My hands were shaking like tremors in an L.A. aftershock and my breathing seemed to be limited to small gulps of air as I sat on the medical exam table listening to the doctor. I was here for a regular exam, but also to ask for a written letter of exemption that would excuse me from the active shooter drill. Everything inside of me wished I was not making this request, but my heart knew it was the only viable option considering what I had survived. PTSD was not something I thought I would ever have to deal with, but here I sat about to make this request.
