No more scrubs, a soft comforter, and finally allowing heavy lids to close over burning eyes appealed to me the way breathing does after being held under water. I woke to a loud bang and the visage of an old truck staring into my driver-side window. At that moment, I realized I had hit the truck and careened away from it. The road curved to the right, and the reflexive turn serendipitously corrected my path into the designated lane. Frantically looking around, the flow of traffic appeared unfazed. My blood pressure skyrocketed as we pulled over to evaluate the damage. Only our mirrors had collided. Relief washed over me, but a deluge of concern followed. I yearned to confess the worst-case eventualities that haunted me despite not coming to fruition. Should I call my program director? Training program coordinator? Mom? Embarrassed as I was ashamed, I spoke to no one about the incident for years.
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