next door

7am and night shift lets us know the patient in room 8 is getting sicker by the hour.
he's probably going to code on our shift.
we all tell his nurse to call us when she needs us.
until then, we'll go about our day with our own patients.

first stop for me - rosie. i love this woman. she is bossy and honest and pissed off that she's here. i find her awake early, as usual, out of bed and reading the paper.
'gimme a clue, i'm bored' she said. she knows i sometimes carry the day's crossword puzzle in my pocket.
'5 letter word for caustic - i think it starts with A'
'hmmmm, i'll have to think about that...hey what happened to the guy next door last night - the nurses were in there all night - i couldn't sleep at all.'
'he has gotten really sick, really quick. you know i can't tell you much more than that.'
'i know. it's just really hard to listen to that all night and then just wonder if i'm next'
just as i start to assure her that she's not next, i get overhead paged to another room.
'hey! acrid!', she calls out as i'm pulling the door shut.
check the wadded up piece of paper in my pocket. yep. five letters. starts with A. nice one.

by 10am, there is a constant stream of people in and out of room 8...respiratory therapists, pulmonary doctors...the oncology team. his nurse and i are getting him re-situated after sitting him up for an x-ray. we hear some very strange sounds coming from rosie's room.
by the time i get there, she has rearranged all the furniture in the room. the bed is now against the wall with the window. i can't emphasize how much this really doesn't work in a hospital.
'what!?', she asks as if it isn't obvious
'i've just never had someone move their bed, that's all. you know it can't stay there...right?'
'well i just can't listen to that racket next door. i feel like i'm eavesdropping on someone's personal disaster'
'i know, it's loud...and scary. we will figure something out, but i need to put your bed back'
'i'll do it...you go work'
'rosie, you have no platelets...i'll do it.'
'oh right. yeah. you do it'.

one of my kindhearted colleagues donates her portable CD player, and delivers it to rosie.
she pulls a Garth Brooks CD out of nowhere...puts on her headphones and zones out...smiling. at some point in the day, i give her the puzzle to work by herself. she quizzes me and barks out clues whenever i come in to hang antibiotics. she hits the nurse button a couple of times to let me know how well she is doing on the puzzle without my help. she knows she makes me laugh.

it's 9 hours later and the man next door is on a ventilator now. his sobbing family members line the hallway. all of the nurses are dragging. it's been a long, draining day. we know this patient and family well. we have celebrated with them in happier times. now all of us are having a little trouble making eye contact. we, at least, get to go home. they will live here until he improves or dies.

'have you been crying?...why is everyone crying?...did he die?', asks rosie starting on her dinner tray, which she refers to as 'one star room service'.
'no, i haven't and no, he didn't, but he may...how's the soup?'
'acrid', she said, lips smiling around her spoon.
my inner nerd is greatly pleased by this little bit of literary symmetry in my day.
i don't know what it is about this woman, but i know she has buoyed me somehow today and i feel grateful. why does it feel like she has taken care of me?

i know she is dreading the night...afraid of hearing other people's suffering.
i know she's going to plead with the night nurse to change rooms - but we have none empty.
a friend brought her earplugs. i hope it helps.
as i go to leave, i want to say thank you...but that sounds weird.
so i just say good night instead.
see you in the morning.