It’s okay not to feel. It’s okay to lose patients, clean up the truck and lose some more. It’s okay to be present at the end, and say the right things to grieving family, then stop for lunch.
It’s okay to act a little, and wear the somber expression. We do it for the survivors. It’s okay to be kind and supportive while thinking about other things; the things we do when we’re not there for others, but there for ourselves.
It’s okay to let one get past our defenses now and again, and feel the hurt, dissillusionment and anger. And it’s okay to let that anger go, and move on.
They say we’re hard. They say we don’t feel. They say we’re walking time bombs, poster children for PTSD.
Maybe we are. I know I’ve broken out in cold sweat a few times, in the middle of an otherwise glorious day. I know I’ve chosen to stay in bed far longer than is healthy.
But I also know that I get up eventually, and join the living. Yeah, I have my demons, but when I think of all I’ve seen and done, I’m amazed and grateful that I really am okay.