Aside from the fact that she puts up with me, my wife is a saint in my book, and so are all the people she works with. You see, my wife works in pediatric palliative care.

pal·li·a·tive: (pāl’ē-ā’tĭv, -ē-ə-tĭv)
1. moderating pain or sorrow by making it easier to bear
2. Relieving or soothing the symptoms of a disease or disorder without effecting a cure.

In other words, barring miracles, my wife works with children who are dying of something and they’re usually not going to make it. Take yesterday for example. While I’m at home watching tv, surfing the internet and generally being lazy, she was at work tending to a family who had to let their son go. Imagine for a minute that you’re the one who has to be there, watch them pull the plug, wait…wait…wait, and pronounce death.

That’s heavy. She’s a saint in my book. I don’t have the intestinal fortitude nor the emotional rigor to deal with something like that…as a job: by choice.

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