Valentine's Day

Are you ever so tired after a shift that your skin itches and burns when you're done, as if you're re-inhabiting yourself? Is this what junkies feel like?

I've been up since 4am. I drove to the city for clinicals. Then I drove back. Jay was supposed to drive me, but he was sick this morning. Yesterday, I worked part of a shift for a coworker, bought presents for my mother (wrapped and delivered) had the worst therapy session with my daughter we've ever had, and shopped, cooked and hosted a dinner party. We had fish soup--which is a lot better than it sounds--with cod and scallops and organic cream and wine and tomatoes and root vegetables. It's Lilly's favorite. Oh, yes, and I worked out. Then I got to listen to Jay cough and snore and toss and turn all night. I must have gone to sleep, because I suddenly woke up and realized the bed was empty and the house was freezing. He'd removed himself to the spare room. His house gets so cold. I know I'm on the grid and a slave to AmerenUE, but, Christ, it's nice to turn on a switch and have the house simply warm up...He was funny last night. A little tipsy, and feverish and miserable. He'd suddenly hug me, waking me up, and mutter, "I love you, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful." Which was nice, but a little disconcerting, since he's usually all Clint Eastwood. I'm not sure how to handle all this obvious affection. I know. I'll cheat on him!
Just kidding.
I worked Valentine's Day and I had this patient, a little old lady who'd just been diagnosed with pancreated cancer. Her husband came to visit her. He was tiny and bent and had thick glasses that made his eyes look like a kewpie dolls. He wore a red cashmere sweater vest. He brought her a pair of stuffed turtledoves (stuffed animals--like toys--not taxidermy) and when you knocked them together they wolf-whistled.
"I'm gonna give my girl a valentine's day smooch!" he announced in this adorable little-old man way. "Pucker up!" He said, which she did, obligingly. Joseph, our tech--18--and I exchanged 'aren't they cute' glances. But then they really started going at it. I think the word might be "glomming." Joseph and I looked at each other again and left the room.
"I was going to say 'get a room'" he said, "but I guess they already have one."
"At least they're married."
"Yuck."

You know, sometimes my inner 11 year-old kicks in and I just think all this boy girl stuff is just gross.

He leaves and we watch the pair figure skating short program. The Chinese couple--the ones who eventually took the gold--bring us both to tears. "I don't even like figure skating!" she says. It's not a bad day. She likes to be waited on, but she's pretty fun. And I have a thing for little old ladies.

Towards the end of my shift, my little old lady asks me: "Haley, are you anxious?"

For once I get it that she's anxious.

"No. Not particularly. Are you?"

"Can you come sit down over here by the bed for a second?"

"Of course." I sit.

"Now, let me tell you what I'm thinking," she says, taking my hand, and looking straight at me. "I'm thinking that this is probably it. You know what I mean?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think that this pancreatic thing is IT. I think that this is how I die. Is this IT? I mean you've seen a lot of things. What do you think?"

Oh, you think it's going to be an easy day, and then they nail you.

I find it impossible to answer her directly. "This is bad." I say, nodding.

"I'm so scared."

We hold hands, and watch the skaters on tv glide on to the ice.

That's my 1/2 hour.