I don't really enjoy watching people suffer, if you know what I mean. And I knew from the second I got home that my mom wasn't going to live. Doctors. They don't know anything. I learned this during late nights at college, scribbling notes on the anatomy of the human heart, reading passages and articles of the condition of our blood. It's so strange and ironic that I wanted to be one. Since I was a little kid, dissecting my stuffed animals, giving bandages to my injured sandbox friends. Then I realized that my professors, fellow students, were full of shit. They didn't care about anyone, or anything.
This is Science, not a romance novel, Joan.
Science does not have feelings, it does not express emotions, and nor should the scientist while working with it.
Why did I have to deal with their mistakes, why did I have to look them in the eye and smile as they said they could feel her getting better this time, really, why did I have to sit in the chair by the bed side and watch her waste away, slowly and carefully, the way she'd done everything in her life?!
God, I'm just glad to be back. I need to find my friends, I need to dance, I need to do something, anything but sit in here and stew in self pity, because that's really low.
I need to find a new job.
Isn't it really weird and bad and wrong that I'm glad it's over with?