In my interminable boredom, I have been going through my phone, reading old things I wrote. This has nothing to do with my knee or with running, but I wrote it when I was a nursing instructor at a local college.

I see the new grad nurses, fresh of face with starched white scrubs

Ready to save the world

One patient at a time

Like brand new soldiers

Headed for war

Only to come home a broken shell

Scarred and hallowed out by the horrors they see

People call me horrible names

Stupid cunt

Mother fucker

Daughter of a whore

And later apologize

‘I was sick’ they say

‘I didn’t know what I was saying’ they say

‘We appreciate the work you do’ they say

‘It was nothing’ I say

‘It doesn’t bother me’ I say

‘I understand’ I say

‘Thank you’. I say

Because the scars on my soul from every insult,

Every rejection

Every horror

Are so numerous

The scarring is so thick

I can’t feel it

Even as every lash

Cuts into my flesh

And every curse brings a fresh trickle of blood

I can’t feel the injuries that suck the life force from me

Thank you sir, may I have another?

Like the horrors of war, I have seen and been party to terrible things.

I have helped a mother hold her dying infant more than once.

Drowned children, cancer, abuse, overdoses, the ravages.

And we have no decompression

And we come back the next day to do our jobs again

And we get yelled at, puked on, wiping asses and packing wounds and cleaning out maggots.

I shudder when I think of the new nurses.

I want to tell them to run

That this job will twist and scar your soul

Until you are a shell of a person

And you can tell no one.

Your spouse won’t understand

Your kids won’t understand.

Your patients won’t understand

‘I became a nurse to help people.’

‘Well honey, most people don’t want your help.