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[24th consult]
Oct. 24th, 2009 03:55 pmThere used to be a time when I had hope in the most hopeless of situations, when I found comfort in just being there for people who knew they were dying. I tried my damnedest, but sometimes there just wasn't a thing you could do to stop it. Make them comfortable, ease their pain, sure... sometimes you could delay the inevitable, but sooner or later, it catches up with most of them. But I still had hope, still felt like I was making a difference...
But I couldn't do that anymore. Not once things changed. What I had was taken from me, not by a disease, but by a person. A person that, to this day, I still don't know the identity of. What I was doing mattered, sure, but I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't get up and go to work and face these people, tell them there was hope, or ease their pain. They'd already given up, and I was just in the trenches. I wasn't pioneering research or organizing experimental new procedures, wasn't doing anything vital to the field. So I left.
I guess the amount of death I deal with on a daily basis hasn't changed, but it's not the same now. I'm not fighting my battles with drugs and radiation, experimental therapies, or hoping to get some poor dying soul for whom nothing has worked into a clinical trial, the latest desperate maneuver of a research team fighting in vain against something we can only just begin to understand.
I save more lives now. And when I can't, I've actually got a chance of making the killer pay.
... well, there's an involved reverie for you. All inspired by the guy I get my coffee from calling me "Dr. Wilson" this morning. It's been a long time since I've answered to that. I'm not sure how he even got wind of it - not here.
Not that it matters. I've got things to do. A city to protect. It may not be the city I know, but it's the one I've got now.
[ooc: Genre switch!! ... which means I need to post in a day or so with Wilson actually being Wilson. He left medicine when his third wife was murdered (Yay, it didn't end in divorce for once! \o/) and became a cop. Yes. He's a rough cop on the edge with nothing left to lose. What the hell is wrong with me? I blame this. ALSO HE'S OUT PATROLLING SO FEEL FREE TO ACTION.]
But I couldn't do that anymore. Not once things changed. What I had was taken from me, not by a disease, but by a person. A person that, to this day, I still don't know the identity of. What I was doing mattered, sure, but I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't get up and go to work and face these people, tell them there was hope, or ease their pain. They'd already given up, and I was just in the trenches. I wasn't pioneering research or organizing experimental new procedures, wasn't doing anything vital to the field. So I left.
I guess the amount of death I deal with on a daily basis hasn't changed, but it's not the same now. I'm not fighting my battles with drugs and radiation, experimental therapies, or hoping to get some poor dying soul for whom nothing has worked into a clinical trial, the latest desperate maneuver of a research team fighting in vain against something we can only just begin to understand.
I save more lives now. And when I can't, I've actually got a chance of making the killer pay.
... well, there's an involved reverie for you. All inspired by the guy I get my coffee from calling me "Dr. Wilson" this morning. It's been a long time since I've answered to that. I'm not sure how he even got wind of it - not here.
Not that it matters. I've got things to do. A city to protect. It may not be the city I know, but it's the one I've got now.
[ooc: Genre switch!! ... which means I need to post in a day or so with Wilson actually being Wilson. He left medicine when his third wife was murdered (Yay, it didn't end in divorce for once! \o/) and became a cop. Yes. He's a rough cop on the edge with nothing left to lose. What the hell is wrong with me? I blame this. ALSO HE'S OUT PATROLLING SO FEEL FREE TO ACTION.]
