March 2009

There is a lull at 3 am. Beyond the big glass windows on the 7th floor that is the NICU, there is just darkness. But inside, the lights are bright to the point of blinding. Nothing else breaks the silence, only the hum of fluorescence. Even the alarms have quieted, and the ventilators have gone to sleep. I turn on the iPod to keep my own thoughts at bay. I am tired tonight.

This is 4th or 5th straight week of night shifts, and it’s beginning to wear on me. I don’t see Steve for days at a time. I come home to an empty house, but he always leaves leftovers in the fridge for me. I come home the next night, and I see that the laundry has been done. There is a plate left out. There is a cup on the coffee table. It is as if there was a haunting. Little things and small changes to remind me that someone else was here. I just never see him. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be alone.

I call him sometimes at night. His voice is hollow and thin over the telephone. We make conversation. I just want to hear him laugh. He stays up way too late. He has been working out, he says, and when I see him again, he is X pounds lighter. I’m not sure. I’m just glad to see him again.

Then I wonder whether or not all of this is worth it.

I think I’m going to be a neonatologist.

All at once, I’m scared and happy and breathless. Is this really what I want to do?

For a time, I thought I was going to be a hospitalist. I enjoyed general pediatrics (who doesn’t like kids?), but I didn’t feel like I had a passion for anything specific. And I told myself that I wasn’t going to subspecialize until I found out who I was. Oddly enough, I was more intense than I anticipated. And I began to wonder what other people saw. They saw me with passion.

So here I am. And I’m going to jump right in. See you in three years.

I think it’s spring again. At least, it’s flooding again. 500 year flood plains, my ass.

It’s been raining for 3 days straight. Not that I’ve seen the sun anyway. I’ve been working the night shift, and when I’m up, the sun’s already gone. So is Steve.

Yes, it does get lonely. But even at night, I’m never alone. The constant hiss of assisted ventilators and beeping of heart and lung monitors, it’s like a jazz song. I manually bag a baby, and I suddenly think of saxophones. It’s strange.

It’s quietest in the early morning. By now, the day shift is bustling in, and I can barely hear myself think. I kept thinking about D. I don’t know why.

Well, I know why. I saw him yesterday by chance, and I made an excuse to talk to him. Someone from my past, I’m not sure why I made an effort. I usually don’t. There was no pleasentries about the weather; we are both very busy people. But I couldn’t help but think about how strange it was that we both ended it up here. By chance, I suppose.

I once saw a clip that mentioned that life is a game of patterns and chance. My life has been just that–patterns and chance. And by chance, D is here with me. By pattern, i.e. checking out the call schedule, I have managed to avoid him until now. Again, I don’t know why. It’s strange. Perhaps it’s the spring coming. Time to start anew. I will be leaving soon, and he will still be here.

By chance, we perhaps will see each other again. Perhaps not. I will have to think of something clever to say just in case.

Speaking of patterns, my comments count stand at 777.