Could It Be? (Originally Posted September 20, 2006)

Could it be that this job is making me lazy? I’m willing to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe the combination of school, studying, work, and lack of sleep is just stressing me out a little bit. I seriously underestimated how much time would be required for studying. I seriously overestimated how much sleep I’d be able to get during the day while working the 7p-7a shift at The Closet. I’m kind of just stumbling through life right now. It’s a familiar feeling, kind of like that feeling you have for the first few weeks there’s a newborn in your home.

Tonight was supposed to be quiet.

When will I learn that number of calls in a 12 hour shift directly relates to how many hours of sleep/studying time one needs?

I know how bad that sounds. They’re paying me to work. I understand that. I’m not one of those people who believe that they are entitled to sleep during a 12 hour overnight shift. Sometimes you just need a quiet night.

It was as far from quiet as it possibly could be.

The CT scanner at Backwoods General Hospital 35 miles away was broken. They contacted The Little Private Service that Could and contracted with us to transport any patient who needed a CT up to St. Moneybags hospital where the CT would be done, then return them to Backwoods General.

It didn’t sound too bad, how many people out in the middle of nowhere need a CT scan? I’ve been to Backwoods ER more than a few times, and typically, it’s empty.

That night everyone within ten miles of this hospital needed a CT scan.

(This wouldn’t normally be a problem except She Who Rules The House had been teething and miserable all day resulting in net sleep of ZERO for me in two days. So I’m exhausted.)

We ran patients back and forth all night long. And had to complete a run report for each segment of the trip. We would end up with 22 run reports by 7am.

At one point around five am I was literally in tears, babbling about something. Pseudo Dad grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me toward the patient compartment.

He told me in no uncertain terms that I would sleep, and I would sleep now. And he’d wake me up when the next patient was ready. If I chose to defy him he’d ground me. Or something.

“Yes, Dad,” was all I could mumble at that point.

He actually put me to sleep like I was a cranky five year old, which makes me think I must have been acting like a cranky five year old. I’m not proud of that.

I really need to work on getting that 24 hour shift.

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