It’s dark out when I come in to work and its dark out when I leave, but every time I get inside my car and start its engine, I can’t help but feel like I didn’t do enough. They tell me to forget about the floor, what you did today and work once you leave those hospital doors, but obviously its easier said than done. Beeping IV pumps ring over and over in my head, the look of worry and concern on my patients and their family, their hands grasping mine in appreciation of our service. You can say I’m an emotional train wreck, and as overwhelming as it is, you’d never guess from the look on my face. There’s no where to hide and cry even for a minute, to question whether I’m cut out to do my job, did I choose the right thing? But after dark, the moments you really remember are the ones that remind you why you’re here in the first place. To have someone look at you in all their mishaps in a hospital gown, that if they ever believed in angels, they’re staring at one as they speak. 

I once asked a nurse if and when all of “this” gets easier, and as expected they said,

“Of course it never gets easier. It just becomes second nature, and you do it out of love.”