Doctor. I was on duty in the emergency unit in a rural hospital in a third world country when two women arrived with >60% total body surface area burns after the gas canister in the school kitchen where they volunteered exploded. Both women were fully conscious when they were brought in. I treated them aggressively - morphine, fluids, burn dressings, intubated both to protect their airways - and made arrangements for transfer to a hospital equipped to treat them further, but this has an extremely poor prognosis due to ongoing damage and associated complications. I was sad but not surprised to hear that the one woman passed away within hours. At that stage I worked in a very fragmented system and since I did not hear anything about the second woman I assumed she died as well.
For some weeks I had trouble adjusting to the idea that the last thing in their lives those two women heard was me saying, "Hi, I'm Dr So-and-So, you got very badly burnt, I gave you some strong pain stuff but I'm worried about damage to your face, so I'm going to give you something to make you sleep and then put a tube in your lungs to protect them, ok?" (paraphrased slightly)
Slightly over six months later I get a call from the sister on duty at the emergency unit, "There is someone here that you absolutely want to see."
It was the second woman from that fire. She had been through hell - skin grafts, rehabilitation, depression - but against the odds had survived. She also immediately recognised me as the one who said "I'm going to give you something to make you sleep," but she remembered it more favorably than I did.
It was easily the happiest day of my entire career so far, practicing for +- 11years now.