It happens when you're dealing with 12 women with eating disorders, one of them being a manic-depressive, another that has something closely resembling munchausens, another is severely OCD... It's while you're waiting in the car for the manic to calm down and you're late getting back to the unit, and one of the girls has purged and is acting like she's all anxious but secretly we all know she's excited for the attention. It's while you're back at the unit trying to get everyone in to see the nurse, the two new clients settled in their rooms, the manic to be watched at all times, another to get a shower that she should have already taken, and everyone in bed. Then it's while you're sitting with the client who had decided to purge and she is refusing to drink 8oz of liquid because it will make her "fat" and by this time you should have already been home from work and resting in order for you to wake up the next morning to write a paper due by 10AM. Then about two hours later, you have successfully had her swallow every ounce and in bed which no one has yet successfully had her do.
It's during those times when you're just rushing about trying to keep everything together when it's all going terribly terribly wrong and you're struggling to do your job the very best way you can - you realize that you're freaking awesome. It's a funny feeling, a feeling that you can conquer the world even though all the beautifully laid plans have fallen apart. It's the feeling of pure frustration and anger covered in a thick coat of conviction.
And then when you finally arrive home at one thirty in the morning (three hours later than usual), and you realize that it's all done and over with. You relax and smile to yourself and say "Yeah, I kicked ass."
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