The meaning of it.

Sometimes, I honestly think I'm not really cut out for hospital work. I do not have enough empathy, sympathy, all the "-thy"s in the world to cope with the world of the sick. But I am in this business and I guess that I have to make it count and make it work, perhaps.

 

So many people are sick everyday. So many people come in, get treated, go out walking or in a bodybag. And then I move on to the next one.

 

Sometimes, I wish I can become desensitized to some of the things I hear. Or see. Or smell. That I can just put them out of my mind with a snap of the fingers, as if people could appear and disappear like magic.

 

But no, they can't. The reality is that they are all too real. With too many problems.

 

Acute renal failure, chronic heart failure, myocardial infarctions, bowel cancer, malaena, haemoptysis, leptospirosis, pyrexia, pneumonia, underwater seal drains, confusion, dementia, personality disorders. They just keep flying in my face and I feel as though I'm some kind of clerk, sorting things out into different boxes and trying to place them all in the right spots in the right order and time and honestly? 24 hours is just a little too short, God. Honestly. I can stay back and work more but its unpaid and unappreciated and after all, I guess what really matters is that they get home and they get home safe, isn't it?

 

What does it matter? What does it matter that I don't like my job and perhaps, its bloody obvious that I don't like it but I do it for the bills or for my dance addictions or for the fact that one day, I can discard the stethoscope and uniform and the names of drugs and muscles and wheelchairs and mobility aids and referral forms and instead, put on a shirt, a pair of trousers, and lace on my dancing shoes. Or decadently don my first tailcoat suit, lace up the patent shoelaces and head off to my who-cares-how-many-I've-done dance competition.

 

DanceMentor mentions that a new tailored tailcoat suit costs about a cool $1500. I'm thinking, "That's exactly how much I have in my account at the moment, not counting my savings or my loan repayments. Ah, who cares, I'm just going to starve anyway.

 

Its interesting, really. This place. Coming to work and treating the ill and leaving. Some are grateful for the assistance. Some just can't give a flying fsck. Some are more than likely to bite your head off rather than walk for you. But this is human life, is it not?

 

I sometimes wonder what will happen if one day, I just didn't turn up to work. And then never show up after that. So what if Mr So and So kicked the bucket. Someone will step in. Someone will step up.

 

Its just not going to be me.

 

Is it just me or is it only me that sees the wonder of dance as it truly truly is?

 

Or maybe its just all in my head. That the real world is out there and I'm just standing on the fringe, dancing to music only I can hear, masquerading by night, disguised by day.