No Fiction, Just Tomes

There's a woman I know who is moving to E\ngland for a year.  She is pretty much the nicest person in the world and so it comes as no surprise that everyone is very sad to see her go, and they organized a big farewell dinner in her honor.  I couldn't go because I had to work, but I'm sure a lot of people went because everyone loves this lady. 

Note: this is not a post to whine about how I have no friends... it's funny at the end.

Tyler and I got to go on a date last night.  We went to a fancy hipster restaurant for fancy ice cream and then went to see The Hunger Games.  (Side note: When am I going to stop being surprised that people bring their 5-to-6-year old kids to violent movies at NINE FIFTY PM?)  I brought up the fact that if we moved away, the list would be pretty short of people who would come to our going away party.  Which is fine, I think having that many friends takes a lot of time and energy, two things that are currently in short supply at our house, and I really like the friends we have.  We talked about what it would be like to be popular and puzzled about what popular people do with their friends.  (I really have no idea, what do you do with the kids?)

As we were driving from the ice cream place to the movie theaters, we passed an antique shop called "Ye Old Toms."  Tyler started laughing and said that he read "Ye Old Tomes"... like books.  We joked about what a bookshop that only sold tomes would look like and the poor hapless customer who wanders in looking for a novel.  "Sorry, no fiction buddy, only volumes."  We laughed and giggled for a good 5 minutes about that one.

Then we laughed some more about how nerdy we were and how this is probably the exact reason why we never were and never will be popular. 

Broken Promise

I want to write all about how my heart is breaking for one of the patients on my unit.  I want to tell you all about what is wrong with her and how long she has been there, how they assign her to me every time I work and what her prospects are.  Because I take care of her so often, people ask me almost daily my opinion on when she is going to die.  The "if" questions stopped a long time ago.  I want to tell you all about how I thought she was going to die in surgery (I cried on and off the whole day she went in (I was at home, thank goodness)), but she made it.  I want to talk about how I kind of wanted her to die in surgery; to just go to sleep and never wake up.

I don't blog my hospital stories because I'm nervous about patient privacy, but this woman has worked her way inside of me and I want to write this down so I remember her when I read this in 5, 10, 15 years.  I'm not sure why I have grown so attached to her because she sleeps most of the day and isn't much for talking because she's in constant pain.  I just feel so sad for her.  I want her to get better so badly, but then I want her to not get better and go on hospice so she can have as much narcotics as she wants.

I promised her on Tuesday that I'd come back and paint her nails on Wednesday, and she smiled at the idea.  She smiled and I haven't seen her smile in weeks.  But then I was sick on Wednesday and didn't go to work.  I'm not scheduled to go back until next Tuesday, and I have a lot of anxiety that she won't be there to hear why I didn't come back with my pink nail polish like I promised.

I feel like breaking that promise was one of the worst things I've ever done.