Night Shift

I’m supposed to be having my night-time fix of ice cream, but here I am at work. Yawning. Tucking my patients into bed. Trying to control their pain as best I can so they sleep well tonight. I’m hungry already. My body is so confused. I’m thinking of my fluffy down-comforter, my bed.

2:35am. I shine my flashlight on my patients chest. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Put my ear to the crack of another door. Snoring. I’m good to go. Down the hall an 8yr old is dying. Cancer. I can feel the weight of it all in the hallways of our floor. I say a little prayer. The lights are low. I can see the porch lights of peoples houses out the window. I see an ambulance, lights flashing, and wonder if I’ll be admitting that patient any time soon.

The sun is starting to rise. I can see the brilliant orange and pink. I sneak into an empty room with a good view. It’s been a while since I watched the sun rise. There’s stillness and peace in it. If I could, I’d dive into it. I wait for the next shift to arrive. Give my “report.” Say good-bye to a patient for he will be gone when I come back. He shakes my hand, says thank you. It means the world to me. I clock-out. Stepping out into the bright day my eyes hurt. Not used to the light. Getting home, I’m starving, but my body aches for sleep. Food will have to wait. I crawl into bed, shrugging off the pressure and responsibility, and it’s just as I imagined. Heaven. It’s raining. Sleep comes easy.