Sometimes, there’s no time to feel.

Fishbone labs, diet orders,

pager beeps with a high blood pressure.

Pre-rounds, actual rounds, pager beeps again.

This time, it’s a low blood pressure.

Rapid response turns into

a full-blown code blue. Chest compressions.

I find myself hauling coolers of blood from the blood bank.

We manage to save him.

For now.

I call his wife.

She’s not allowed in the hospital,

but we will allow her in today.

I have to write three separate notes about the incident.

None of them describe how my patient’s wife wailed in my ear on the phone.

I eat lunch in front of my computer.

Click through orders and discharge summaries, ask questions to busy consultants.

I call and update other patients’ family members.

They are also not allowed

to see their loved ones in the hospital.

It’s my long day,

but I am lucky to sign out on time.

That night, I watch TV

over a bowl of leftover takeout.

My mind is slow and numb.

A sappy commercial about dog food makes me cry.

For the first time, I have time

to feel.