It would have been better if she was what I expected. It would have been a lot easier if she was some drunk, crazy, screaming meanie, filled with booze and hate, fighting with some other girls about whatever it is they fight about. It would have been just another call if she just cooperated, and was obnoxious, and demanding and thought the world revolved around her, and ignored me and paid more attention to her phone. That would have made it easy.

But it wasn't easy.

She was adorable, and sober, and dressed for a night dancing with her boyfriend. She was worried that her mom would be mad that she got hurt. She wasn't drunk, she didn't even drink. She was in the line of fire, that's all. The wrong place at the wrong time. She was in the way when a drunk, crazy, screaming meanie threw a bottle, and her face broke the intended path,and more glass started to fly, and fists and kicks started, and when it ended her beautiful face was sliced up, and her teeth were broken, and her eyeball gouged, and a four inch laceration bled from the top of her breast and soaked her dress with blood.

I wish she hadn't smiled through the mask of blood, and then winced with pain when the jagged edges of her skin moved, and her lip separated when I asked her her name.

And most of all, I wish she hadn't told me with another painful smile that her name is Marlin. Marlin, like the fish, she said, and asked me if her face would be okay.

I was still  fired up from the last one, a thirty year old female unconscious, intoxicated, overdosed on tylenol and surrounded by belligerent family members. When one of them, a twenty something shirtless tattooed tough guy refused to get out of the way I had to give him a “little” nudge. The time to show you are a man is not when your aunt is dying in front of you. If you want to be a tough guy, join the Marines, fight for your country, learn to speak English and take care of your family. And get the hell out of the way if you can’t.

I have no problem with Spanish speaking people as long as they try to learn English. I’m not looking for much, but if I can learn some basic Spanish, people who live here should be able to figure out I am asking their name and date of birth. It is for their own benefit anyway.

An hour later I found myself in a different home, a Hispanic couple in their early sixties. The woman, Beverly, is a dialysis patient whose shunt was bleeding. She also had diabetes, fluid in her lungs, chest pain, nausea and vomiting. I knelt in front of her wheelchair, noticed one leg was missing and that the bleeding from her shunt had been controlled. She was nicely dressed in clean clothes, bandages fresh, house relatively clean and orderly.

I asked how she was feeling, in her limited English she told me she was in great pain, cold and basically miserable. Her and her husband then communicated in their first language, Spanish. When they were done he asked me if I could take them to the VA, as all of her medical records were there.

After we were through with the necessary tests and treatment I had a chance to talk a little to them. They have been married for thirty-three years, she started “going downhill” three years ago, he’s been taking care of her since then. She is Dominican, He Peurto Rican. They met while he served in the Marine Corp.

Funny how quickly you forget about annoying little people when in the presence of great ones.