Emily went to work. She listened as students told her about their anxiety, about their fights with their roommates, about how they missed home. They told her about the racist comments someone made to them in the cafeteria, about how an econ professor called on the men in the class more often than the women. They told her about how they were worried about their friends who drank too much or smoked too much. About being attracted to their TA, about their eating disorders and their depression. She listened, she asked pointed questions, she posed her advice as a “what if?” She tried not to think about what might or might not be happening in her body. She wondered if she was even helping these students. If any of what she said made sense. Or even mattered. She tried not to cry.
Between patients, she would whisper “I love you” and “please be okay” to the cells inside her.
She kept mentally scanning her body for pain or problems. Her back still ached, but other than that, she felt okay.
It’s going to be okay, she kept telling herself. It’s going to be okay.
Even though, deep inside, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t.