ICU

Time passes by strangely in a hospital. Life stands still from the moment you enter until the moment you leave. Everything in between happens in a literal vacuum. I spend my entire day in the confines of my room yet I barely notice. Stretches of doing nothing, punctuated by constant calls from the hospital staff. Medications, consultations, measurements, procedures, services. Ticking efficiently item by item off a master list, minute by minute around an omnipresent clock.

Nothing is allowed to get out of hand. Every explosion of humanity, every scream of pain, splash of blood, echoing heartbeat, gasping breath, is carefully monitored, managed, and muted. Sometimes a baby’s cry floats along the silent halls or over the mechanical beeps. It’s a relief that the newest of us haven’t learned silence yet. It means that somewhere in this building there are other people like us, celebrating, or worrying, or trying.

Every 12 hours the entire staff turns over. At 7pm and 7am, you shift into an alternate reality where everything is the same, except the people. Day shift into night shift and night shift into day shift. I loved the nurse who took care of us the first time we did this (what was her name?) but these days, I try not to get too attached to anyone — I know we have limited time with everyone. The masks help enforce the distance, social and otherwise. A blur of obscured faces and strangers’ names. A few people drop by to say goodbye before they leave. It surprises me who says goodbye and who doesn’t.

Off-handedly, the thought occurs to me, if only they could work longer, that’d make my experience so much better. But then I remember — what the ripple effects are of long shifts. They’re not just here to be supporting characters in the narrative of my medical drama — they have spouses and children and parents and friends anxiously waiting for them at home. And I think of T’s patients and their families, past and future, and I think, it’s okay, you can hold onto him a little longer, some days you need him more than we do, even if I forget that.