Counting Sheep.

My other half is on nights. This is my first night in bed after a run of 4. We are sometimes like single parents, meeting at the top if the driveway handing over car keys and parental responsibility. I doze, kids sleeping soundly, dog snoring, cats purring and occasionally an owl hoots over the sound of the howling wind. I toss and turn restlessly, images of a job I was first on scene at flash like strobes. 

I half wonder if other paramedics, technicians or ECA's feel helpless, struggle with intrusive, unwanted images. We all seem to still keep our feelings quiet as if it's still a stigma. 

Not so long ago I walked into our en-suite and found a man hanging there. Of course he wasn't really there but I could see him as clear as day. I even recognised him from several years previous. I was slightly concerned, if I was honest I'd been irritable, tearful, snappy but just excused it and put it down to kids, shifts, life in general. I took some time off, spoke to our occupational Health Nurse who suspected I'd burnt out. A few weeks later I felt better, the hanging man had stopped showing up, my tears had dried up (or run out) and I felt ready to face the world again. 

Every now and again after a job that looks wrong visually I can expect a rough few days and nights. I don't know much about how my brain works but I think it replays it to try and make sense of the images and eventually everything settles down and a lid gets put on that box of images and it's filed away somewhere. 

I know that sometime soon sleep will arrive, I'll replay the incident over and over and it'll all die down. 

Until the next time.