Blood and Guts

Yesterday was an interesting day. It was a day where I realised that my sense of disgust and horror was gone forever. It started off normal: I dragged myself out of bed, cussing and grumbling, came to work, recieved the handover and started work. Roughly 30 minutes later the first RTA was wheeled in: front seat passenger involved in a head-on collision, crashed into the windshield and sliced his forehead open. Brought by some heroic bystander and God knows what happened to the driver.
We pulled him from the gurney and started work. I pulled off the peice of cloth covering his face and found this flap of skin pulled over his scalp. There was lots of blood going in all directions and my sleeves were soaked in seconds. I pulled the skin back in place and started to apply pressure dressing. A quick assessment found that he was fully conscious and oriented and pissed off as hell. He was moving all his limbs but I called the Trauma Team anyway because I didn't know what the hell was going on under that gigantic cut...
End of story: all CTs were normal, the surgeons patched up his scalp and ligated the bleeding arteries and he was admitted. And a few hours later the ambulances started rolling in: 4 children in 2 different RTAs, one of them in a coma due to a skull and face fracture.
It was a nasty day. But what bothered me was that I didn't feel a thing. I wasn't even slightly grossed out or distressed. All that blood and trauma... it didn't do a thing.
I don't know what I'm turning into.