Today was another great addition to the stressful theme of current and future personal events. I live about 30 minutes from the area that was hit by tornadoes early this morning, and I don't think I've ever seen our ED as full as it was this morning. Crappy news is that all the patients we saw were pediatric multiple traumas, good news is they all survived or were transferred out; sad news is that at least one of them is now on his second set of parents. And he's not even in middle school yet.

You know, of the 30 or so people who lived on the street where this tornado touched down, it seemed like virtually all of them were related. We're sitting in the command center looking at the white board with all the patients (or dead at the scene) on it, their ages, their current locations, and the places that they're going to be transferred to. Seriosuly, maybe five different families.

The worst part was when someone would call in looking for a SoAndSo whose name was written under the heading 'Confirmed Fatalities.' No one was really quite sure how you effectively communicate information like that over the phone without sounding like a soulless son of a bitch, so we just referred them to County. Good God.

The Wife had her clinical rotation in the ED today too. Talk about trial by fire.

The whole thing reminded me of a story from my family history. About the same time my grandmother was a kid, she lost something like two or three siblings in a house fire. It's kind of weird to think about what it must be like to lose a home. You know, people always say shit like "Eh, material things are replaceable. At least everyone still has their lives." People who say glib shit like that really piss me off.

One of the people I work with lost her house today. The house she shared with her kids and her father, gone. Not like halfway gone either, like someone came by and swept the foundation with a broom. She can't go back to burned out rubble and pull out the photos that really meant something, or pluck through sections of the house that weren't destroyed. Her brick home was taken apart by 200mph winds and spread all over her zip code. Those people have nothing, except for maybe a collective sense of what it must feel like to have absolutely nothing. Yeah, they're alive, but their lives are gone.

What's that conversation with your insurance agent like?
"Hello, thank you for calling State Farm, how may I help you?"
"Yeah, my house was destroyed in a tornado."
"Do you have your policy number?"
"No. I don't have my policy number. I don't even have a birth certificate anymore. That's what happens when your life is put through a paper shredder set on 'F3'."