I sat transfixed reading the email from a friend. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Finally my wife broke into my thoughts. “What are you doing? I’ve been calling you for ten minutes. And when I find you, you’re staring at the computer, shaking your head and mumbling.”
Josiah Yoder often came to our Ohio emergency department straight from the fields, still wearing boots caked with mud and manure. He wore sturdy black pants and suspenders over his blue shirt, which always showed signs of sweat and heavy wear. His face was mostly obscured, hidden as it was behind a thick, full beard and a wide-brimmed black hat. He was so quiet that we often overlooked him in the waiting room. But everyone knew him, and as soon as they saw him waiting he was escorted back to one of the cardiac rooms.
A sense of sadness and doom struck me as I entered the room.
78-year-old female, chief complaint: sent in by home health nurse. “One
of those,” I thought. Alone, elderly, contractures of both left
extremities, vitals normal, no dyspnea, well dressed and groomed. No
suitcase sign. Awake and in no distress, but hasn’t made eye contact
“Isn’t it about time you started back to work in the ER?” my wife asked as she walked by my desk. I was working quietly on the computer. Well, OK. I was just fiddling around on Facebook. But I wasn’t bothering her, was I?
I have a confession to make. I love my job. I’m often afraid to admit this out loud. I look forward to going to work in the ER and miss it when I’m away...
I want my time here to mean something. But it seems like I spend a lot of time in the ‘horizontal time accelerator’, my bed. The truth is I do a lot of nothing. I just end up killing time.
“When are these kids ever gonna wise up?” asked Ellen, the older charge nurse, as she shook her head in frustration. “This is the third young single girl tonight that I’ve treated that is pregnant..."
Enjoy this Night Shift from the EPM archives
When you are a long way from home, there is nothing that cheers you up like getting a package.
CDR Mark Plaster, MC, USNR writes from Iraq