There is no such thing as an insignificant life, only the insignificance of mind that refuses to grasp the implications. ~ Laurence Overmire You've had a long day.
You're ready for a nice, comfortable sleep in your beautiful bed.
And you find yourself making your lunch, putting on your scrubs and getting ready for a nice all-nighter at work instead. Just what you were hoping for, right?
Walking in to the hospital, you look around you at the dozens of other people doing just the same. Faces in the crowd - some weary, some energetic. Most clutching a cup or three of coffee. You marvel at the way the machine rolls on and wonder if anyone actually knows who you are, what you do on such a regular and repetitive basis. Probably not. You too are just one of the many faceless faces in the crowd.
The shift begins and winds down the familiar path...inflate, deflate, poke, prod, in, out, ask, listen. You try to find a few zen moments in there. The sound of clear, deep breaths through your stethescope reminds you of the ocean. But you have medications to hand out, you can't stand there and listen forever.
Everyone has settled in for the night (which is what you are not so secretly wishing to be doing yourself!) and you pull up a chair and a shelf full of charts. The paperwork begins predictably on time and you make good progress, except for that patient in room 9 who keeps ringing the call bell every ten minutes. The jarring noise interrupts your charting flow just when you get to the good part - Is patient X the one with C.Diff? Or was he the one who wanted senna for constipation? The answer comes back to you three minutes later and you straighten it all out. Problem solved.
The night crawls along. A few medications here and there, checking to make sure bed 4's nausea has settled, bed 20's pain is better controlled in between your rounds. You look out the window at the sparkling golden lights over the city and feel at once blessed to witness such beauty and cursed to be awake at this time of the morning to see it.
You long for sleep but know that a nap will only tempt you and make you crave it all the more. So it irritates you when your co-worker hogs the staff room, turns off all the lights and goes to sleep for the next hour. Isn't this a communal room?! You want to eat your lunch and maybe have a stimulating conversation with a co-worker about how to beat the night-shift food cravings...maybe tossing in a little late night philosophical discussion on the merits and perils of relationships. Grr.
Bloodwork time. You pray that everyone has a functioning vascular access device and that you won't have to spend three quarters of an hour trying to doctor the line to spare them another poke from the lab. You make it through unscathed...for tonight.
The clock ticks onward. You count some narcotics, forcing your foggy mind to prove that it can still perform some basic math operations. Or maybe not. You stare at the same box of hydromorphone for two minutes before you realize that there's a whole other box in the cupboard. That would explain why you seemed to be missing 10 precious little vials.
The day shift start to flow in...all chipper and perked up on caffeine. You envy their vitality, as your achy, sleep starved body begins to mummify. Report off and you are on your way.
As your body sinks deeply into the soft comfort of your bed, you are mildly astounded that you survived another night and that your shifts always seems to come to an end, no matter how busy or slow. You remember the hug you gave to a grieving patient who just lost a precious pet, the joke you shared with another. You center yourself with some deep, nourishing breaths and feel the lightness of sleep overtaking you. You could live in this peace forever.
