Got to slip on some shoes. They're already tied, great! Glance at the clock, no time to waste.
Step, step, step…
The door whips open and slams shut—BAM! I careen down a concrete path, dodging the bystanders, these oblivious obstacles in my way. An icy wind whips wildly against my face. Tears dribble down my cheek. Look down, look down; it's more comfortable that way.
Crunch, crunch, crunch…
The snow gives way underfoot, yielding to my stomping stride. I kick through a miniature wall of the white stuff piled high on the curb. Almost there. I slide through the door and squeeze into the elevator with not a minute to spare. I stand there, a tree in a square forest of facelessness, the silence a tonal whiplash to the windy orchestra of mere moments ago. Then the coughs and the sniffles detonate around me.
Ding, ding, ding…
The elevator shrieks with each passing floor… the doors slide open. I slither through the people-forest and onto the ward. Right on time to tune in to sign out, snatch a fresh patient list, and rush to the room at the top. I stand at the foot of the bed. Let's get to work. Name, interval history, focused physical exam, labs, imaging, consultants, plan for the day, repeat. Blank spaces now overflowing with numbers, tortured letters twisted into arcane abbreviations, the data pours out of the page.
Data, data, data…
That's all it is. The words on the page stare at me, burning a hole in my soul. Why did I come here? To collect data? Well, yes, on that day, I did. But what about back then? I vividly recall the first patients I had the privilege to meet. At that time, the ink on a page and pixels on a screen spelled a person's name, not just a mere identifier. My only goal was to connect with them. I didn't yet know enough to chunk our conversation into data, to only think of their words in terms of symptoms and syndromes. Maybe that was a good thing, in a way?
Bare, bare, bare…
That's how I used to feel, as a stranger in a strange environment, back when I couldn't understand the acronyms or knew all the implications of a bloody cough. The only field to which I could lay claim of expertise was the simple act of being. After all, I had been my whole life. And so, crouching at the side of a hospital bed, I could only be. I could be with a person's struggle, their pain, and their discomfort, but also their motivations, their hopes, their hobbies. I could learn the life behind the label adorning their wrist.
Stab, stab, stab…
That's how it felt to extend myself to a person in pain, to make a connection. We were two hedgehogs attempting to close the distance despite our sharp quills. This person was a daughter, a son, a father, or a mother. This person could be my cousin or my brother. This person was a human. As my head filled to bursting with knowledge, I realized that knowledge was not enough. We've done everything they would have wanted; let us allow them to die with dignity. And so, their Titanic, carrying aboard their stories of epic struggles and triumphs along their gigantic Life’s Ocean, slammed into Death’s Iceberg and plummeted beneath the frigid water.
Again, again, again…
This scene played on repeat. Enough ships sank to recapitulate the destruction of Spain's armada or Kublai Khan's fleet. All the while, I sat at the edge of a nearby cliff, only able to watch. But was that indeed all that I could do? That's how it felt, anyway. I needed to escape, forget this scenery, and isolate myself in a world of data…
Beep, beep, beep…
The nearby cardiac monitor calls me back to reality. I contemplate the names on my list, some ships that might sink. I have a duty to foster safe passage and must work hard to that end. But after all efforts are exhausted, just the simple act of being could be enough. I can barely imagine the feelings that must take root, knot, and twist while sailing Stygian waters. To connect to a person entails suffering scratches from those thorny brambles, but some discomfort can no longer deter me. To be a charitable Charon, beneficent to the bitter end, I must emerge from an intellectual cocoon, vulnerable yet victorious over the fears that seem quaint compared to the life-or-death struggle playing out before me.
…
It's time to get going. I slip on shoes, tie them tight, and stride into the world. A delicate, playful breeze dances about the verdant trees that line the sidewalk. I look ahead as I navigate through a sea of faces, all bound for some destination, sailing through their lives. Someday, I may hail them and drift beside their wake. We will be two hedgehog captains, connecting despite our quills.