Если я останусь

           Thedoctorskeepcomingaroundandpullingupmyeyelidsandwavingaroundaflashlight.Theyareroughandhurried,liketheydon’tconsidereyelidsworthyofgentleness.Itmakesyourealizehowlittleinlifewetouchoneanother’seyes.Maybeyourparentswillholdaneyeliduptogetoutapieceofdirt,ormaybeyourboyfriendwillkissyoureyelids,lightasabutterfly,justbeforeyoudriftofftosleep.Buteyelidsarenotlikeelbowsorkneesorshoulders,partsofthebodyaccustomedtobeingjostled.

           Thesocialworkerisatmybedsidenow.Sheislookingthroughmychartandtalkingtooneofthenurseswhonormallysitsatthebigdeskinthemiddleoftheroom.Itisamazingthewaystheywatchyouhere.Ifthey’renotwavingpenlightsinyoureyesorreadingtheprintoutsthatcometumblingoutfromthebedsideprinters,thentheyarewatchingyourvitalsfromacentralcomputerscreen.Ifanythinggoesslightlyamiss,oneofthemonitorsstartsbleeping.Thereisalwaysanalarmgoingoffsomewhere.Atfirst,itscaredme,butnowIrealizethathalfthetime,whenthealarmsgooff,it’sthemachinesthataremalfunctioning,notthepeople.

           Thesocialworkerlooksexhausted,asifshewouldn’tmindcrawlingintooneoftheopenbeds.Iamnotheronlysickperson.Shehasbeenshuttlingbackandforthbetweenpatientsandfamiliesallafternoon.She’sthebridgebetweenthedoctorsandthepeople,andyoucanseethestrainofbalancingbetweenthosetwoworlds.