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I drop the discharge papers into the ever growing pile, and grab my next chart. It's crazy today, and I've barely had a chance to sit down and breathe. I haven't had any coffee, and my head is pounding. Yes, its another completely normal day in the ER. I don't know why I still do this, I'm getting too old. I have four residents under my wing, and another ten medical students running around somewhere, hopefully not killing anyone. I hate my life. I have a meeting with Kerry in about an hour, and I have so much paperwork to finish. Its going to be another long night. I might take everything and just go home and finish it there. I need peace and quiet. I walk off toward exam three, when Jerry screams there is a mass casualty coming in from an accident on the Eisenhower. Damn it, just what I needed. Their coming in about seven minutes. I'm going to go insane. I walk over to the trauma rooms and tell the residents that we need the rooms. They quickly start running around like trained dogs, clearing the room, getting the patients to their wards or discharged. I see Luka out of the corner of my eye and he shoots me a supportive smile. I will rip my hair out. I make my way to the ambulance bay, and the first round of patients come in, probably the most critical. I take the first one with two of the students, I see Luka heading toward the second ambulance. We start toward the trauma rooms, when Amy's voice pierces through the chaos, and I'm drawn away from the rush and excitement. I send in Jamie, one of the better residents, in my place. My daughter pulls me toward a quieter section of the hallway, smile plastered across her face. I don't want to know. I hear the machines going off in the room. I should be in there instead.

"Dad woke up. He's confused and disoriented..."

Hell no is the only thought that runs thought my mind. I break away from my daughter's grasp, pulling me toward the elevator. No I'm not leaving. He's my ex-husband. He means nothing to me anymore. I've gone through all this for weeks, I don't want to be a part of this. I push her completely off of me, and she stops, starring at me in shock.

"I'm not going. I have a mass casualty coming in, seven people that can die at any minute. I can't let that happen. I'm in charge."

I'm not risking seven lives to go see my ex husband. I have priorities that I can't let supercede my personal relationship. There is no personal relationship, I've let go already.

"But mom, he needs you..."

I see the pleading look in my daughter's eyes, and I would have given in, but it's not happening. I start back toward the incoming traumas, and to check on my residents.

"Amy, he's your father. He's my ex-husband. He's nothing to me anymore."

The tears pool in her dark brown eyes, but I let her. I leave her, and she lets out another yelp before running up the stairs. I can't do this. She should understand this the best of all of them. I run into the trauma, Jamie's having a hard time. I grab the tube from her hand, quickly putting it down the woman's throat. I move over, grabbing the blade from the nurse and making the incision for a chest tube. Jamie looks on in anger, I didn't' give her a chance. You don't give chances when life is hanging by a thread. Finally the pressure had been released from the lungs, and her BP started to go down. I give the nurses orders and tell Jamie to follow her up to CT. I move onto the next room, were Luka stands with one of the surgeons, trying to repair a hole in the heart. The life of an ER doc. I throw off my gloves and grab another gown, shifting back into my original room, where a new patient is placed before me. This is my life on a daily basis. I'm a healer, a fixer. I concentrate on the physical, never the mental. I did that once, as a nurse, as a medical student, even for some time of my residency. But it got to be too much, I would sit there months later and wonder how my patients was doing, or if everything was okay. I stopped caring as much as I did before. I got better at the physical, so I ignored the mental. I think it happens to every doctor. Yet, sometimes you get one of those cases that sticks in the back of your mind, that you worked on, you pushed every single limit and somehow managed to save them.

Its become a cycle for me, a cycle that I enjoy. I know I'm doing something I love to do. I'm doing something that I've always wanted to do. It gets repetitive after a while, but I've kept at it. I feel needed and wanted, I feel satisfied. I actually feel happy.

Seven hours later, I'm dead tired. I cannot walk, bend over, or move my arms. My shift ended two hours ago, but we had a few bounce backs, and we had to stabilize more than seven patients from the accident. I sign off all my charts, and grab the mail in my box. A letter for Kerry, no doubt. I don't' care, we were busy. I don't know what she wants from me, probably discussing something about policy or finances. That's all we ever talk about anymore at these meetings.

I make my way up the stairs toward the east hospital wing. I may not care for him, and I don't want anything to do with him, but I have to go. If not for anyone but my children, who love him. The hallways are once again, dimly lit. I never see them in the light of day. I haven't been here in weeks, all the more annoying this is. Jack revoked the one week order, and he's been here an additional three. No one was ready to let go. Maybe it was a good thing that they didn't let go. I see Dr. Myers by the desk and I walk up to. He hands me Carter's chart, as he finished writing on a different one. I flip through it, and his stats are climbing, blood work seems normal. Michael finishes the chart he was working on, and looks up at me. He can't tell me mor than what the chart just told me.

"Well, it looks like he's back with us, Abby."

I nod my head. Yes, good for the children, for their lives and for their sanity. I don't know how big a factor I'm going to be in all this. I put the chart back down on the desk, and push my hands into my pockets. My fingers are freezing, they feel like ice. I can't seem to warm up, even though I'm wearing a thick turtleneck. I take my left hand and sacrifice its warmth to run it through my hair, pushing it back. I shake off the few strands that came along with it.. I'm starting to grey, but quite gracefully actually. I'm going to die my hair, though. I don't' want to look that horrible. I might cut my hair short, I don't know what to do with my aging body anymore.

"But there is one thing. He has extensive memory loss. He didn't remember who the kids were, what he did for a living, marital status, nothing. He won't remember you."

Oh no, definitely not. This is not happening tonight.