Romance in Medical Residency

My illicit love discovered

I shushed sleep’s seductions.

He was a man, according to German grammar, and we had only a distant relationship.

He wanted me, though, every minute of the night and most of the waking day. He begged me to lie down and unite with him.

Over and over, I had to tell him no. Medicine was my only love, and I wouldn’t abandon it until it killed me.

But he became irresistible.

One morning at six-thirty, I’d been awake in the pediatric ward since the same time the day before. Twenty-four hours down, six more until I could go home.

My mind and will focused on paying attention to every sick kid — my sluggish brain resisted.

At a long table, all of us gathered to present patients and discuss how to proceed. My eyes fluttered during other doctors’ descriptions of diarrhea from colitis, and pain from sickle cell anemia.

When it came to my turn, everyone could see I’d eloped with sleep. Mind in a dream, body slumped in the chair.

That was a very brief love affair.