1:11am and counting

I am working my first night at el hospital. 6 hours down. 6 to go.

It is super quite on the floor tonight - although every bed is packed with people.

Today's floor is a diverse group - a 26 year old psychotic female who has been gently swaying for the past hour, holding a cup of water, stating that "it gives me balance" when I dare try to remove it - a dying man, with his family, finally sleeping tonight - a 31 year olf Brazilian man, readmitted for a surgery that shouldn't land him in the hospital another time, unable to sleep, perhaps thinking about his adorable baby that visited this evening - an Ethiopian father of three recovering from surgery after a bad break of his wrist, scared to be alone, shrouded by blankets to block out the light he refuses to let me turn off - and many more, slumbering, staring at the ceiling - medicated to fight their pain - wanting sleep - wanting to go home.

Tonight each story intrigues me. Each person brings with them to the hospital such a different perspective and reason. Why is my 26 year old friend in such a state? Some suspect a recent trauma, some suspect a tissue disorder, no one knows, and her words, seemingly plucked from her brain in random order, barely suggest a story and are anything but trustworthy.

In some way tonight, however, her words start making sense, and remind me of how often I too am simply pulling thoughts out of my spinning brain to verbalize. She, a grad student, my age, reminds me of how close we all are to such a line between sense and nonsense. How we only see the world through our own unique eyes, and no one sees it in quite the same way we do.