26 January, 2009. 2:15 AM.

Matt’s been off shift for a while now—we went to church and hung out with people after. It’s too late to go back to Massell, so I put my stuff in his room and get ready to sleep there. It’s a few minutes before he joins me, and when he does, it’s obvious that something is wrong. I’m curled up against the window sill, and the only response I can make to the question of “Are you okay?” is shaking my head. He turns me over and makes me look at him, wanting to know what’s wrong. I don’t know. I never know anymore. I feel restless and on edge, like there’s electricity in my body that won’t let me stop moving. I feel like there’s something wrong, or about to be.

This was the first shift I spent with him where he’s gotten more than one call—it’s shocking just how much that messes with you. EMS has to be ready to drop everything and do their jobs, and we have to be ready to lose them. In the past, I’ve had to prepare myself for someone to leave my life completely, and to be honest, that was easier than knowing that Matt could disappear at a moment’s notice. I’ve come to loathe the sound of the voice over the radio.

He apologizes. I tell him there’s nothing to apologize for. This isn’t his fault. It comes with the territory. I just need to get used to this. I close my eyes and try to relax—I keep seeing ambulances. They’re not even AMR. Why would I be seeing Armstrong ambulances?

It’s a while before I calm down enough to sleep.