request for input, courage, etc.

I don't want to spend overly much time reflecting on myself and this blog, but after "blogging" for about a month, I first wanted to thank the people who have been reading. It's been fun to run into or hear from friends who have been following. It's taken me a while in life to think of myself as a writer (and I feel more comfortable as a poet than as a prose writer), but I am having fun with this and I feel good hearing that others enjoy it.
One aspect of what I envisioned for this blog was a bit more interactivity with readers. If you are reading my posts and thinking, "I read an article, I bet Katy'd find it interesting" or "I'd like to see X topic addressed", please feel free to let me know. I can't guarantee that I will be able to use everything, and I might even ask you to make a 'guest appearance' yourself, but the interactive component makes me even more energized - creativity needs solitude, but in my experience, it also needs input.
To that end...my husband emailed me an NPR story: First Responders, Rescuers Come Forward With PTSD
http://www.npr.org/2010/12/30/132476507/first-responders-rescuers-face-ptsd-struggles?sc=emaf . First, I just think it's a compelling story. It also made me think about all my colleagues from hospice - nurses, social workers, massage therapists, art therapists, doctors, who similarly face ravages to the human body in the 'line of duty.' Cancer, cancer treatment, and the end of a disease process, can be strangely unnatural to witness and even shocking. We don't live in a time when the average person encounters dying and death with much frequency, so perhaps the vision of a very sick person is even more unsettling. Also, medicine has elongated the dying process - people used to die faster and now we tend to make choices where we languish in illness. Anyway. This is just to say that I was only rarely aware of being shocked by the sight of one of my patients, but I was nearly always deeply saddened by their physical changes and suffering. I was often amazed to see pictures a patients from a time they were healthy. It seemed like that must be a different person.
Since leaving my work in hospice, I've had two upsetting dreams which brought me to an awareness that I must have been more impacted by the 'trauma' of what I witnessed than I let myself be aware: in both dreams someone died. I knew someone died, and I said aloud in the dream, "I can't see another dead body." It felt powerful in the dream and I've thought since about how time changes our perspective. If I were still working in hospice, I don't think I would have had those dreams. I think I would just be 'doing the work.' I imagine this is what Michael Ferrara from the NPR story did for a long time too.
There are two sides to this coin: many of us do difficult things 'in the line of duty' - for our work, for our families - we do them. We show up. We give it our all. This both is and isn't courageous. Many of us take the point of view, "you just do what you have to do." Sometimes we might give ourselves a little pat on the back. But, we don't measure the difficulty of our situation, because maybe then we couldn't show up every day. I don't know what to say about this. Ultimately, in the flip side of the coin, I think healthy people need to do a little reflection. Michael Ferrara eventually went to therapy. Of course, I think therapy can be a good, helpful tool to enable people to live fuller, more contented lives. I think religion can do this. I think art can do it. I think meaningful relationships with healthy people can do it.
So before wrapping up today, I also feel like I should emphasize that like any diagnosable condition, to have PTSD, a person must meet several criteria outlined in the DSM (a diagnostic encyclopedia, of sorts, for mental health professionals.) PTSD is a serious difficulty, for which there are several very effective treatments.
As with this post, or any other, if you feel so compelled, let me know what you think.