IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK. I PROMISE.

I remember writing this post late one night, probably after a long shift—or maybe in the dead hours before the next one started. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet you only get when you’re too tired to even make noise. I was burned out, cynical, running on caffeine and calluses. That stretch of medic life had become mechanical: lift, transport, chart, repeat. I was starting to lose sight as to why I even did it.