When I was a child, my parents taught me to keep an ear and eye out for sirens.
“Stop when you see the ambulance, fire, or police.
Stay out of the way”, they’d say.
I marveled at the lights and alarms.
These people keep me safe.
As a new nurse, I remembered hearing sirens from the 6th floor of the hospital.
I can’t stay out of the way, they’re coming to me. Talk about rude awakenings.
I’m the person who keeps people safe.
The sound of sirens somehow synonymous with my paycheque.
My watch saves lives. The drama of trauma becomes my identity.
…until 10 years of trauma takes a toll.
The sound of sirens, no longer a source of intensity, drama, excitement.
It’s the sound of all the lives saved…and an echo for all the lives lost.
An unprocessed knot of garbage, noise, and weight.
Now when I hear sirens, I just hope everyone will be alright.
Whatever that’s supposed to look like.
Love Letters from a Nurse 