This afternoon, I attended the graduation for the Coast Guard’s
newest Independent Duty Health Services Technicians. I make this pilgrimage across the street
three times a year to watch corpsmen, who have previously functioned as team
members, advance to an independent duty status.
That means that they now have the training to function as a primary
health care provider. Sometimes it means
taking responsibility for the health and well being of a ship’s crew. Sometimes it means that they will maintain
their own sickbays at isolated or specialized units. Sometimes it means that they will go back to
their clinic and await assignment to one of those units. IDHS school is an important step for a
corpsman. It gives them the opportunity to
further their careers in health care and it demands that one individual absorb
the responsibility of an entire clinic.
So, three times a year, I find myself watching these men and women
be celebrated for their hard work and dedication to their trade. I go for a couple of reasons. I go to show support to my friends and
colleagues who have dedicated the last three months educating and transitioning
more inexperienced corpsmen into the future of health service provides in the
service. I also go because, without
fail, someone from my past has participated in the program. Mostly I go, because of the people I didn’t
know until three months ago, who somehow found a way into my heart while they were there for
school. Essentially, I go for the
people. To support them. To encourage them. To make sure they know that they are
important to me. All of them.
Today, at my 2 o’clock smoke break, which actually happened at
1:50 because graduation was at 2, I was at the smoke pit with my friend Dave and
three of his classmates. I was talking
story with them. My friend, who missed
the birth of his child because he was here, honing his craft, made some comment
about how it was hard to believe that it has been nearly six years since we
worked together for the first time in Kodiak.
Then he said "Who ever thought we’d be standing together here today
when I’m graduating from IDHS?” I
giggled and agreed. Then I looked at the
other three and smiled and said “Who would have thought that I’d ever be
standing here with these kids? I watched
them all go through “A” school.” It got
real quiet at the pit for a minute. Then
I looked at them, “Am I rite gentlemen?”
And they all nodded “Yes ma’am.
We always remember Ms. Angela.”
Probably not in a good way, but that made my heart smile. For a minute.
After that, I walked over to the upper galley and made my
appearance. Let it be clear that sounds
more pretentious that it should. Nobody was
waiting for me, I just kind of meandered in.
Greetings and hugs and stories happened during the next few
minutes. When
the ceremony started, I sat with my head on the shoulder of a friend who has
always shouldered the weight of my emotions when I needed him to. As I listened to the class advisor introduce
the class and the instructors. I heard the
more seasoned independent duty corpsmen give words of wisdom to the newest of
their counterparts. I watched ten of the
Coast Guard’s newest talent in health services, accept their
qualifications. Seven of them I had
watched since they were studying to be corpsmen. SEVEN of them I have known since they were
scared to draw blood for the first time and nervous about every test out. Seven out of ten. One I have known as a colleague and
friend. One I have treated, as a
patient. Nine out of ten I have a
history with.
As I sat there with Louie holding my hand on what had been a very
hard day, I felt so many things. At the
time I looked at those ten faces, I felt pride and hope. When I hugged Dave and wished luck to his
classmates, I felt honored to share their accomplishment with them. When I talked to Allen about the impending
arrival of his first baby, I felt love.
When Louie and I told him the story about the night we made out one New
Year’s Eve in the Castro, I felt amused and nostalgic. I remembered that New Year’s Eve buzz when I
asked him why he couldn’t be straight and he yelled back at me “Why aren’t you
a gay man!?!” Allen looked at us and
laughed. I felt kindred. With both of them. But as I walked back to my office, I felt
something different. I felt torn. I felt lonely. I felt insecure and unsure of myself and a
little sad.
That’s the thing. I feel
everything. Not just my own
emotions. I feel the emotions of others
as well. I have to balance that. The feelings.
I can feel emotion in a room or at an event or in another person. I understand when others are sad or
indifferent or despondent. I can feel
relief and joy and satisfaction in others.
I can feel it. All of it. I can feel my emotions, too. That’s that hard part. Feeling all of it. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding a place
where balancing the internal and external is comfortable. I know now that my emotions are deeply rooted
in those of the people around me. It’s called
connection.
But today, as I walked across the street after that ceremony, I
didn’t know what to feel. I had just
left an event that evoked so many positive, meaningful emotions, only to return
to a place I had been so sad an afraid all day.
I left a place where I was loved and felt love, only to return to a
place where I felt disposable and devalued.
There’s so much dichotomy there.
It’s all a part of who I am and what I do. Being without value to your employer, but
being invaluable to the people you are employed with is a really hard place to
be. Being trapped between what you want
and what you deserve is a really hard place to feel.
-Inner Peas
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