Through the power (and curse) of Twitter, tonight’s bout of insomnia is brought to you by @MckMama whose son is gravely ill tonight. Whose son is one year old as of tomorrow.
She is posting updates…little victories, big concerns….but he’s a very sick little boy.
I am hanging on her every word just like I’m in the room…helpless…confused…hopeful…trying to justify and reason…
There is also a man, tonight, who is losing his battle with brain cancer. He is surrounded by friends at the end of a very long journey. He is a fantastic character actor, a football fan, a lover of old movies and all things Christmas and one of the most politically INcorrect people I have ever met. I love him to pieces.
I will have to xanax myself to sleep tonight. I can feel it.
Hospitals at night are kind of nice. The suits go home. The night nurses are either very young or have been a night nurse forever and love it. There is never an in-between. I can feel the cold tile under my stocking feet. Because bare feet in a hospital? Gross. The halls dim but never darken. The phone only occasionally rings. The halls don’t smell like gravy at night. All we have left to do is sleep.
And hope for a better tomorrow.
In the morning, I would get up at first rounds. I would put on a bra (if not entirely dressed) and my contacts. I tried to make sure I was in the room during rounds but, frankly, all the white coats gave me a sweaty ass and the inability to form a sentence.
Honestly, I don’t know how I did it. I get asked, and told, that all the time. My only answer is “you just do”. But how? How did I make it through all those nights? How did I not just walk away? How did I not just flip the fuck out?
So, to Matty and Stellan, peace. Peace to you tonight. Sleep through the bed checks and whispering and coffee smells. Tomorrow will be a beautiful day.