Today I started writing something...
I guess it's sort of the start of a short story, I'm not sure what it is. Felt good to write though.
Like every day, I attempt to look at myself in the mirror. Attempt, because at some point in the past someone choose to remodel the bathroom and put in new light fixtures, which moved the mirror down closer to the sink, which leaves me staring at a wall, and not the reflection of my face. It's not like I really care to see myself, it's just another of the motions I go through to feel normal. Yet another day to stumble through mediocrity, trying to make sense of everything around me so that no one catches on.
Like everyday, when I get to work I stop at the coffee kiosk. I order the same thing I do every day, a big coffee, and the girl "making" the coffee has to clarify, like she does everyday "Do you mean extra large? Or large?". Most of the barristas have stopped arguing with me and just fill up the biggest cup, for some reason, she feels she has to make a point. Much in the same way that I feel that I must make a point. At some point in the past, someone choose to add a size to the coffee offerings. So now, they have small, large and extra large. I refuse to order an extra large, so I've just adopted the word big, hoping that it gets the point across to whoever is filling up cups with liquid that day. I do much the same thing when I order coffee at a Starbucks. I refuse to use their kitchy sizing system. I order a large coffee, most of them get the point. My willpower is much stronger then the ones who don't get the point, so I usually win. One of the few battles I let myself win each day.
Another day of the same thing as the day before. No excitement. No enjoyment. No pain.
That last one is the most important.
The automatic doors take longer then usual to open after I swipe my badge. As they open I can hear the screams of a small child in intense pain. Most people couldn't handle this job, the stress and sick kids get under their skin. I walk past the exam room that the wailing is coming from. A small child lays on a stretcher with a piece of rebar sticking out of his head, it seems to be embedded in his eye. I'm distracted by the fact that my scrubs don't match, if I had spent more time dressing myself and less time staring at the wall above my mirror I might have noticed this fact before it was too late. I can probably get new scrubs from the linen department though.
I sit in front of the computer and punch in my name and password. It beeps it's disapproval and I have to look in my iPhone to verify the data. I look up at the board, and see there are quite a few patients still left over from the night before. I truly despise working after Dr Rosenthal, he's lost several steps since his youth has dried up, and doesn't think twice about bailing on patients, leaving them for the next shift.
"Dr. Detrick, we need your help in bay 6" a nurse has come up behind me and interrupted my morning ritual of email. I look back at her, and notice it's the one most of my colleagues thinks is cute, not that I notice those things, although I do make an attempt to fake it, just to keep up appearances. They expect us young doctors to all be cooz hounds, chasing after young nurses. Even the gay doctors are expected to be indiscriminent flirts. So I fake it.
Of course the bay I'm being summoned to was the aforementioned child with the pierced eye, I sure hope that trend doesn't catch on with the under twenty crowd, although if I was an Ophthalmologist, I'm sure the extra income would be nice. One of the residents stands slightly shocked by the injury, he recently had a child, I on the other hand don't tend to notice the severity of the wounds, I prefer to just treat it, and move on to the next patient. I couldn't imagine the stress that would come from actually caring about every patient that came through the doors. I imagine that having a big heart in this environment directly translates to the high suicide rate among my co-workers. So maybe not caring puts me at an advantage?
The kids eye is gone. Not gone as in, it can't be saved, gone as in, it's physically missing. I don't know how it would have happened, but what is left is an empty socket. His screams are deafening, and his injury is way outside of my area of specialty. This kid needs a neurosurgeon. I tell the nurse to give the kid some drugs, because it appears the resident in the room is too shaken up to do his job. It's usually like this for the first couple of rotations. They think they are tough, and can handle the ER until something like this shows up, and then they lose it a little bit. I've seen worse reactions, one even walked out and never came back. Her parents were rich though, so she didn't need to work, I'm sure daddy got her a nice job somewhere.
The drugs take effect and the kid starts to calm down, which is good, the techs who are holding him down are able to slacken their death grip on his shoulders. The chance of him thrashing and doing more damage is pretty small, the wound is devastating.
Like every day, I attempt to look at myself in the mirror. Attempt, because at some point in the past someone choose to remodel the bathroom and put in new light fixtures, which moved the mirror down closer to the sink, which leaves me staring at a wall, and not the reflection of my face. It's not like I really care to see myself, it's just another of the motions I go through to feel normal. Yet another day to stumble through mediocrity, trying to make sense of everything around me so that no one catches on.
Like everyday, when I get to work I stop at the coffee kiosk. I order the same thing I do every day, a big coffee, and the girl "making" the coffee has to clarify, like she does everyday "Do you mean extra large? Or large?". Most of the barristas have stopped arguing with me and just fill up the biggest cup, for some reason, she feels she has to make a point. Much in the same way that I feel that I must make a point. At some point in the past, someone choose to add a size to the coffee offerings. So now, they have small, large and extra large. I refuse to order an extra large, so I've just adopted the word big, hoping that it gets the point across to whoever is filling up cups with liquid that day. I do much the same thing when I order coffee at a Starbucks. I refuse to use their kitchy sizing system. I order a large coffee, most of them get the point. My willpower is much stronger then the ones who don't get the point, so I usually win. One of the few battles I let myself win each day.
Another day of the same thing as the day before. No excitement. No enjoyment. No pain.
That last one is the most important.
The automatic doors take longer then usual to open after I swipe my badge. As they open I can hear the screams of a small child in intense pain. Most people couldn't handle this job, the stress and sick kids get under their skin. I walk past the exam room that the wailing is coming from. A small child lays on a stretcher with a piece of rebar sticking out of his head, it seems to be embedded in his eye. I'm distracted by the fact that my scrubs don't match, if I had spent more time dressing myself and less time staring at the wall above my mirror I might have noticed this fact before it was too late. I can probably get new scrubs from the linen department though.
I sit in front of the computer and punch in my name and password. It beeps it's disapproval and I have to look in my iPhone to verify the data. I look up at the board, and see there are quite a few patients still left over from the night before. I truly despise working after Dr Rosenthal, he's lost several steps since his youth has dried up, and doesn't think twice about bailing on patients, leaving them for the next shift.
"Dr. Detrick, we need your help in bay 6" a nurse has come up behind me and interrupted my morning ritual of email. I look back at her, and notice it's the one most of my colleagues thinks is cute, not that I notice those things, although I do make an attempt to fake it, just to keep up appearances. They expect us young doctors to all be cooz hounds, chasing after young nurses. Even the gay doctors are expected to be indiscriminent flirts. So I fake it.
Of course the bay I'm being summoned to was the aforementioned child with the pierced eye, I sure hope that trend doesn't catch on with the under twenty crowd, although if I was an Ophthalmologist, I'm sure the extra income would be nice. One of the residents stands slightly shocked by the injury, he recently had a child, I on the other hand don't tend to notice the severity of the wounds, I prefer to just treat it, and move on to the next patient. I couldn't imagine the stress that would come from actually caring about every patient that came through the doors. I imagine that having a big heart in this environment directly translates to the high suicide rate among my co-workers. So maybe not caring puts me at an advantage?
The kids eye is gone. Not gone as in, it can't be saved, gone as in, it's physically missing. I don't know how it would have happened, but what is left is an empty socket. His screams are deafening, and his injury is way outside of my area of specialty. This kid needs a neurosurgeon. I tell the nurse to give the kid some drugs, because it appears the resident in the room is too shaken up to do his job. It's usually like this for the first couple of rotations. They think they are tough, and can handle the ER until something like this shows up, and then they lose it a little bit. I've seen worse reactions, one even walked out and never came back. Her parents were rich though, so she didn't need to work, I'm sure daddy got her a nice job somewhere.
The drugs take effect and the kid starts to calm down, which is good, the techs who are holding him down are able to slacken their death grip on his shoulders. The chance of him thrashing and doing more damage is pretty small, the wound is devastating.