Saturday, July 3, 2010


i start work at the hospital. every day i go there and sit and walk and look at people's bones from 3:30 to midnight.

the days blur, but at the time they seem different from each other.

day 1: i learn that it’s not a good idea to step on the totally gorgeous baby doctor’s toes (even if it did mean he smiled at me) and what most people learn at age 5 – that the world is bad and most people are not very nice.

day 2: i learn how to change a patient’s oxygen, run hospital beds into walls and that second year students can only boss first year students if they actually know more.

day 3: i learn that midnight comes much slower when you are sitting down, that hospitals are not always busy and that the young security guard in the front office is a flirt (but i don't mind).

day 4: i learn that some babies are born so tiny that you can almost see through their blue-grey skin and that they can break if you just look at them.

day 5: i learn not to wear my blue bracelet, to put on yellow infection gowns and gloves and masks, and that i must not cringe when i see a patient with serious head injuries on the table in the resuscitation room.

day 6: i learn that there is a ghost in the elevator shaft on the ground floor. for some reason this realisation does not scare me.

day 7: i learn just how fast you have to run for a cup when someone says, "i'm going to be sick."

at the end of the week i learn that i am glad to be alive.

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