Dispatches from the Other Side of my Eyelids.

I love the word "dispatches." Everytime I think of it, I think of letters written with a quill and a pot of ink, bound together with a piece of twine, placed lovingly into a leather saddle, and riding away on horseback with a messenger who understands that its contents include the most precious thoughts of their sender. I would have named my blog something that includes the word "dispatch," but I'd already named it "A Caffeinated Place." After a line in an Our Lady Peace song. Which kicks ass. Maybe next time, dispatches.

In other news, I haven't been to sleep in a long time. Like, I woke up on November 8th at 6 AM, and now it's 1 PM on the 9th long. That kind of length that makes you think that your life
a. may not exist
b. is definitely not worth living with this many call days and
c. is running in syndication on God's version of Comedy Central. (Along with Colbert Report...because God knows that Steven Colbert is the funniest guy on the planet. He made him that way.)

I spent the night on a neurointensive care unit...taking care of a patient. Overheard?
50 yr. old man with head injury singing alone in his room: "Save a horse, ride a cowboy!"
60 yr. old man with head injury while nurse emptied his bedside urine: "You ain't the police, is ya?"
Male nurse taking care of a 20 yr old guy with a ventriculostomy* :"Dude...you just can't rock a ventric."

I think the funniest thing about last night, was people-watching in the ICU. "Squeeze my fingers!" "John, grab my boob! I know you want to!" or the unforgettable "You can't have any Bugles, Mr. Johnson! You're having surgery!" But in the room in front of me, there was a young guy. Probably 20 something. And he was recovering from some sort of head injury...was obeying commands, but couldn't talk or anything. Could smile just a bit. The doctor would come by and ask him to perform simple commands, and he wouldn't do it. The nurse would ask, and he'd do his strained half-smile, and lift his arms. Or squeeze fingers. Or stay away from Bugles. As she walked around his room, changing blankets, drawing labs, even emptying catheters, his eyes always followed her. He'd move his head if it meant he could have a longer glimpse of her.

It made me think of my parents. They met when my mother was taking care of my father in an SICU. She was the nurse, he was the patient, it was true love. They never even went on a date before marrying. And they've been together 24 years. It made me think that I could be witnessing the beginning of something amazing. She may not have noticed the way he drank her in with his eyes...he may not have realized that she went home every night and prayed he'd be there the next day. But maybe they'd both realize it before it was too late.

I think my father does the best job of relaying how he truly felt at the time that he realized his nurse was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

"Samantha, I was on a lot of morphine."

Ahh....c'est l'amour.

Sweet dreams ;)

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*Where they drain fluid through a hole in your head to relieve intracranial pressure and prevent progression to brain death. You know that thing on tires where you put the air in? It looks like one of those..except clear plastic...and with a tube coming out of it. Not sexy.