I don’t know you. I don’t know if you like chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Or that you like to garden. I don’t know that you are best friends with your neighbors. I don’t know that you used to be the best dancer or that you make the best spaghetti. I don’t know that you love to have your hair rubbed or that you hate the smell of lavender. I don’t even know what your voice sounds like…
But I do know you. I know exactly what your body likes. I know that when we turn you to your left side, your blood pressure seems to improve. I know that your oxygen saturations will go down when there is no one in the room. I know that you are incredibly sensitive to Levophed. I have watched you closely enough, that I know when you are in pain, although you cannot voice it to me.
The rhythmic humming and breathing of your ventilator lulls me deep into my thoughts. In. Out. In. Out. You made it another day in the ICU. My shift is almost over. I can hear the chatter of the day shift team walking in. Turning on all of the lights. I hate the lights. You do too. Will you be here when I come back tonight? Or will you finally succumb to this battle we both have been fighting.
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