Chapter 9 - The Journey Home
On Sunday morning, we packed up the rental house. The luggage was re-loaded into the trunks, the sand was brushed off the beach chairs, and the keys were locked inside the lockbox on the front porch.
Standing in the driveway, my family gathered for one final group hug before setting off in our separate cars for the drive back north.
Lydia pulled me into a deep, tight embrace. "Call me when you get back to your apartment?"
"Of course," I said, pulling back to look at her. "And call me if you have any questions about his nighttime basal rates. Remember, Dr. Chen said his numbers might bounce around a bit for the first week until his honeymoon period settles."
"I have the manual, I have the app, and I have your number on speed dial," Lydia smiled warmly. "I think we’ve got this."
Shane shook my hand, giving me a rare, fierce hug afterward. "Thank you, Greer. Truly."
Finn ran up and tackled my legs, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Bye Aunt Greer! Thanks for helping my tummy feel better!"
"Bye, Iron Man," I whispered, kissing the top of his head. "Keep an eye on your mom for me."
"I will!"
I loaded my bag into my own car and watched as their minivan pulled out of the driveway first, turning onto the highway heading toward Virginia Beach.
May you like
For eleven years, my job as an emergency room nurse had been defined by trauma, speed, and saved lives in cold, bright resuscitation rooms. I had always viewed my instinct to diagnose as a professional tool—something to be used at work and carefully hidden away at home so I wouldn't alienate the people I loved.
Driving back along the coastal highway alone, listening to the rhythmic hum of the tires against the asphalt, I finally understood that my clinical instincts weren't a flaw or an embarrassing habit to be hidden. They were simply an extension of my capacity to care. The key wasn't to smother those instincts, but to use them with love, patience, and humility.
