August 4th, 2004

White Coat

First night on call...

"Wear normal clothes," he says to me. "I'll show you where to find scrubs when you get here."
Call rooms are on the second floor. Call rooms are always on the second floor, it seems. It's strange. The sky outside is a dull and sullen grey, threatening, overbearing. I have missed the sunset, sometime in the rush of ER call (chest pain, rule-out MI) and grabbing a bite to eat (grill, pasta bar, salad bar, takeyourpick) the sun has set and left behind white streetlamps reflecting off of grey roofs into a grey and featureless sky.

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S and J just walked down the hall - probably another admission, our second tonight of a potential 13 - and stopped off to ask me if I was going to spend all day and all night on the computer. I'm thinking I should do some reading up on chest pain, so I can sound smart in the morning.

It is black out, now, night as flat and featureless as the clouded evening had been. Arc lamps bleach the branches of trees, to my right the TV continues political inanity and horror tales of war, the screen in front of me holds its appeal only because on the other end of an ephemeral stream of electrons my Angel is giving up his evening to keep me company. Perhaps, O Best Beloved, I should free him as well and go back to my room.

Call nights, when slow, are so very very long. When busy, they are all too short.
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