The Announcement.

Two weeks ago I broke it to my husband. I confessed that I wanted to go to the Ukraine, and do something. Something meaningful. Something needed. Something impactful. I had reached the place where I couldn't tolerate myself as an idle observer any longer. I didn’t want to feel helpless, mute, and privileged on the sidelines. Be the American so comfortable that other peoples issues didn’t take space, or deserve time to contemplate. The world is a mess more often because people sit by quietly and let it pass. How can so many people just watch? How do you not put yourself in their shoes and act? It is what oppressed victimizes. It is why oppressing persists. People let it. Specifically other people who know it to be such.

My husband reacted the way anyone who loves someone else would. He resisted. He challenged me to not put myself in the danger that wasn’t mine to defend. He reminded me how dangerous the life of the people over there is. How my life has obligations here, at home. I help the animals at my home. There is legitimacy and purpose here. And yet I still felt like a hypocrite; complaining about the atrocities to humanity because of the actions of a bully who needed to be punished. I was picking sides. I always do. I always root for the underdog. Vote for the newbie, never the incumbent. Where there is power there is too often corruption. Let that power last long enough and the rot of greed, arrogance, and entitlement metastasizes. Putin has become a plight. People are dying in war crimes while the USA strategizes how to help and not look obvious. We fear reprisal more than we fear the shame of watching it happen to others.

My husband texted me the worst thing anyone could have said to me; “you aren’t ready for this.” His less offensive doctrine to “I won’t let you.” The former incited a fire the latter would have laughed at. He knew from my long list of accomplishments that were never mine to proclaim for myself, that the last thing you tell me to not do is the first thing I will prove can be done. A source of pride that has cost me decades of doing something I never had my heart in to begin with. I have college degrees I never wanted based simply upon a threatening dare.

Telling me I am not ready? Like there was a university degree program I missed? Needed a certificate for? What the…? Ready? Who is ever ready to defend their belief of good should prevail over bad? A clergyman? Ready to travel? Yes. Ready to help animals? Umm? Always, yes? Ready to land near a war zone? Maybe..?

As composed as I could sound I replied, “I would rather die doing something I believe in, then wait for cancer to come find me and die with a list of things I wish I had done.”

I broke the news to the clinic a few days ago. The majority of the staff understand this. They understand me. They are supportive and inquisitive.

They cheer, and beam with enthusiasm. ‘Aren’t you excited? Are you scared?” always these two questions and always in tandem.

I still struggle and pause with a reply. I am a terrible liar. Worse I am hesitant to be transparent. It just doesn’t play back as plausible out loud.

I am not excited, nor, afraid. I am compelled. It is the most honest way to describe it. I'm not maniacally obsessed to go someplace people are fleeing from. I am not an adrenaline junkie who loves skydiving and roller coasters (I wouldn’t be brave enough for either), but, I am needed, and I can go. I have the passport, the vaccine card, the skillset and the experience to be gone for long periods of time, alone, far away, and perform a task. They need me, I can help, so, I am going. That’s all. Remove the emotional burdens of feelings,, maybe that’s my key? The autopilot every vet goes to when you do a surgery. You just go,,, one little step at a time. Push the emotions, all of them, to the back of your mind and jump in, do it.

My day to day life as a veterinarian in private practice is a bar maids soaked towel of feelings. Drowning, quick sand feelings. Feel a lot for the abused, neglected dying kitten, then try to swallow the feelings of intense hurt when a client talks down to you as the person “who does what they tell me they want me to do.” (Insert euthanize a pet that doesn’t fit their lifestyle any longer). Too often these scenarios are both the same case. People can kill you with their cruelty. Feelings hurt as much as they heal. We don’t get to choose how they are handed to you. Going away to a place I have never been to help animals without clients to tell me how I am supposed to treat them is bliss. The cruelty of war, the neglect of all human kindness being a luxury war wont permit is bare bones medicine. That’s adrenaline that feeds the soul. that’s where I want to be. At least for a little while. That’s compelling.

I am booking tickets tomorrow for Northeastern Romania. I will leave next week. There is a small group of people there already. They travel daily into the Ukraine to help move out the animals left behind. I will be there to help in anyway I can. I will post more as the journey unfolds. It is takes two days to travel. We stay in a makeshift warehouse kept warm by space heaters. There is no running water, bare bones electric and a narrow window that these abandoned starving animals have to find safety. Hundreds of dogs and cats have been extracted and taken back into Romania into an ever growing city of portable shelters. It is a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions. Unlike a natural disaster which strikes and then vanishes after it passes through this has no end in sight. This just compounds the need and direness.