Counterpoint
by Wendy Vlasic
Day transitions into night, the pace slows, the step softens.
The ritual preparations for sleep begin.
For some a chemical soother is required, for others a more personal
touch.
A gentle manipulation of the muscles in the back or the bottom
of the feet,
difficult for the self, requiring a skilled and caring touch.
Often considered old fashioned or misconstrued as inappropriate,
yet for many, a needed human connection in a sea of solitude and
pain.
As the burden of speech is replaced with gentle snoring,
the daytime mask of propriety slips away.
The air becomes scented with the gaseous memory of digestion,
now unimpeded by sleep.
The enveloping darkness is soft and comforting for some; for others
a place where hallucinations of sight and sound induce fear and
sometimes terror.
Sounds become more pronounced.
The gurgle of oxygen, the irritating beeps of equipment demanding
attention, even if the need is not urgent.
The opening of elevator doors, unheard in the day, heralds a new
arrival. Through the silence, there is an alertness for muffled
sounds requiring an immediate response.
Moaning, a dull thump on the floor, sobbing, a weak voice calling
for help.
The soft more urgent than the loud.
Quiet.
Walking softly down corridors into darkened rooms.
Carefully averting the piercing beam of the flashlight so as not
to disturb.
Yet lighting enough to assess the quality of breathing, the restfulness
of sleep, the passing of assorted fluids transiting naked into
and out of the body.
For some, breathing is quiet, the chest slowly and rhythmically
rising,
caressing the rough sheet against it.
For others, breathing is labored, an echo of fluid rattling deep
inside.
Apneic spells suspend time, waiting for the rush of air to quiet
crying cells within.
Occasionally, the crying going unanswered into silence.
A request to fulfill or an emergency to call.
Night provides comforting illusions.
The sheets cover bandages, scars and swollen skin laid bare in
the day.
The dim light camouflages bruises and the warning hue of cyanosis.
In sleep, a restful countenance provides a template for muscles
strained in wakefulness.
The aura of normalcy, so desired during the day, is found in the
oblivion of night.
Outside the window the first lines of pink begin to dance across
the black stage.
Gradually the night begins to yield to the rising sun.
As if on cue, the tempo of activity quickens,
the allegro a counterpoint to the largo of night.
A constant internal coaxing of a tired body, tempted by sleep,
with so much yet to do. RNL
Author's note: I
am currently exploring various literature forms as a means to
express some of the less desirable aspects of nursing practice.
Working nights is a requirement for institutional patient care,
yet it is rarely a popular shift to work. It is my goal to find
the positive side, the "magic" if you will, and bring
that into focus.
Wendy Vlasic, RN, MScN, ACNP, resides in London,
Ontario, Canada.
