Give a Little Love
Like most primates, human beings are social animals. We live and work in packs. We form cities, we form friendships, we form families. We rely on complex social structures to get by. In short, whether or not we like it, we need each other.
The less than two weeks that have passed since the space station crashed haven't exactly been easy, although Meredith knows she got off light. With nothing worse to show for it than some bruises that are already fading and a jagged cut down the back of her leg, it won't be long before she's all healed, and it's a hell of a lot better than a tree trunk to the abdomen like she took last fall (how she keeps getting into these situations, she really doesn't know). Around her, everything seems to be settling back to normal.
It isn't just about how we run our societies and the roles we fall into to keep our civilizations running. It's about the other parts we play, the things we do for each other that set us apart. We don't just rely on each other for the agreed upon things like work or food. It's everything else.
Except for her own life, which is still up in the air. Where some aspects improve, others that were fine before get worse; that always seems to be the way. She can't say she isn't happy, because things with her and Sean are going well, except for the part where he still can't talk. They'll pull through this, she's sure, except she isn't certain how long it will last because these kinds of injuries are unpredictable. For all she knows the damage is permanent. It's too early to worry, but that never stops her.
People to confide in. People to help carry whatever burden is weighing you down. We may feel alone, we may start and end alone, but in between, it's people that make the difference.
She occupies her attention with other things. In the clinic for her Thursday night shift, she goes over her materials for the human anatomy class, looking at identification charts she's had her students hand in. Her thoughts keep wandering, though, all over the place, back to the night she brought those stupid bridal magazines in here or to when Sean couldn't speak before or to the last time her mother ever did. It leaves her restless, itching to leave though she has hours left to go, so when she hears someone approaching, she looks up from where her hands were pressed against her face and smiles, relieved.
[You know the drill: post to island_medical if you need a doctor. :D Everyone is welcome, though, of course, although I'll be a bit slow over the weekend.]
The less than two weeks that have passed since the space station crashed haven't exactly been easy, although Meredith knows she got off light. With nothing worse to show for it than some bruises that are already fading and a jagged cut down the back of her leg, it won't be long before she's all healed, and it's a hell of a lot better than a tree trunk to the abdomen like she took last fall (how she keeps getting into these situations, she really doesn't know). Around her, everything seems to be settling back to normal.
It isn't just about how we run our societies and the roles we fall into to keep our civilizations running. It's about the other parts we play, the things we do for each other that set us apart. We don't just rely on each other for the agreed upon things like work or food. It's everything else.
Except for her own life, which is still up in the air. Where some aspects improve, others that were fine before get worse; that always seems to be the way. She can't say she isn't happy, because things with her and Sean are going well, except for the part where he still can't talk. They'll pull through this, she's sure, except she isn't certain how long it will last because these kinds of injuries are unpredictable. For all she knows the damage is permanent. It's too early to worry, but that never stops her.
People to confide in. People to help carry whatever burden is weighing you down. We may feel alone, we may start and end alone, but in between, it's people that make the difference.
She occupies her attention with other things. In the clinic for her Thursday night shift, she goes over her materials for the human anatomy class, looking at identification charts she's had her students hand in. Her thoughts keep wandering, though, all over the place, back to the night she brought those stupid bridal magazines in here or to when Sean couldn't speak before or to the last time her mother ever did. It leaves her restless, itching to leave though she has hours left to go, so when she hears someone approaching, she looks up from where her hands were pressed against her face and smiles, relieved.
[You know the drill: post to island_medical if you need a doctor. :D Everyone is welcome, though, of course, although I'll be a bit slow over the weekend.]