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.