September 27, 2002
12:14 a.m.

I hated the look of helplessness I saw in her eyes tonight. It was there for only a second, then it was washed back away behind that huge stone wall her emotions are locked behind. Heaven forbid that her facade of complete stoicness be broken. For some reason, she feels that she has to act like the super strong one. Sometimes, I wonder, why, what made her think that to show fear, or hurt, would make her seem weaker. I also wonder if she knows that we all see through it.

She stood there tonight, holding her cat to her chest, while hugging herself at the same time. When she looked at me, she looked like a small child, lost in a sea of monsters. I saw the fear there, and I was lost at how to respond. I touched her shoulder, and she had to turn away, because, of course, no one can ever see her cry. I stood, silent, still, and let her compose herself, pretending that I couldn't hear the small sniffles that escaped her.

Her cat, her love, held tightly to her chest, his liver failing on him. His skin, cast in an earie yellow tint. He turned his nose up at even the tuna and ham she had bought him tonight. All of her veterinary training, and she is lost, helpless to help him. In that momentary break, where she let me in, I saw the struggle she is going through.

She knows he is dying, and she doesn't know what to do. She won't give up on him, not her. She won't admit defeat, not until it is truely over. I wish she would just realize that the battle is far easier to fight with someone at your side. Sometimes, Dr. C, admitting fear is the greatest strength.



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