They are my ghosts.
The little boy crying, all black and blue...
the crazy lady, threatening to kill us all...
the scared pregnant teenager I held thru her miscarriage...
my friend, stuck with a needle from a HIV patient...
the baby, almost delivered in the elevator...
the Navy boy who's hand I held as his head was stapled shut..
the first patient I lost...
Every night I go home,
haunted by every single face.
I think about them
dream about them,
wondering if I'd worked faster,
done something different,
could I have saved one more?
Questioning every decision made that day.
Wondering what happened...
to the abused woman refusing to charge her husband...
the baby of the heroine addict...
the wife and child of the man who died today...
the drunk who killed two toddlers in a wreck...
Days go by, and each day,
eats a little more of my heart and soul.
My heart still cries,
but my eyes are dry.
Why did the gang member live
and the innocent child die?
The mother of 3 become paralyzed
the drunk released with bruises.
Today, I saw another patient die,
yet another lives
because I was there
and I cared!
I die a little more each day,
but in my death - there is life!
