Page 12 of How You See Me
What’s with all the questions? “I lose leave every year. They’re usually denied.”
“Excuse me for a moment.”
He’s out of the room before I can ask my own questions, and ten minutes later he resumes his position at my bedside. “Eat, sleep, and stay put. I’ll handle your superior.”
My head lifts off the pillow. “Sir?”
“You heard me. Take care of yourself, Staff Sergeant. Our country is not the only one that needs your best.”
The smallest thread of hope weaves its way back in.
I close my eyes and hold on to it.
???
Sleep never comes. I stare through the dark, mind rolling over on itself until morning filters in through the narrow infirmary windows. By the time the nurse wheels in a tray of food and starts unhooking my IV, I’ve counted every crack in the ceiling.
My doctor follows close behind, his presence as steady and unshakeable as it was last night. He drops into the chair beside my bed, and I notice his name stitched into the fabric of his coat for the first time—Keller. A name I’ll remember.
“You’re still pale,” he says. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. This place isn’t exactly peaceful.”
He chuckles, nodding. “Fair enough. Still, I expect you to eat that breakfast and crash early tonight.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes. And I’ve already spoken with Major Perry.”
The air shifts around me. “You what?” I ask before I can catch myself. “My apologies, Sir. I didn’t mean—”
“You’re allowed to react. In here, you’re not a Marine. You’re human and my patient.”
“Thank you, but . . .” I sit up straighter, bracing myself. “Why did you talk with Major?”
“The military has policies in place for a reason. A commanding officer must consider a leave request when there are signs of physical and psychological strain, including evidence of deteriorating health because of lack of rest from duty.”
“Sir, I—”
“Your collapsing outside checks all the boxes. You haven’t been allowed to take respite and you’re paying the price. I’ll argue that your family is too.”
I can only stare at him, my stubborn pride sabotaging my ability to appreciate the precious gift. I desperately want some time off, but his labeling me a liability hurts theMarine in me. Selflessness is in every job description on base.
I run both hands over my face, the usual load settling back on my bones. “What did you tell him?”
“I recommended medical leave.”
“I’m not sick.”
“No, but you’re burnt out. You’re exactly who these policies were written to protect. You’re valuable, dedicated, and relentless. You give too much, requiring someone to intervene to protect you because you’re too damn dedicated and selfless to do it yourself.”
“I—”
Resolved, he pats my arm like my grandfather would do after laying some wisdom on me. “Two weeks, Staff Sergeant. Use it to rest. Visit your family. Get your feet under you again and figure out what you want your future to be.”
“This is all I know,” I admit. The words surprising me.
“I get it. I’ve been in this game for nearly thirty years. But even a lifer knows that when the service stops filling your cup and starts taking from it, it’s time to decide if that sacrifice is all you want.”
