Day 8 – 1 August 2017

Afternoon
The day started out easy and fruitful: walked the dogs for 1.85 miles at 06:00; picked up the car from the body shop at 07:30; grabbed fancy tea before my fitness class; and showed up to said fitness class at 08:30. I even managed to bicycle to work. Check, check, check.

However, four hours later the heaviness of the day weighs on me. My patients are not well – of course they are not well, or they would not be here. However, the last three weeks have been very difficult. It is not spring, when weather fluctuations stir the contradicting moods of my bipolar patients. It is summer – “bright, easy summer”. In this City, patients at intake talk about their mood and how it worsens in the dark, cold winter. I am curious, curious as to why patients are sicker now. The rain and air now rumbling outside match the air in my office: wet and heavy from tears and pain. I cannot shake what I have experienced during the past few hours. It weighs on my heart and mind. I worry that things will not get better quickly enough for some of my patients or – if and when they do – they will have to suffer great losses to affect the necessary changes. It is awful either way.

I think of The Hub, staring at black screens of code and solving problems. I could telephone him, say that it’s been a rough afternoon. He would reply and say the same. It’s true, is it not? His work is difficult, managing the expectations of developers, project managers and his own manager. I could say, “I am worried about my patients’ lives”, trying to convey the weight of the day, but that is not news to him. He knows this about me – that I care, that I worry.

I have progress notes to write, but the motivation that spurred me forward in the morning has been transmuted by my patients. I am lethargic, fatigued and ready to quit. This is the challenge of empathy – understanding what is mine and what is theirs. At moments like these, I think of my friend W and her history of just getting in her car and driving, driving. Silence, freedom, space.

My morning plans with O tomorrow for a walk and tea have been dashed. I need to fit in a patient. It’s the right thing to do – we don’t get to decide when symptoms worsen – AND I am disappointed. I just want to crawl into a ball on the sofa in my office and hate the universe for so much suffering.

“Good time for a change
See, the luck I’ve had
Can make a good man
Turn bad

“So please please, please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

“Haven’t had a dream in a long time
See, the life I’ve had
Can make a good man bad

“So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time”

– The Smiths

Evening
Again, a difficult session. My patient’s anxiety filled me, and I could barely sit still. I felt their discomfort, the constant agitation of their body. I feel so relieved at the end of the session when I can stand up and move, and I wonder how they too literally sit with it. My last session has canceled, and I can go home. All three rings on my Apple Watch are closed, and I decide not to bicycle home. I have nothing left. I am depleted.

Night
The pulled pork from the Sous Vide preparation tastes amazing. I know this, but I cannot taste. It is one of those nights when nothing will satisfy. I know this, but I don’t. I have some cookies, chocolate-covered almonds. Nothing satisfies. Nothing will. I know this, but I don’t. I stare at the television, not caring what is on. I just want hours to pass until my body matches my consciousness.

I lie in bed and open the book. I cannot recall what I last read, where I am in the story. I read, and sleep comes fast – well before my bedtime.

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