The Nine Shifts: Shift 7

Pre-shift 7: The hardest part of the day comes on awaking. It gets better quickly.

Shift 7: I start to shift into survival mode. The physical wear of the shifts isn’t bad but emotional wear of virus after virus starts getting to me. Even though baby after baby is congested but smiling and happy, I feel bad that I don’t have any medicine to offer to cure the common cold. Bulb suctioning and saline drops a poor imitation at a cure. My favorite patient of the day by far is a 16-month girl who is sitting on my lap and drops her pacifier over the railing of the bed. She looks down after it and with the collective frustrations of 16 months lets forth a perfectly pronounced “sh**”. After a moment’s reflection as the pacifier remains yet out of reach, she unloads another five “sh**” in rapid succession. I am extremely happy and fortunate that she cannot see my face, so my huge grin and attempts at holding in laughter go unnoticed by her so I can in no way be accused of encourage her behavior. One of our program’s chief residents Jamie had pizza with a group of residents at π and drops off two pieces as encouragement. Even cold, they are quite possibly the two best slices of pizza I’ve ever had. Despite trying to eat them in secrecy, the smell incites jealously among staff members. Perhaps these shifts have made me selfish because I don’t think at all about sharing. One of my last patients is a teenage boy who overdosed on psychiatric medications. Within 2 hours of this possible suicide attempt with his mouth still blackened by the activated charcoal we made him drink, he is sleeping in bed with his girlfriend lying next to him with a couple of family members sitting in the room. While not usually a policy to let girlfriends lay in bed with patients, in his confused state he was trying to dangerously climb out of bed to sit next to her. This compromise seemed the safest option. It is a lingering image, almost sweet on the surface but ultimately deeply unsettling, love and death and pain and fear all mixed together in violent hues. Now seven shifts complete, my emotions blunted by the hours and work, it is an image now made foreign. I am afraid at times by my lack of emotion.

Post-shift 7: The air is cold but the skies are clear and for the first time during The Nine Shifts I can ride home with my head up and eyes open instead of focused on dodging water puddles. The one mile ride home goes too quickly, I ride a few extra blocks. At 1:30 am Sunday night/Monday morning, there are no cars on the street. I ride down the middle of the road and feel like a kid. I fall asleep on the couch watching The Cosby Show.