Colasante Clinic will be open for seven more days of business.
After that, the place will be gutted.
The hardest part is the feeling I have of abandoning my patients and staff.
"I just heard the bad news," a couple said today, looking downcast. "You're closing! What are we going to do?"
"I don't have another job," my employees say, one after another. Perhaps they're hoping for supernatural intervention. They are very loyal to me, and to our patients.
There is sadness all around, and I am giving and accepting hugs morning, afternoon and evening.
After everyone leaves, I sit on the swivel chair in my back office and stare at the piles of patient charts.
I still have to document every word and action that passes between me and my patients--as though such a thing is really possible. It's pitch-black outside when I go home. I don't know if I'll miss this job or not.
Every life-change leaves a big hole in the places that are forsaken. It's as though a meteor has struck, and every single thing is shorn of the meaning it once had.
"What will you do?" I am asked, over and over.
What will I do?
I don't know what. Wait, I guess.
Wait, and see.
After that, the place will be gutted.
The hardest part is the feeling I have of abandoning my patients and staff.
"I just heard the bad news," a couple said today, looking downcast. "You're closing! What are we going to do?"
"I don't have another job," my employees say, one after another. Perhaps they're hoping for supernatural intervention. They are very loyal to me, and to our patients.
There is sadness all around, and I am giving and accepting hugs morning, afternoon and evening.
After everyone leaves, I sit on the swivel chair in my back office and stare at the piles of patient charts.
I still have to document every word and action that passes between me and my patients--as though such a thing is really possible. It's pitch-black outside when I go home. I don't know if I'll miss this job or not.
Every life-change leaves a big hole in the places that are forsaken. It's as though a meteor has struck, and every single thing is shorn of the meaning it once had.
"What will you do?" I am asked, over and over.
What will I do?
I don't know what. Wait, I guess.
Wait, and see.
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