I'm not really all that mysterious


so it seems that I have lost my voice. I woke up this morning and didn’t realize that I didn’t have one until I went to buy coffee. Huh. I guess that’s what is unique about living alone (this is the first time I’ve ever done it) I can go for nearly three hours without having to utter a word to anyone. Even in the household where I hated one of my roommates, this wasn’t really possible.

it is, I suppose, a little sad and pathetic, but, hey, we’re not going to dwell on that today.

all in all it’s been one kind-of fucked up week. Depressingly, I again had to stand by while a little kid died. I had traded a Saturday call (because I was deathly ill) and this past weekend I had to pay it back.

now I realize I can be disgustingly blasé about death. It is truly a defense mechanism. I made it through the night by not thinking about it, even as I wrote orders to increase the morphine and start Ativan, and OK’ed not getting labs and even not getting vital signs. I even slept for a good three hours. But then I got up, wrote 8 progress notes, when the attending let me go home, and thanked me for taking care of the little kid who was dying, and I know I really didn’t do too much. The aura of depression was palpable in the unit, and I walked out of there sadly, and by the time I made it to the cafeteria, it hit me.

I realize that my life has been stripped bare of emotion for a long time now. I don’t remember the last time I cried, I mean, really cried. And, yeah, it’s all a defense mechanism, because I’d probably be crying continuously about how fucked up this world is. But that’s all I really wanted to do, with all the busywork done, and all that was left to me was to go home with another little bundle of sorrow tied to my heart. Even then I wouldn’t let myself do it. The tears came, but I squeezed them back. How else are we supposed to survive this stupid life otherwise?

I find myself thinking about that little kid for a little bit every day now. I didn’t even really know him or his family. I met them for like 15 minutes, and I blundered into their room with all the grace of a blind, ataxic elephant. And here’s this kid who can’t breathe, who is suffocating because of malignancy, and there’s nothing I can do about it but stare like a stupid oaf. There’s nothing I can tell this family that has suffered horrendously. I’m completely useless.

I can’t even bear to think about that kid’s family. It tears at the flesh of my heart. It’s physical pain, and it’s not even my own pain. I just can’t imagine it. It sucks. That’s as articulate as I’m going to get about it.

But yeah. I guess I had to vent that. It sucks not having anyone to talk to about it.

So, yeah, this is why I say with regards to a lot of things that it doesn’t matter. Because if it did, then it would just hurt way too much, all the time.

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