Metamorphosis.

The Emergency Room has a way of insidiously weaseling itself into your life; until one day you look at yourself in the mirror and suddenly realize that you have become a callous, iron-stomached bastard; and you can't even be bothered to care.

Don't get me wrong I love my job, I love the adrenalin rush, the people I work with,and the fact that you never truly know what is going to come bursting through the door; but I have to admit, it has changed me:

-I can now finish eating my sandwich I brought for lunch as you puke into your little red bag in front of me.

- Play "rock paper scissors" to see who gets to deal with the psychotic patient strapped down to her gurney, yelling " I DEMAND JUSTICE AND LAW" at the top of her lungs.

- Ask to see the care card of a man who has been beaten with a lead pipe, and whose eye in dangling out of his socket..without, pardon the pun: batting an eye.

-Have come to the conclusion that you are not truly sick unless you are vomiting blood, missing limbs, or have damaged vital organs.

-Believe all people coming in to the ER with the chief complaint of: "I feel unwell", should be thrown into a dark cellar, and fed only bread & water, and made to think about their response until they can come up with a real complaint..( I'll show you the meaning of unwell %^&^$...)

- Believe that "shallow end of the gene pool" should be a recognized diagnosis.

-Watch maggots crawl out of a necrotic gangrenous foot while deciding what I want to eat for dinner.

- Believe that we should be able to tell patients ( in the immortal words of Chopper Reid) to "Harden the Fuck up".

This the person I have now become.