Poem: Day One: ICU on Call

Extremely unpolished, but fresh in my head.
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Day One: ICU on Call

Feet hurt, coat heavy
pockets sag, pens strewn
checkboxes and papers folded
in all manners of origami.
I sit to write and
an alarm goes off; a beeping pager;
a call with new labs; a family;
a nurse tapping my shoulder
casting thoughts
across the water.

Blue drape, ultrasound shadows
gloves of a second skin
and a needle the size of a pen.
Surprised I don't tremble,
afraid forehead droplets
might fall onto the field.

Headache means something new now.
Fishing weights thrust upon my eyelids
a ball and chain I heft
as I run to room five.

A vet asks me to cut his hair.
He is joking. I don't get it.

As long as I'm standing
I won't fall over. I lean
on the portable computers
and shift weight from side to side
wiggle my toes
hide a yawn behind the monitor.

Someone sick comes in.
It's like I'd just woken up.
I have palpitations. I should sit
but instead I rush in
before noticing
contact precaution signs.
I avoid the nurse's glare.

You can tell which ones are gonna make it
and which ones won't almost on arrival,
but the sadness doesn't hit
until I'm the cot, forgetting I still have my shoes on.
I kick them off, then cry
thinking of a man who walked into the hospital
and will never walk out
but before I wipe my face I'm gone.

Cradle in the fetal position
one hand clasping a pager
the other around a cell phone
like an infant's rattle.

Halfway through the twenty minutes
I'm cold, but I don't have time
to reach down and pull up the blanket.

The screech of the pager goes off
and I fumble for my shoes; why'd I
kick them off anyway? Out the darkness
squinting my way down the hall
stethoscope like a squid around my neck.

You'd think more people would quit by now
but that thought never enters my head.