The Fourth Option

19

Hutch asks himself a question. First person POV: Hutch.

 

For Nancy.

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Part One

“Do I still want to feel?”

I know I’m close to burn out and I don’t know how to stop it from happening.

I guess there comes a point in everyone’s emergency service career when they wonder how much more they can handle. In answer to the question, some decide ‘no’ and quit. Some decide ‘no’ but ending up losing themselves in drinking or bitterness. Some decide ‘no’ and shut their emotions down; growing a hard, outer shell as protection.

What about me? I’ve contemplated the first but there are reasons to stay; or rather at least one reason to stay. I’ve dabbled with the second but didn’t like the view of who I might become. Now, I’m wondering if I can manage the third option. Become inured to the pain and suffering around me, just do the job and turn off my emotions, get through each day as intact as I can.

 

Part Two

“Do I still want to feel?”

I ask the question out loud. It’s an echo of the one Hank just asked me. Hank’s my psychiatrist friend and at some point yesterday, I figured it was time to talk to someone and get them to help me figure out the question. But psychiatrists don’t tend to give answers, they just ask more questions to try and make you work it out yourself.

I sigh and say, “I don’t know.”

I tell him about the three options I’ve been considering and how I’m close to going back to the first one. Quitting. Leaving it all behind and not coming back this time.

He nods as he writes but then he looks at me and says, “There’s a fourth option.”

There is? “What is it,” I ask, a glimmer of hope surfacing.

“Ah, that you have to work out for yourself.”

“Thanks for nothing, Hank,” I say. I can hear the despair creeping in at the edges. I stand up, wanting to run away. Hank stops me with his soft voice.

“Hutch. I said ‘work it out for yourself’. I didn’t say ‘work it out alone’.”

I look at him blankly.

“You are part of a team, part of a partnership. In everything else, you work as a pair. Why not in this?”

Good question.

Because… I’m afraid of letting him down. I’m afraid he won’t understand. He seems to find it easy to feel deeply, then rage and rant, reset and go on again. I wish I was more like him but I’m not. I don’t say any of this out loud but somehow Hank seems to read my mind almost as well as my partner.

“Talk to him. He might surprise you…and you are not supposed to be the same as anyone else but you can learn from each other and change and grow.”

I nod.

 

Part Three

“So do I still want to feel? Or do I pick one of the three options?”

We’re sitting in Starsky’s kitchen. It’s late. I drove around for a long time before getting up the courage to have this conversation and even then I couldn’t start until we both had a whiskey in our hands and I was facing away from him. I don’t want to see the disappointment on his face.

I hear Starsky swirling his drink around his glass as he thinks. The silence is unbearable. I go to speak but he stops me.

“Hutch…Just give me a minute. I’m thinking.”

I swallow hard and take another sip.

“Hey partner.”

I pause and listen, but I don’t look up.

“Hutch?”

I lift my head and I see understanding and compassion on my partner’s face. He reaches out his hand and I take it, drawing strength from the squeeze of support before he pulls back, wipes at his face and gets ready to speak.

“Okay…Let me just say what I think you need to know first. There ain’t nothing wrong with being you and feeling things deeply. That’s one of the things I admire about you, Hutch; your compassion.”

I’m both touched and frustrated.

“Thanks, Starsk…but it’s exhausting…To tell you the truth…I don’t think I can keep on handling what we come across day in day out.”

“I know. I can see what it’s doing to ya.” Starsky rubs his chin. “You’re right. You can’t carry on like you have been. But you can’t change your personality either. You can’t just turn off your compassion and you shouldn’t have to. If you do, you’ll lose who you are.”

I nod. “So…Maybe it’s time to walk away?” I whisper the words, not wanting to say them out loud, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Hutch, if it’s time, it’s time…But I’m not sure we’re in that place yet…And I say ‘we’ ‘cause it’s me and thee, pal…What affects you, affects me….Ya know: there is a fourth option.”

I blink at him. “There is?”

Starsky nods. “If we came across a victim of an assault, what would you do?”

I’m mystified by what seems like a change of subject. “Take their statement as gently as I can.”

Starsky nods but shakes his hand indicating I’m only half correct.

“Get someone to take them to the hospital?”

Starsky makes a face and indicates he wants more from me.

I’m frustrated. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“You’d show them compassion first; with a smile, with a touch. You’d let them talk or find out where they can get support.”

I shrug. “So?”

“So why don’t you treat yourself with the same compassion?”

I frown, not sure what he’s getting at.

“Hutch, you’ve got to acknowledge what gets to ya. You got to take a break if you need to and you got to talk to someone. I’m always here to listen. Anytime. You don’t need to hide this stuff from me.” I go to protest and Starsky adds, “I don’t mean purposely hide from me but it’s like you think we’ve been partners too long and I’ve got tired of hearing what you need to say. I haven’t. I’ve got your back on the street. You’ve got my ear off the street. Capiche?”

Slowly, I nod.

Starsky looks at me, really looks at me. His eyes see through into all the pain in my soul I’ve been trying to shoulder alone for a while now.

“You shouldn’t change who you are but you should change how you deal with this stuff. You gotta find a way to let it out. You gotta open up. You’re holding everything in, hoping it will get less painful. That just lets it fester. Talk to me, partner. And when I can’t help, talk to Hank…And if the old ways of clearing your head out aren’t working, maybe find some new interests that will give you some real downtime and help you relax.”

I hear what he says and I try to absorb the words and let them settle deep inside.

“I’ll try.”

“And I’ll try and support ya better.”

Something inside me uncoils and I find myself swallowing back tears. Starsky places a hand on my shoulder.

“Let it out, partner. Whatever you’ve been holding in, let it out. And, Hutch…If doing all those things doesn’t help then we’ll look at option one again. Because you and how you feel is more important than a job. You’ll be my partner whether we’re working side by side as cops or doing something different. Me and thee – with or without the job.”

I nod. I’m crying but I’m also smiling because option four is something I couldn’t come up with alone but it might just work if I remember I’m part of a partnership; an ebb and flow of soul to soul that both meshes and compensates in equal measure.

And when it’s time to revisit option one, it won’t be because I failed. It will be because I’ve chosen it and my partner has chosen it with me.