When a terrified burn patient woke up in my ward, they did not look up to see a untouched doctor offering pity who couldn’t possibly understand their hell; they saw a woman who had walked through the fire and survived to build a life on the other side.

I had just finished a grueling, complex ten-hour pediatric skin-graft surgery on a young boy who had been trapped in a horrific kitchen fire. The intricate procedure was a complete success.

My hands, steady and sure, were rebuilding the physical and emotional foundations of the lives that tragedy had attempted to demolish.

Exhausted but feeling a deep sense of fulfillment in my bones, I grabbed my car keys from my locker and made my way out of the hospital campus, stepping into the biting autumn air.

I decided to stop at a small, independent, brick-walled coffee shop just off the main road to grab a warm drink for the commute home.