Am I crazy?

Of course I am.

I quit the Emergency Department. Got a great new job with perfect hours at the perfect place...no ambulances, no helicopters, no attached ICU for the mangled little bodies. A free-standing, low-acuity, walk-in only Emergency Room. And I was going to have a great managerial job.

But there is a nursing shortage. And that means zero (truly) night shift applicants. The opening day is three weeks away. We haven't even moved into the place. I will have to do some night shifts, I am told. The news is understandable, but very dificult.

The past month has been hectic, trying to work for the new place and the old. I've been testing the "full time" waters, and have come to some painful conclusions. Being married to someone who also works graveyard shifts and having a 4.5 year old son makes it virtually impossible for me to work full-time, let alone night shift. I am too damn old for night shift. That, and those hours turn me into a hateful, horrid monster.

So, I ran back to the main ED, begged for mercy, and got a good day shift position. I can breathe again. Until the next bad NAT (non-accidental trauma).

I made myself write and sign a contract for contentment.

It took 10 years to finally burn

10 years working in an emergency department. The last straw was a child (who resembled my own) who came in beaten nearly to death. He had also been tortured in unimaginable ways. And, he had been failed by the system -- put back into his loving home after being taken once by Social Services. He died a few days later from a massive head injury. Mom's boyfriend did it. She certainly gave her share of it, but the boyfriend dealt the fatal blow. In my line of work, we call these boyfriends "male, non-related caregiver." Isn't it ironic that we label them as "caregiver?" I guess it's because we have to establish their relationship to the victim.

It was the Friday before Father's Day. I knew I was toast.

A couple weeks later, a friend was shot in the line of duty. Then I found out another family friend was in jail awaiting trial for methodically raping his pre-teen step daughter over the course of several years.

So, then I was not only toast, I was PARANOID toast. I discovered my son's preschool teacher the next Fall was a man and we switched schools. He could have been the greatest teacher in the world, but to me all male preschool teachers were molesters.

I spent the next two months frantically networking, interviewing and obtaining job offers. The idea of never having to take care of another innocent, beautiful child of God who had been savagely shaken, beaten, neglected, taunted or sexually abused was compelling. I didn't care if I was good at my job. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.