a leg, dancing on the plate

"whenever i look at my dinner tray, i can see my leg dancing on the plate."

she sobbed. until the pain pressed all the vibrancy from her soul. and the phantom pains. they began to resurface. i felt my spirit, inside my body ... wilting under the weight of her loss. her anger brought frightening and spiteful energy to the surface. it made her mean. i served her anyway. that's my job. and why wouldn't she feel mean? she just lost her right leg. below the knee. when i brought her tray to her bedside, and opened all the plastic containers. she would not eat. she sobbed. i could feel her spirit wilting inside.

no wonder the doc did not want to do rounds during her waking hours. no wonder he did not want to talk to her. its as though ... he could not face her. swirling in that energy realm. well, a nurse does not have that option. a nurse must march onto the battlefield. and serve. and give. and submit. she caused me such annoyance ... such grief ... even offended at times with her mean-ness of grief. still, i felt for her. and for her husband, who came to visit her daily, soo faithfully. one day he said to me ... 'i'm at a loss. i don't know what to do.' i felt it. i felt like i didn't either. i mean, psychologically, spiritually. but i could not say that, could i? i can't remember what i said exactly ... but i did impart some sort of encouragement ... wisdom. and, in the end we both understood her. her feelings. and ... in each our different ways, we loved her.

that's why i cannot nurse anymore. i love people - humanity - too much.