the night shift

My phone pinged and I looked at the name that flashed across my screen. “oh boy, this is going to be trouble,’ I said to myself. Michael, my first love, and ex-boyfriend was coming to a conference in my new city.

Our relationship ended because we wanted different things from life. He wanted to settle down in the same small town he grew up in and I wanted nothing more than to leave it. Michael wanted marriage; I wanted a relationship with my best friend. He wanted kids; I wanted a dog. Michael wanted the traditional white picket fence life, and I’m still not sure what I want. Despite all of our differences, I never stopped loving him.

At first, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to meet him. After all so much has happened since I last saw him. Jeremy. James. Chris. Justin. My core wants and desires haven’t changed. I still don’t want kids, and I’m pretty sure he still does. But for old times’ sake, and perhaps against my better judgment, I agreed to meet him.

We met for dinner and the conversation flowed easy. Five years older, hopefully wiser, I wondered if we were more compatible. He wasn’t Jeremy. And definitely not James. He was Michael and being with him felt like familiar flannel shirt.

I put a twenty on the table as Michael flagged down the server for the check. He pushed my money back towards me.

“I’ve got this,” he said as I got up to leave.

“Wait, let me walk you to your car.” he called out.

Walking next to Michael, I felt the familiar butterflies in my stomach, and that disconnected from my body feeling I sometimes get. It’s been a long time since I had butterflies. I never had them with James. Or Jeremy.  I definitely had butterflies with Justin, but I’m pretty sure I fuck that all the way up. Come to think of it, Chris gave me occasional butterflies–when we weren’t talking about work stuff. 

Michael and I made small talk, but I don’t remember anything we said. “Well, goodnight,” I murmured, putting my hand on the car’s door handle.

Michael put his hand over mine and his other encircled my back. I leaned into him sideways, resting my head on his shoulder. He smelled like soap, clean and nice. We stood that way for a minute or so before, turning me towards him, he framed my face with his hands, and placed his mouth on mine. I leaned in, kissing him back.

Michael’s touch was strong and gentle, confident. We kissed again.

Separating, I looked up at his face. His gaze was soft. I imagine it mirrored mine. The way that I loved him hadn’t changed. Everything was familiar.

“Now what?” This time he was murmuring.

“I don’t know”

Actually, I did know. If I followed him our reunion would be exactly like our last meeting, and if I didn’t, well nothing would happen. Either choice would end in my heart breaking all over again, but one choice would give me a night where the weight of loneliness wasn’t crushing my soul.

 

Working night shift is not for the faint of heart. One day you’re having beer and eggs at 8a while the next you are sleeping at noon. It’s constant confusion for my body and I’m perpetually tired. BUT I never turn down an opportunity to go out Because who is going to be able to  party like a rock star other than your favorite night shifters.

A few weeks ago, my PICU crew and I went to a hockey match kind of as a team building experience and a chance for some of the veterans to get to know some of the rookies [since we’re speaking in sport now’]. As it happens, one of the PICU vets lives in the same neighborhood as one of the players. He got a handful of guys to meet out group at the local sports bar right before the season really took off.

“HI” a tall, broad-shouldered, baby-faced guy said as he came up to me. “Do you work with these guys?”

“I do. Do you play hockey with these guys?” I countered.

We both smiled at our pick-up lines as if we were the most clever humans on the planet.

“What position do you play?” I ask him before asking something more useful, like his name.

“Right wing. And you?”

I could see him blush at that mistake. I pretended not to notice.

“I’m a pediatric respiratory therapist. My name is Liza… ElizaMarie, but that’s a mouthful so most people just call me Liza.”

“Justin. Wellman.”

You didn’t seem very interested and after my crap-tastic year, I didn’t want to have another rejection on my hands, even if its someone I’ve literally known for five minutes.

***** ****** ***** ****** ******** ******* ****** ********* ********** ***********

“Hey Liza, wait up.” One of my coworkers was calling after me “Do you remember meeting a guy named Justin at the bar when we all went there together?”

“Yeah, why?”

‘”He asked me if I had your contact info and if so, would I give it to him.”

“Hmmm, that’s odd. He couldn’t even string together a five word sentence when we were face to face.”

“He also asked me to apologize for that if you brought it up. So can I give him your info. Justin is a cool guy, one of the quieter ones on the team, but definitely not a playboy or anything.”

‘I mean I guess so, Can’t hurt, can it?” [Spoiler alert: it can]

***** ****** ****** ******* ******** ******* ********* ******** ******************

Three months later, we were officially dating–as much as a night-shift respiratory therapist and traveling hockey player could in season. We often met late in the evening after practice and games or early mornings walking out of the hospital. [Yes, he came to the hospital to walk me out. It was cute. It’s always a head turner when a 6-4 220 pound guy is walking through the peds lobby] We were cute and head over heels in lust.

“Come to Canada with me. I want you to meet my family” Justin implored me one day as we were grabbing a bite after his team had won yet another game. They were doing really well this year. “The mid season break is in a few weeks and we all get time off. I want to take you home to Canada. Neither of us was able to do anything for Christmas or New Years due to work, but this will give us time to spend together.”

“You do know that I have been to Canada before, right? When I talked about wanting to travel the world, Canada wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” We had recently been making loose plans to ‘go somewhere’ after the season was over. For me, I wanted to go somewhere I’ve never been. Rome. Paris. London. He wanted to go to a beach. somewhere secluded.

“Hey, it’s a start.” he laughed.

In the three months since our first date, we’d become as inseparable as two people can be under our circumstances. It helped that neither of us had family locally and spent all our free time together. It helped that I liked hockey before we met so his world wasn’t a complete shock to me. My world–well that’s something that even other healthcare workers don’t understand, but at least he listened when I talked about my feelings about my job. Also. Canada. In February? Not the best selling point.

“Justin, I have a better idea. Let’s go somewhere nice and sunny on your break.” I offered, hoping for a nice Caribbean weekend instead of frosty Ontario winter. “You even said how you wanted to go to a beach. We could go to the Dominican Republic or Aruba or anywhere really.”

But I could feel it–our first major disagreement bubbling up. You thought saying no to Canada was saying no to you–and to a lesser extent, your family.

Truth be told I was terrified of meeting your family. Meeting Family makes it real and without a family of my own to counter, what did that mean? Meeting family meant questions of marriage and children; neither of which I could confidently answer. And while I am certain about my feelings in the moment, how can I be expected to plan a future in where I can’t do my job in your hometown, and you never know where you’ll be next season..

***** ****** ***** ******* ******** ******* ****** ******** ******* ******** ***

Something shifted when I said no to Canada. By the time I realized it, it was too late. I already loved you, and knew that you were going to break my heart just like the others.

 

PICU is my favorite unit in the hospital followed closely by Pediatric ER.. But nothing about PICU is easy. What I like most about PICU is the variety. I can literally have neonates and practical adults all at the same time. It constantly challenges my brain and I really like that.

Last week, I had a really challenging case and I was talking to Chris about it

My patient was a 17 year old boy who had cystic fibrosis. Stephen has been my patient several times before; the last time, just a couple of weeks ago once before so when he saw me come into his room, he smiled.

“You’re still here”Stephen beamed.

“Yeah, where else would I go? You might come back and I not know it if I tried to work in any other unit. Others aren’t as adept at handling you as I seem to be. Or at least that what people tell me”

Stephen was surly, often uncooperative, and mouthy. He never wanted to take any medicines or do any therapy. A lot of my co-workers would rather not have him as a patient, but whenever he was on the unit, I volunteered to take care of him. Maybe because of my age, he seemed to respond to me. Maybe it’s because I never treated him like a child.

“You think I am sexy.  that’s why you always want to have me as a patient.’ Stephen said to me almost every time we met.

 No sir, that’s not it at all. ‘1. You’re jailbait, little boy. 2. You’re scrawny, and you can’t even cough without getting short of breath. Let’s do your breathing treatments and CPT.’ And he would let me.  Every.Single. Time. For whatever reason, he responded to me not treating him like he was sick. I always give him a choice–“do this…you know what your other options are–get intubated, put on a ventilator, and we can suck the goo out of your lungs all day long or do the CPT, take the treatments, and cough.”  He always chose to take the treatments. He knew that if he ever went on the ventilator chances of coming off were not good.

One cold December day, he asked me if it hurt…does being on the ventilator hurt? Does being intubated hurt? My answer was truthful–whether it does or doesn’t, I can’t say because I’ve never been in that situation, but I do know you would be on pain meds and meds that will make you not remember. He said OK then asked if I wanted to play chair basketball with him. And we did. Because that’s what you do in peds.

The next day was a Duke basketball game [He was a big Duke fan]. He asked me if I would watch it with him, and I said I would with the understanding that if I got paged, I’d have to go.  He said OK.

I got through first rounds, saving him for last, and we did his therapies while watching the game. His breathing was constantly labored and he coughed and sputtered throughout the game. Duke won and after the game he told me he was ready to be intubated because it was just too much of a struggle to breathe. I asked him if he was sure and he said he was. I found the resident and told him what Stephen had said.  He went to talk to him and Stephen called his parents. They came and Stephen was transferred to PICU. I stopped by to see him later that night. He was still awake, not yet intubated, and had his blue, fuzzy Blue Devils blanket on his bed.  

Around 6a, the PICU attending arrived and talked to Stephen’s parents. Stephen said his good-byes–to his parents, his siblings, and to me.  

“I know I can be a pain in the ass.  I know I’m probably not going to survive this, but thank you for not treating me like a kid.”  

What do you say to that?  You’re welcome doesn’t seem appropriate.

My pager went off and I was saved by the bell.  ‘I gotta run but you know you’re awesome, right?’  In typical teenage fashion he said ‘Yeah, I  know.  See you in my dreams.’  My last words to him was ‘Hush your mouth, jail-bait.’

Stephen was right; he didn’t come off the ventilator, and died a few days later.  It sucked, but it’s life.  He knew he had a terminal disease.  He knew that most people with CF as severe as his didn’t survive much into their 20s. He accepted life and a death with grace and dignity.  He may have been just a teenager, but Stephen had a wise soul.

 Some people.  The memory of some people stick with you forever.

 

As an intern, I haven’t found my place in the hospital world yet. I’ve had the chance to work in several different areas and do a lot of different things. I’ve done adult ICU and ER as well as Peds ICU and ER. I’ve even dabbled in research. But by far my most intense and transformative experience was deploying with DMAT–which is disaster medical assistance team. Living in the southeast, most of our disasters are either hurricanes and tornados. Some times both at the same time. Few things are more devastating than losing everything all at once. And that is the unfortunate outcome when it comes to hurricanes and tornados.

A lot of out deployments were support for the National Guard. Fortunately not many were medically difficult. I gave a lot of breathing treatments. Hurricanes and tornadoes stir up a lot of mold and dust which in turn makes breathing more difficult. A lot of people died before reaching us which would have made our job much more medically difficult. We’re always set up as a field hospital with generators and potable water, but when broadly quite literally disappear, the only way in is usually by helicopter.

More difficult was the emotional toll. There was always someone who literally lost everything that they owned and had no resources to start over. The elderly on a fixed income. The family who were already had difficult circumstances. The children who lost a parent or the parent who lost a child. The most haunting memory was seeing some kid’s stuffed bear lying in a puddle. I wondered if the kid would ever get it back or even if the kid was still alive.

Plopping down in a community for a couple weeks an witnessing their most traumatic days will affect me for the rest of my life. It’s hard to find my place in this world as in I know I have the ability to do this job; I don’t always know that I have the mental capacity to endure witnessing others’ suffering. Compounded with the thought of ‘I’m doing my best, but this person still might die’ really gets to me sometimes.

 

This year started with a bang and the hits just kept on coming. Jeremy and I broke up in spectacular fashion. James and I started then ended *something*. My dad died. I graduated school. It’s been A. LOT.

So when I saw an ad in the back of a trade journal looking for *’residents’ * at a large teaching hospital a few hours away, I jumped at the chance to apply. Whether it’s due to a miracle or only my low-self esteem talking, I was accepted as 1 of 10 in the inaugural class of respiratory therapy “interns” with a start date of late August.

I took my licensing exams exactly 3 days after graduation and exactly 10 days after graduating, I worked my first overnight shift as a CRT with me being the only RT on site for the Saturday night shift. Lord help us all.

That Saturday night turned out to be amazing. Nothing bad happened,. No emergent ER needs, My favorite hospitalist was there. I hadn’t told him that I was moving so as we walked out together post shift, this was my chance.

“Why is your car packed up like a homeless person lives there?” Chris joked.

“ummmm, well, I’m moving. Last night was my last shift. I’m driving this morning to my new place, and I start a new job tomorrow at 8am”

“Like in less than 24 hours? Are you insane?” Chris asked.

“Quite possibly. I don’t necessarily want to go, but I need to go. This year has been brutal–you know with my break up, then my dad dying and all that drama, then the other break-up. You have been the only one keeping me sane these last few months. Imagine if I took a local job and ended up working with my ex and his new wife every day. I’m not that much of a masochist. “

“I was kinda hoping you’d work here”

“Well, me too, but they didn’t have a full-time position, and now that I’m not in school, I need to work regular hours– and you know, have a life. Go out. Do things. Maybe even date again. The last two were disastrous, but I don’t have to tell you. You had a front row to that nightmare”

“Maybe you are just looking in the wrong places.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t looking for either of them when they came along. James just happened to be there when the shit hit the wall, and besides, I’ve never done anything like that before, and probably never will again. Dating people you work with is a terrible idea even if it seems like a good idea at the time”

“I guess it’s a good thing that we don’t work together anymore, then” Chris says as he reaches over and gives me the tightest hug I’ve ever received. It seems to last for an eternity, and when he lets go, I feel overwhelmed with emotions. I tell myself ‘do not cry. do not cry”

Chris seems reluctant to let go, but does anyway. I think I see tears at the corner of his eyes. “Wait, before you go, let’s have one last  Dr. Pepper together.”

Chris jogs back into the hospital and quickly emerges with 2 20 oz bottles of Dr. Pepper. We stand in the parking lot drinking them like kids sneaking alcohol. I finish mine and head to my car.

“Drive safe” Chris calls out ” You are going to be an awesome respiratory therapist. I hope our paths cross again.”

I got in my car and pulled away. As I pulled on the interstate, the tears came fast and furious. Thank god for light Sunday AM traffic.

The last thing I saw in my rearview mirror was Chris wiping tears from his eyes.

 

When the inevitable happened, I was taking an exam. I won’t say that I knew the exact moment, but I had a feeling that it *might* happen. I’d even fought with my aunt the night before.

“You should be here tomorrow. Your father will probably die. You will regret not being here if it happens when you aren’t here”

“I won’t, but thanks for trying to make me feel guilt that I don’t have. He wasn’t there for me in life; why should I be there for him in death”

And with that, I stormed out, not even a glance over the shoulder at the soon to be departed.

I may have been daddy’s little girl when I was 5, but that ship had certainly sailed by 15, and at 25, we were strangers. I’d like to think I’m past the ‘it’s all my parents’ fault, but are we ever really over it?

I sat in the back row of the church during the memorial service. My aunt, my dad’s new 24-year old wife, my grandmother, and an assorted cast of loose acquaintances fill the pews of the small church that the service was held in. Next to me was my mom, who divorced my dad when I was a 7. Her husband didn’t come. My college roommate, who I hadn’t seen in a couple years, was on the other side of me, and beside her were two of my professors from school.

My cousin, the minister, gave the eulogy. It was all about how my dad was the best uncle to him and his brothers. And how he used to do things with them… how he was like a second father to them. He talked about how his recent marriage was a ‘new chance at life’. He talked about how he was a changed man by letting a dog in his life–and how that dog never left his side. My cousin the minister opined for nearly 20 minutes about the virtues of his uncle. He just forgot to mention that my father had a daughter.

And that was the moment I knew… maybe it’s for the best that he forgot to mention me.

Everyone else did too.

 

“Did you here about Jeremy?”

I’m once again in the ICU at the large hospital where Jermey works for my clinical day. The absolute last thing I want to hear about in anything Jeremy did or didn’t do. But also, I can say none of this. By some miraculous twist of fate, I think I have escaped the association with Jeremy. Like when people inevitably talk about me, although they don’t realize it, I am the foolish one they are referencing.

My patient is unconscious and ventilated. I’m attempting to draw an ABG to assess the ventilation status of our patient, and well, to practice my ABG skills. They are adequate, but I’m not going to lie, I don’t like hurting people. Even if they are unconscious.

My preceptor for the day is one of the ones engaging in the gossip about Jeremy so I can’t help but hear it.

“No, what has that foolish man done this time?’ my preceptor asks. One of the best things about working with this particular preceptor is the fact that she, also, hates Jeremey. Hate may be a strong word. She says he overestimates his abilities and has an exceedingly high opinion of himself. ‘Lord, give me the confidence of a middling white man’; she tells me this should be my mantra whenever I have self-confidence issues. Which is a lot.

“He and that girl from radiology eloped. On April Fools Day.”

“For real? What is her name anyway?”

“Rachel. Isn’t she like 20 or something?”

“I heard they had only been dating a couple of months”

“Wasn’t he dating someone else though, like recently? I never heard that girl’s name, but I’m pretty sure she worked here. You know, the one where his ex tried to kill the girl”

The gossip about Jeremy and Rachel continue, but I hear none of it. After all, what should I chime in. Hi. I’m the one you’re talking about, it’s me. I absolutely can say none of that so I keep my mouth closed. After all, I have a needle in someone else’s arm and can confirm that is one of the worst ways to hear about your recent ex’s elopement.

At least I was sitting down.

Maybe now people will stop talking about me without really talking about me. But how does one move on so quickly? I’m barely hanging on to my sanity, and Jeremy is marrying some girl from radiology.

I am hating my life right now.

 

I went home with James. His apartment is right across the street from the restaurant so it’s convenient.

I got in the shower and washed all the blood away. Somehow it had gotten in my hair. I got out of the shower and James had given me a t-shirt to wear. Everything else was destroyed anyway.

I came out of the bathroom and James had really stepped things up. He had cooked a meal and poured out a glass of wine. James is older than me, but sexy as hell and clearly knows his way around the kitchen. I cut into the chicken piccata he’d whipped up in the time I was in the shower. It was delicious.

“So that’s the guy you’ve been dating. The one who just stood around while you saved his ex’s life.”

“Yea, I didn’t see that coming. He always seems so sure of himself in the hospital. Like when the code is called, he shows up and takes over, acting like an air traffic controller. I never would have imagine he’d freeze like that”

“You know we will have to press charges against his ex. At minimum, property destruction. I hope it doesn’t cause you any problems.”

“Why should it? *I* didn’t destroy property. Thanks for dinner; it was amazing. I am exhausted”.

“Go sleep in my bed. I’m going to clean up and wind down. Don’t worry, I’ll behave. Besides, when we have sex, you’re going to want to remember it. And I’m not sure you’re going to remember a lot about tonight”

****** *********** ************ *********** ************ **********

One month later

My dad is in the hospital. Again. Even more awkward it’s the hospital where Jeremy works and I do my clinicals. It’s awkward telling my instructors that under no circumstances do I want any of my classmates working with him.

It’s even more awkward seeing Jeremy.

A relationship kinda dies when the police get involved. As in there was a restraining order. And a court case. And involuntary commitment to a psychiatric hospital. Not many romances can survive that.

Oh and the fact I saw him with someone else. When he cancelled a date with me.

I feel like I’ve been exiled. Banished to the far reaches of humanity where few dare to tread.

***** ****** ******* ******** ********* ******** ************

Two week after that

“Are you OK?” Chris asks me.

“I am not even remotely OK. In span of a month, my now ex’s ex girlfriend tried to kill me,  the guy I’ve been dating for a year  just decided go date someone else without telling me.. My dad is dying and I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking my boss at the restaurant just to have someone to hold me when I fall apart. I can’t deal with everything alone, yet, I keep pushing people away. It’s like I’m in a permanent state of exile.”

“I’m still here.”

“I mean not really. I see you two days every other week… If that. I don’t have your number. You don’t have mine. If I didn’t show up, you’d never know what happened. Unless you listened to the rumor mill-which you say you don’t, but you still seemed to know an awful lot about Jeremy. And how that went up in flames… You knew how my dad was doing before I even said anything. I literally had someone try to kill me and you never…”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t know how. Or what to say. I still don’t.”

The dam finally bursts

“yea, well, no one else does either. My dad is dying. Slowly. School is dragging on. I spend every waking moment in a hospital either working in one, going to school in one, or visiting in one. I’m literally sleeping on the floor in waiting rooms. I’m exhausted all the time. I barely have time to eat. I hear people whispering about me here, Main, and the restaurant. People who don’t even know me are talking about me. IN FRONT OF ME.

‘Even at the restaurant, I’ll have people say ‘Were you working here when that incident occurred?’ The incident! Someone who I didn’t even know existed literally tried to murder me, and it’s gossip. For the whole town. I even tried to save the one that tried to kill me. You can’t imagine what I’ve heard. What people have said when they didn’t know they were talking to me.

‘It’s literal hell on Earth, and every day I don’t know how I get through the day, and I do only to do it all again the next day. I’m up for ICU rounds at 5a, then I either go to class or change clothes and learn in the same ICU that my dad is a patient in. Then I study a little and go to work either here or at the restaurant. If I’m at the restaurant, then I sleep at James’s place. Only to get up and do it all over again. With the locations reversed. And no one asks how I am. Or offers to help. Or anything. But something is always wrong. And I don’t know how much more I can handle before I become the knife wielding protagonist in someone else’s story.”

And with that I walked away.

Chris had nothing to say anyway.

 

I’m in my last 6 month of school. Sometimes it’s stressful. We are almost always in one of the ICUs or sometimes the ER so our patients are never really ‘well’. I still pick up shifts at the satellite hospital where Chris works. That pace is a lot slower, but I’m also a lot more independent there.

I’ve never really mentioned my other job, but I’ve been working at the restaurant since before I started school. I’m a hostess/bartender and train new employees. It’s a fun job and I get heavily discounted food and bartending is fun. It definitely puts into things into perspective because at the end of a stressful night at the restaurant everyone is always still alive.

A couple shifts ago, Jeremy’s ex showed up to the restaurant. She was yelling! YELLING at me, saying that she was going to commit suicide because she has nothing to live for now that I’ve taken Jeremy away from her. Y’all, I didn’t know this woman existed and she shows up at my job calling me every sort of insult one could come up with. It got so bad the General Manager came out and told the woman that if she didn’t calm down, he would call the police on her.

Meanwhile, I texted Jeremy to tell him his crazy ex was at the restaurant and that I wasn’t going to put up with this treatment. James had me go to the back of the house to help diffuse the tension, but to no avail. Susan kept yelling. And threatening me.

About 5 minutes later, Jeremy shows up, and tries to calm Susan down. She continued to hurl threats at me, and starts to pick up food and plates off of diners’ table and throw them at the glass window. People started yelling. I’m sure someone called the cops.

Susan picked up a steak knife off of one of the tables and slashed her own throat. People screamed. I ran out from behind the window, grabbing cloth napkins on my way to her. I get to her and hold pressure at her neck. She’s fighting me the whole time. Jeremy is standing around being completely useless. The cops arrive and call for an ambulance. They help subdue Susan. Meanwhile, I’m still holding pressure. The ambulance arrives, takes over and wheels Susan out. I look down and realize I’m covered in blood. It’s 8p on a Saturday night. The restaurant should be packed; meanwhile, we are having to close because it’s an active crime scene.

The police question me. And Jeremy. And some of the dinner guests. By 10p, I am exhausted. And covered in blood. Jeremy is a mess; mentally and physically. The the police finally let us go they turn to me and say, “do you have anywhere you can stay tonight. I don’t think you should be alone. “

James tells them that I am staying with him and can be reached at his number. Jeremy says nothing,

I walk out with James’ jacket over my shoulders wondering what the fuck just happened and feeling quite certain that everything with Jeremy has exploded like a powder keg on the 4th of July.