I tuck those memories away and they come flooding back at times. You can compartmentalize things easily, then something reminds you of it.

The 45 yo who's dying of colorectal cancer. You held him as you both cried. The 57 year old with aggressive early onset dementia, but can still remember that his younger brother died, so he cries uncontrollably at random intervals. The 35 year old that needs a kidney transplant because he couldn't afford to go to the doctor and has been living with hypertension for 20 years. The way you see people of color being treated like dirt and as lesser than your white patients. The trans person in the psych ward who is suicidal because they feel like a freak, but is even more so after being harrassed by staff.

In my 12 years I have had my heart split in two almost every day. I push it back, but it's there every day to greet me at the door when I return. Like a dog, but you hate it.