Tales From the Trenches

Aimee's Perspective:  

Clayton staggered in the door around 8AM, Sunday morning, after doing who-knows-what the past 24 hours.  I say staggered, because he seemed a little on the tipsy side.  Since I had been more on top of things than usual, a steaming-hot breakfast of pancakes, bacon and fruit were waiting on the table.  The kids squealed with delight that Dad was joining them for the meal, but then had to fight him for the last of the bacon.  The mealtime conversation centered around gunshot wounds and Clayton apologizing for wearing bloody clothes home.  Luke made sure to point out how large his last bowel-movement was, and Audrey threw handfuls of sticky food all over the floor and walls for the duration of the time.  After scarfing down all the breakfast food, Clay headed straight for the fridge.  I innocently asked, "What are you looking for?  You can't possibly still be hungry!"  Clay's reply:  "I'm not sure.  I guess I should stop eating and go to bed."  With that, he headed up the stairs, shedding blood-stained articles of clothing along the way.  I followed him upstairs, quickly trying to get my things out of the room so that he could sleep in peace.  The kids followed me upstairs, ready for more action.  Before I knew it, pretend eggs, cauliflower, bread, and strawberries surrounded Clay in the bed, and sticky fingers probed him in the face, wondering why his eyes were closing at this time in the morning.  I herded them out of the room, and was grateful that the big mound in the bed can usually sleep through a natural disaster.  If I wasn't completely sure my husband was a medical resident, I would wonder what in the world he had been up to!

Clayton's Perspective:

Not remembering how I just got myself and the car safely to my street, I staggered into the house on Sunday morning.  Boy, was it great to be home.  After some quick grub, I could finally collapse into bed.  Being extremely lucky this morning, Aimee already had breakfast on the table.   Luke was excited to tell me all about his adventures in the bathroom, but I couldn't seem to focus on anything but my plate.  If I wasn't completely sure I hadn't touched any alcohol, I would swear I was drunk.  Scientific studies have shown that sleep-depravation can do that to you.  Luckily for my 7AM patient, I had just enough focus left to carefully insert that needle near his spine.  "Aim, you know how I was totally bored all day because of the snowstorm?  As soon as I hung up the phone after talking to you at 7PM, I was going non-stop the whole night.  An 18-year-old kid came in with 6 gunshot wounds.  It was pretty crazy, but we saved him.  The gang was going for his friend, but he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Luke, that is why you need to pick your friends carefully.  I'm serious...  Anyway, maybe we can tell him when he's a little bit older."  Just then, I noticed the streaks of blood all over my clothes.  "Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have come home in these scrubs.  Nobody touch me.  I just wasn't thinking very clearly when I left the hospital."  The next thing I knew, I was staring into the open fridge, leaning on the door.  Aimee asked me what I was doing, and I realized I had no idea.  I just feel like eating and eating and eating when I come home.  I never got a break to eat anything all night.  "I'm not sure.  I guess I should stop eating and go to bed."  Aaaahhhh, bed.  Where was my bed?  I trudged up the stairs and collapsed into a big pile of blankets on the bed.  Now that was just what I needed.   ...noises...  ...sticky fingers...  ...can't stay...  ... awake...