2006

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Inpatient.

Where have I been?

I’m hitting bottom. I found things slipping, just slipping through my fingers. D died a few weeks ago, holding on for months after relapse of his leukemia. A is dying–he lays empty on his bed, only blinking in response. His mother, she is stronger than me. L died last night, and there aren’t enough tears. A tried to die on my last night, and I couldn’t do a thing.

I hold my breath.

And yet the world keeps moving on, moving on so fast. Give me a moment to think. Or perhaps not, I don’t want to think about them anymore. I couldn’t do a thing.

I can’t seem to let go of my current blog theme.

I’ve been fiddling with other themes, tweaking here and there, but nothing really comes out of it. At the end of the day, I go back to this nameless random…thing. Something I threw together seemingly ages ago without any intent but just to be. And it was.

Who says I have to dust it off and fix it up? I kinda like the familiarity. I tell myself that it’s about content and not novelty. But then again, the content has been lacking severely the last few months, too. I’ve been busy. The world moves on without me. My website, it stands still.

It makes me wonder what sort of thing I had to say so often before. I mean, I was blogging nearly twice a week. What was so important to put down in print? My life borders on mundane. I wrap it up in pretty colors and fanciful words like a Christmas present. So who knows, perhaps before it wasn’t really about content afterall.

And so I need something new. Someday.

Er?

I just got spam. In Spanish.

I’m missing days.

Somewhere during my on-call nights, Mondays melt into Tuesdays without much hoopla, and all the computers log the end of the day. I, however, am still on Monday and am merely beginning. The world seems to have moved on without me.

My life is a pendulum between work and work. There are no current events. What’s a heat advisory when you’re confined to climate control? I’m behind glass and 7 stories up.

I drove home today in a blur. I lost minutes to the cottonballs in my head. Is it really already 10:43 on a Sunday morning? My body fought between hunger and exhaustion. Five more steps to a bed, clean sheets, and a sandwich. And to Steve.

And when the heat advisory finally hit me, and it was nice. I’m feeling something after all.

I started to write a post earlier, before all this started. It’s very strange. One and a half weeks in, and every day is as potentially scary as the day before. When will familiarity and comfort set in? I worry that the answer is never.

It’s very strange. My medical students are older than I am. Some of them have lived previous lives with much more wisdom than I will ever accumulate. And yet here I am, teaching them how to write a progress note. I am nothing but lies. Lies and Saturdays.

Sometimes, I forget who I am.

I’m in the middle of writing an order, and I have to stop and think how to sign my name. M. D. It’s very strange.

I sit quietly through beepers. I always forget that someone is looking to me for answers to something. Not that I have answers.

So, who am I?

I wander through the hospital, passing by unfamiliar hallways and ignoring them altogether. I am only looking for my Pediatric Inpatient Ward. Up Elevator D and to the right. My tunnel vision makes me wonder what else I’ve been missing. The corridors are filled with artwork that serves no other purpose but to be and to be looked at. I have looked at none. Only Elevator D. It’s very strange.

And the keys that they gave me, I haven’t yet figured out what doors they open. Three keys. Which door should I open first? Perhaps behind Door Number 3, I will find my answers and my artwork and my breath. Just give me a minute to catch it.

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