Two eye patients, allergic and arc-welding (whoops, don't arc like that without eye protection), asthma, chest pain (and in this case, chest pain means "I think I'm pregnant"), and one lovely girl with a kidney infection whose fiance referred to her as "my woman" and asked me if there were any restrictions on what she could do when she got home. Whatever she's comfortable with. I could see him planning to take advantage of her toradol-induced analgesia as I left the room.
A quiet night, all in all, O Best Beloved. I should not be tired; I woke up at 5 PM after sleeping all day. I think I needed it. I have played with babies, looked at eyes through a blue light, explained patiently that yes, a 2.5 centimeter laceration on your finger is a good reason to come to the ED, and laughed politely with attempts at humour through pain.
I need more patients; I will not wish for them. The ER staff is enjoying the silence, I think. I also need coffee. What is in the coffee machine tastes of too much time being heated, papery and disgusting. Ice water is better than that paper taste.
Staff likes the way I suture. We are waiting for a young woman assaulted with a brick to return from CT scanner, when he will teach me the digital block and how to sew up the inside of a lip. "It is very forgiving tissue."
At three o'clock in the morning, it had better be.