This may be my first and last journal entry I’m not really good at updating things, or I could enjoy this and keep it going.
I write today because it been 49 days exactly 7 weeks since my mom died. It was unexpected I’m 24. She got sick and went to the hospital for pneumonia. I thought no big deal I’ll fly right up there and help make decisions on her behalf I am a Respiratory Therapist after all this is what I’ve been trained for. Except she didn’t get better she got worse and no amount of research and decision making and medical intervention made a damn difference. I failed. The one person that everything mattered and I failed. I can’t but help feel this way even if people tell me it wasn’t my fault how can they even understand what it’s like. What it’s like to have so much knowledge in your brain and at your disposal only to be limited by your resources to know if they could’ve gotten higher level care the outcome would have been different. To hate that every time I save someone’s life it’s not my mom. How can I save so many others and fail to save the one that mattered most. Why can’t I stop crying. Why can’t I just detach like I usally do when someone can’t be saved. Why do I feel hate and who is it towards the doctors and nurses who worked so hard to save her or do I hate myself? I no longer want to be a Respiratory Therapist I feel like I’m doing more harm than good to myself every time I work. I’m broken my soul has been shattered into pieces.