I really don’t want to go to work tomorrow.

I just want to stay home with my men, maybe have Dani and Miles and Tommy over, maybe Cait and Koby and Owen, and Ryan. Dani could cut all our hair. I could make a big dinner. We could have Fire Night on the deck with the chiminea and make s’mores. The boys would love it.

But I have to work. I have to put in twelve crazy busy hours and be on top of my game. We are already down two nurses out of five, so I can’t call in. And it will doubly suck because of what day it is.

September 11, 2011. The tenth anniversary.

I wasn’t there, I don’t know anyone who died there. But it affected me deeply. I was pathologically compelled to watch the news channels 24/7 for months afterward. I cried when I watched the first tower fall while I was on the phone with Bill. I thought of getting my kids out of school and bringing them home to me. I became anxious.

How will I feel tomorrow? I don’t know. Since I realized I can’t call in sick, I decided to try to readjust my approach to the day. I’m just going to attempt to carry on as if nothing is different. And actually, nothing is. People will still get sick, seek drugs, break bones, and come in to our ED. And I will still be expected to give them the best care I can.

But I’ll probably have a news channel on a TV in an empty patient room, if there is one. I’ll probably be half-holding my breath all day, waiting for what I hope will not come. I will be anxious. I hope I don’t get snippy or short with people.

And I hope it is steady, not too busy. But busy enough for the day to go by quickly.

I guess if I have to go in to work, I’d like to just get through it and get it behind me. Let’s hope for a peaceful, uneventful day.