For the most part, in the abstract, I'm good with death (as good as anyone can be in the professional sense. Please to keep it far from my loved ones, thank you very much). I'm good at giving CPR instructions. I can give them all day long. But this week was just damn weird. Sad stories, long days, odd grief, audibly witnessed, and I find my compassion is pouring out of me to the ground, constantly, and it's refilling at a rate that I can absolutely keep up with, but my sleep is suffering. My eyes feel empty. Does that make any sense?
So I'm taking the next ten days off! The time was available on the books at work (and that never happens), and IT'S NOVEMBER, my favorite (writing) time of year, and Bethany just sent this to me, and after a really rough week at work, this made my day. It reminded me of the astonishing things that can happen on 911.
God bless that dispatcher.
(Aside: my coworker Janine just got a hairy-sounding call, so she was ready to go — CPR? Baby drowning? No, it turned out to be just a guy having difficulty standing, but at the moment that his wife called, their dogs started chasing a rabbit. Result: Hilarious commotion. Heh.)
You just never know, do you? I like that.
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