You would think that everything would feel really dramatic

and that would be what did you in, but it’s not. It’s the days

of waiting. Waiting for something to go wrong. Waiting to

see if someone will last the night. Watching somebody for

weeks on end and expecting them to not be there every

time you come onto your next shift. Having to look into the

faces of their family and not having the power to give them

any news because realistically you don’t really know enough,

but neither does anyone. Very few cases have an answer-

it’s just trial and error. Then when something does happen

it’s as though you’re watching through a goldfish bowl.


I remember once I was watching an operation and the

man stopped breathing on the table. For 45 minutes I

stood there in the corner, unable to help, unable to move.

His face was blue and all I could think was… God this is awful…

all I could think was Jesus Christ my feet are hurting.


It isn’t  until after that you realise what you’ve seen. You go

to sleep at night, or try to and lie next to someone who couldn’t

possibly understand and you just think what the fuck is

happening to me?

                             When you do drift off your head is still

in the ward and all you can dream of is beeping and bells.

You see the face of the man who died that day and say

sorry in your dreams for not being able to feel anything

more at the time, then you wake up. Wake up and look

into the eyes of someone you love, someone who is

breathing, who is loving, who is present and you just think

why is it that all I can think about what would happen if

you died. Why can’t I enjoy you anymore? When did

constant evaluation of everyone I love’s mortality become

my personality? So to answer your question no not really.

The moments of adrenaline are nothing compared to the

monotony of being there for 13 hours.

You’re there when you’re not there too.

                                                                It’s never ending.




Also by Yasmin,