person vs patient

Sometimes in the mad rush of blood, bodies, and body breakdowns, it can be lost, the fact, that is, that these people are just that. They're people. They have lives, or at least they did. They are real people, not just a mvc vs tree. Behind their fractured bones, ruptured organs, and bloody faces, they have normal lives. Their incoming call list: mom, home, dad, Aunt Tina; they have people who care about them, people who are there to recieve the 2am call, and actually care. They have little people who call them daddy, or mama, and make a running jump into their arms. They have bills due, time clocks to be swiped, yards to be cut. But here they are, lives in a gamble; dice being rolled, which way will they land? And you must know, that all is being done to keep this person on one of our beds, and not the coroner's. This could be your dad, or your sister. That possibility alone offers that extra incentive, the little push to work quickly, and with compassion, and speak to the family with more feeling. Just the other night a young kid, having some fun on a late night highway with a group of friends and their super bikes, took a nasty, unforgiving spill that landed him in a plastic bag. He'll never walk through the door, little ones running up to him, never be called daddy. But on the bright side, most of the 150-something a night will go home to all of those things; they'll be back to see us again. They're all people. Granted, they are people with diverse aches and complaints, but they're people nonetheless, and taking care of them is what we do.