The tragedy has brought hundreds of people to the doors of the Toledo University Hospital, currently with its blood donation system collapsed. Since the calls began to circulate on social networks and the media, residents of the capital and nearby municipalities have been forming long lines to donate blood. They come of all ages, professions and social conditions. They have stopped what they were doing to offer a part of themselves to those, somewhere, fighting to stay alive. In the face of death, the response has been to go.
The urgency is even greater among universal donors, those of group 0 negative, whose blood holds the greatest hope as it can be used in certain emergency situations to transfuse patients of other blood groups. Among those waiting is Javier, 22 years old, a resident of Los Yébenes, the municipality in whose area the fateful accident occurred. The news reached him through his mother, who came into the house crying, unable to contain herself, and he stopped what he was doing and left. "My mother came in crying, heartbroken, she told me and I left everything," he remembers. He is a regular donor, he knows that his blood can be used for others and he does not seem to find any particular merit in it. "What less than coming to give what I can," he says timidly. He also talks about his town, about the people who have gone out of their way "giving everything we have" and his story about open sports centers and neighbors offering help is reminiscent of what he experienced on January 18 in Adamuz.
"In the atrium you see long faces passing by, how could they not have them," says Marta, a healthcare worker who has decided to take advantage of her turn to donate. Some of his colleagues have extended the day and others have returned to the hospital after finishing it. His voice falters, despite having seen "everything" throughout his professional life and there are scenes for which experience "does not fully prepare anyone", nor does it make them immune.
One of those colleagues who today also has his work uniform on, says, "has been reborn" because the impossibility of changing his shift - the one he is covering this noon - has saved him from having witnessed the fatal collision between trains that has already claimed the lives of 64 people. "I saw him and his face was a little long, I imagine he's thinking about how lucky he was," he says, "I didn't dare to talk to him."
Small groups of friends also arrive at the doors of the emergency room, in a disorderly hurry as a result of the unbearable delay. Among them are the friends of David Martínez Méndez, 24, an engineer, who was traveling to Seville for work. They have come from Majadahonda and Las Rozas and have been distributed among different hospitals.
They laugh a little in disbelief at their latest WhatsApp messages saying "kids, they've stopped the train." "What were we going to do?" says his friend Daryoush, "look for him!" "I was watching the news and they said there should be no hope for those in car 7, he was in that and in seat 17," he adds, "he is strong, we know it."
"I have prayed everything I know," says Rodrigo, another of his five colleagues, "when they told us that he had been transported by helicopter it took a weight off our shoulders and at the same time we feared the worst."
At least they know that David is in this Hospital, a nurse confirmed to one of these friends that "I have seen that face." They breathe a sigh of relief from time to time, but most of the time they wander around and, when they stop, they roll cigarettes and smoke them, getting nervous. "How can this happen? It doesn't make sense," Daryoush concludes.
