Mortified

That’s how Al and I left a few people in Panera the other night. We were enjoying some tasty carbs and Al called his brother-in-law to tell him something. While on the phone Al asked when Matt was going to shadow. (He’s doing a summer unit of CPE and all students are required to shadow the on-call chaplain for a few hours to get a feel for what that’s like) Matt said he was going to do it Thursday. I told him Monday and Tuesday would have been great days…nail gun to the abdomen and stone saw to the face, respectively. Apparently, people sitting a few tables behind me looked over and were shocked at how nonchalantly we were talking about these traumas. Clearly they have never worked anywhere near a hospital or had people in their family who did. Clearly they don’t know me well enough to know I don’t talk about people who have had such experiences if they aren’t going to be OK.

To be sure mine is a crazy job and we see a lot of stuff around here. When I joke about it, you needn’t be mortified. It’s when I can barely talk about it that you should be concerned.

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