It is no small thing to ask someone to watch over you all night. Parents know this, sure. But imagine for a minute that it's not your own soft child in your care, but crusty Uncle Frank, the homeless woman outside Dunkin Donuts, or a man who only only screams in Korean. Maybe you've been caring for a houseful of kids, working your other job, going to school all day, but would you please just buck the strong pull of circadian tides and make sure these people don't die in the next 12 hours?
It helps to think back to the days when we would spend the night dancing after working all day. This is a different kind of club; keep moving to the hum of ventilators, the beat of alarms. Find your rhythm. Keep smiling. All these men, competing for my attention, demanding round after round of liquid & lots of charm. What'll it be this time, Joe? Normal Saline or another 1/2 of Lactated Ringer? As dawn breaks through the window, Squirrel will come find me to say, finally, she's had enough and we will take off our shoes and limp to breakfast through the stirring streets.
If I don't feel like dancing, I think of the last scenes of The Sound of Music and how the poor von Trapp children sang their hearts out at the Saltzberg Festival before climbing through the Alps all night to freedom. Keep climbing this dark mountain and ignore the heaviness of your limbs. Be thankful you are not fleeing for your life, carrying Gretl on your back. I hum Edelweiss to myself and move a little faster, looking over my shoulder just to make sure.
Mostly, though, I think of all the long, sleepless flights I've taken around the world and how they share the same surreal quality of the cardiac transplant unit at night. The dim lighting, the incessant call bells, uncomfortable seats. The processed air drys out your contacts as you glance at your watch again, trying to calculate the time on the ground. My mood is pressurized as I walk the hall checking on my patients. We are all passengers tonight, flying through the night, hanging on the silver balance. Hoping to make it home safely to the comfort of our own beds.
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A blog needs a "like" button, like Facebook, for when you have nothing insightful to say or add but just want to acknowledge, "I like this. It is thoughtful, heartfelt, and expressive. Thank you for writing it."
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