Scared people, sick people, tired babies struggling to breathe, angry impatient people begging for pain medicine, gun shots, stabbings, assaults, rapes, sexually transmitted infections, broken bones, cracked ribs, pneumonias, the smell of blood, the faint whisper of death...
the glimmer of hope... the thankful parents, the tear stained gowns, the sutured wounds, the splinted bones, the medicines that promise health, the new chance, the second opportunity to give your body what it needs- to give your mind what it cannot live without, the apologies given to family, the apologies given to the world. The relief of knowing you will be okay, everything will be okay.
What does this do to a person's soul? What does sharing someone's pain do to your own heart?
One year of listening to people's stories, holding their hands, making promises that only God knows if I can keep. 12 months, 18 teachers, 5 hospitals, 4 rotations of holding my breath and running as fast as I can from anything really penetrating. Running scared from something that will be stuck inside of me and change me forever. People get hardened and give up. People grow callused and cynical. They lose sight of what inspired them to do this in the first place. I know because they are in every hospital, in every department, waiting for their next chance to be angry at the system/patient/government/world.
Is this the inevitable ending lurking 20 years off in the horizon?
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