November brought a new adjustment.
The adjustment was having a very set schedule.
And of course, caring for people and trying to have some sort of small idea that you know what you are doing.
Most of that wasn't easy to grasp.
But hey, eight weeks have passed, and it feels like my grip on life is coming back.
The early morning and the late nights are becoming part of the routine.
The eight hours between shifts.
The skipped meals.
The dark hallways.
And no I'm not forgetting about the dying children and the people gasping for air.
You are there, and you try your best to have some sort of helping effect.
I am very irrelevant now, but I know that one day I need to wear the big kid shoes and make real decisions.
I've said bye to the ER, which I really learned to love and found a new place to hang out... intensive care.
Now I'm really starting to see what it means to hang on to your life.
