Therapy

Therapy

Margie, with a hard "g" and a name she had to clarify with each introduction, sat at her computer writing her daily journal. She journaled her thoughts and feelings for the day as a method of maintaining her sanity. Working at the hospital brought stressors that family and friends could not appreciate. Life and death moments, tucked into a 12-hour shift, were hard for others to comprehend. They knew she went to work and came home every day, but the details of the happenings were never shared.

Margie was interrupted by her teenage son, Ben, plopping down on the sofa next to her. He started whining about the difficult shift at the grocery store where he worked. The first comment that flew out of his mouth was, "People are the worst!"

"Yes, dear they can be," she said, offering motherly support.

"Some woman went ballistic on me because our bread delivery was late. Like I have control over that." After dropping that information, he stomped off down the hall to his bedroom.

Margie turned her chair around to face the beautiful green Macaw chewing seeds peacefully in his cage. In the moment, he seemed like the perfect therapist.

"Mickey, I should have told him about the lady who yelled at me for being late with a soda. Of course, I had just finished 5 rounds of CPR and shipped the man to ICU. But darn it her soda is vital."

The bird squawked, as if in response.

"Mickey, you're a good listener."

"Just to let you know, the man lived... but apparently those darn sodas are quite poisonous. One of life's great lessons, is that bitching gets you nowhere. Soda woman couldn't even pronounce my name."

"By the way Mickey, this is off the record."

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