I was 16 years old in the late 1960s. My HS guidance counselor said I needed some community service on my "permanent record" to help me secure a college scholarship. She suggested I become a Candy Striper.
I told her I was squeamish with blood, but she assured me all I would be asked to do was wrap swab bandages, serve food trays and some light clerical duties. You'll never see a drop of blood, she assured me.
My first day on the job I was stuffing billing envelopes outside the ER. As an ambulance with sirens blazing arrived, a nurse came out and shouted, EVERYONE INSIDE NOW.
In I went with everyone else and I was directed with other clerical staff to bring surgical sheets and covers from everywhere within the ER to the area where the ambulance patient was going to be treated.
The poor man worked across the street at the Krispy Kreme donut shop. He had somehow gotten his arm (up to his shoulder) stuck in the industrial mixer.
I saw his injuries as he was being moved to the bed. I stayed in the ER as long as I was needed, then went outside and threw up.
