It was one of those days...
My father's body wasn't going to clear customs; I'd been missing work for over two weeks. My mother had, in no uncertain terms, woken me up at the crack of dawn with a phone call telling me that everything that had gone wrong in her life was my fault most recently being my father's death.
And then the plane crashed.
I wake up in a jungle, a large gash in my back and I was alone. I made my way to the beach and there was the fuselage with screaming people around it. It was horrific and the only thing I could do was let instinct take over. The Doctor in me pushed the man aside so I could deal with it later. I helped a man trapped, a pregnant woman and then gave CPR to someone else. Names and faces barely registered. The engine exploded and then the wing fell and I finally got a moment to breathe.
I processed the ordeal while Kate reluctantly stitched the gash in my back. The night came and went and there was no rescue and then we heard the noise in the jungle.
Bad day.
