Today I am allowing myself to be emotional. I’m scared of things to come. I’m scared to go to work. I’m scared of what this isolation can mean for my patients health. Mental and physical.
We all put a brave face forward. I try hard to do as much paying it forward type things as possible these days because you never know what kind of days people are having.
I wish everyone was allowed to watch what COVID does to people’s bodies so they would understand why to stay home.
I get irrationally mad when I see parks full. Church’s full. All I can think is that one of them will be my next patient that I have to take care of while they die alone because of selfishness. Could be their own selfish decision or there roommate. Their kid or significant other.
It makes me feel worse for those that got it even though they did everything they can to avoid it.
I’m scared of how my coworkers and I will feel when one of us comes back positive for it. No matter how much precaution we take, we are still continually exposed.
I’m allowed to be scared today. Then I will take a deep breath, get out of my car and walk through those doors into the madhouse for my 12 hour shift.
The reality of the what is to come is starting to settle in.
I have children and elderly family members just like many of you.
Everyone has been ordered to stand down and shelter in place.
However I work in the medical field. There is never a time I have seen such determination among my scared coworkers.
We know the risks. We know there is not enough supplies. We are very aware that the precautions that have been put into place so far is not enough.
We also know that we are the ones that know how to save them. We are the ones that can make them feel better.
We are the ones that will be holding their hands as they go through this. The fear that they have echo’s through us in a way that is hard to describe. We know that we are not directly related, and yet every one of them becomes a family member in some way. They remind us of a family member that is similar aged. It occurs to us that with the visitor’s banned we would want the medical staff to comfort our family members. So we do it for them.
The list of weird things that come with being an adult just got a little longer for me today.
I spent my whole life thinking that my life was so complicated compared to the adult’s anywhere near me.
I mean nobody I know dealt with burying their best friend/first love at sixteen.
But they did know all about burying them a few years older when they came home from war.
I never compared that in my head.
I was so busy being selfish and distancing myself from the people trying to help me the most. How could they know how it felt?
No one I ever knew dealt with adoption at such a young age the way I did.
But they did deal with sudden infant death with no real reason to blame it on. They knew it was a bullshit umbrella diagnosis for doctor’s that couldn’t find a specific reason. I know not everyone sees SID’s like that, but I do.
Being a young single mom because he couldn’t grow up put me in the same type of shoes as the women who’s husbands shipped out while they had young ones at home. The story was different, with one being a coward and one being a hero, but the day to day was similar.
The comparisons just won’t stop rolling through my head now. My life is unique, my decisions are unique but the stories are parallels.
Hat’s off to the people that forged the paths before me. Even the ones that are nothing like mine.
Forgiveness mode has been in affect for me this last few weeks. This is something that I come in and out of every few months so this time I chose to force myself to stay out to deal with itm instead of running to hide the way I normally do when it gets too deep.
The best thing is that there is always new things to forgive yourself for! Especially when you’re a hot mess like me. Forever throwing new things into that basket of things to work through.
My current favorite thing to do on this journey is actually a well used method that I brought back. The good old trusty empty notebook that I sit down with. After searching my whole house for actual writing utensil that aren’t for my children’s homework, I find the most comfortable spot in the house. I turn on some back ground music that won’t distract me.
And then I sit there. Drawing a damn blank. Every time.
However after a forced start that lasts the whole front of the first handwritten page I tend to unleash. I find myself finding out which way is the best to let whatever feelings out.
Sometimes it is written as if I am speaking, or yelling, at the person that is affecting me the most.
Sometimes I am berating myself for the dumb move that I made at some point.
For a long time it was written to the people that died. Whether they died because of natural causes or suicide. Whether I was yelling at them for leaving me, or I was telling them the newest thing that I feel they missed out on.
I write until I honestly feel like I have nothing more to say about it for the day. I make sure that I am honest and frank. I say the things I can’t say out loud. Don’t hold back. Write as if no one will ever have the chance to read it.
And then I rip it out of the notebook, walk outside and burn it. Safely of course. All in the name of safety.
But burn that shit. To the ground. Let it turn into ashes that the wind will send flying through the air.
Imagine those feelings flying away are little chips off the block that is building up and getting in your way.