Two teenagers are on the ward, same age. They dress similarly, have similar interests and are the same sex. They don't know each other from a bar of soap.

Both showed up with serious symptoms with potentially life-threatening differentials.

The first knew their symptoms were serious, the other suspected. The first was scared; properly scared. The second was quiet, contemplative. Both kids smiled, just once or twice, in spite of their condition.

The first was investigated and diagnosed with a relatively minor ailment. The second was also investigated and diagnosed with a similar ailment. Both need inpatient treatment.

The next day, the first is surrounded by peers vying for attention; oohing and aahing over the surrounding medical paraphernalia, the patient is cocky, confident, riding the attention. The second sits quietly listening to an iPod, reading.

As they both get better the first's mother says, "Can they go home yet!?". The second's mother asks, "Is my child safe to come home?"

Both go home, safely. The first with fireworks and ceremony. The second calmly picks up the overnight bag, smiles awkwardly at mum as they leave ward.

We all approach mortality with a different style. Our insecurities, however universal, manifest individually.