Head in the clouds, heart in graphic design and fashion, emotionally torn loose from her moorings and verbally battered by an antagonistic and critical partner, our nurse accepted her firing without much reaction other than mild surprise. She quietly gathered her things and left, no tears, no protests, no parting shots.
Knowing the inevitable is going to happen turns out to be not much use when it actually does happen. I felt mostly sadness as she left, sadness and a vague kind of regret that I hadn't been able to be more help to her. Patients were arriving already and I had to put my emotions aside for the time being - the doctor, an immensely practical and realistic sort, had moved on the moment the door closed behind her. He'd had the advantage of planning and preparing for this moment and had long ago come to understand that we were carrying dead weight while the rest of us continued to hope for a turnaround. I had, it seems, forgotten the old philosophy that you can't help those who will not help themselves. Too distracted to focus, too stressed to think clearly, too filled with worry and dread and non work related troubles, she had been simply unable to concentrate or learn even the smallest tasks. Her work had to be constantly watched over and frequently re-done, mistakes mounted and became costly. The doctor's patience - already a thin thread - frayed and finally broke entirely. He had given her every opportunity, had tolerated her fuzzy minded memory, accommodated her headaches and depression even when we were already short staffed, and still she stayed in the clouds, adrift and floating, unhappy and unaware. She reminded me of a butterfly - fragile and delicate, good at flitting but not follow through, softly pastel and out of place in a field of sharp, primary colors, a touch of color among the worker bees.
It's a sorrow that people who seek comfort and shelter in misery don't have to look far or work hard to find it. Being unhappy is a choice - you select it and wear it despite all the choices you could make to the contrary and it becomes like a pair of old, worn out but comfortable shoes you can't bear to throw away.
Among the worker bees, the butterfly is a pretty but useless piece of fluff - never staying in one place very long, always in search of something sweeter and more appealing, making the most of a brief lifespan and carried on the breeze like a bit of dust.
Knowing the inevitable is going to happen turns out to be not much use when it actually does happen. I felt mostly sadness as she left, sadness and a vague kind of regret that I hadn't been able to be more help to her. Patients were arriving already and I had to put my emotions aside for the time being - the doctor, an immensely practical and realistic sort, had moved on the moment the door closed behind her. He'd had the advantage of planning and preparing for this moment and had long ago come to understand that we were carrying dead weight while the rest of us continued to hope for a turnaround. I had, it seems, forgotten the old philosophy that you can't help those who will not help themselves. Too distracted to focus, too stressed to think clearly, too filled with worry and dread and non work related troubles, she had been simply unable to concentrate or learn even the smallest tasks. Her work had to be constantly watched over and frequently re-done, mistakes mounted and became costly. The doctor's patience - already a thin thread - frayed and finally broke entirely. He had given her every opportunity, had tolerated her fuzzy minded memory, accommodated her headaches and depression even when we were already short staffed, and still she stayed in the clouds, adrift and floating, unhappy and unaware. She reminded me of a butterfly - fragile and delicate, good at flitting but not follow through, softly pastel and out of place in a field of sharp, primary colors, a touch of color among the worker bees.
It's a sorrow that people who seek comfort and shelter in misery don't have to look far or work hard to find it. Being unhappy is a choice - you select it and wear it despite all the choices you could make to the contrary and it becomes like a pair of old, worn out but comfortable shoes you can't bear to throw away.
Among the worker bees, the butterfly is a pretty but useless piece of fluff - never staying in one place very long, always in search of something sweeter and more appealing, making the most of a brief lifespan and carried on the breeze like a bit of dust.
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