**That hits different. **
It fits the photo and the whole 30 hours in one line.Blood in one hand.Chocolate in the other.Not glamorous.Just necessary to keep me going.
I am holding a bag of blood in my hand.It is warm through the plastic.The label says cesarean.In the morning,in my hand there was a bunch of chocolate bars from the canteen.
Thirty hours.Thirty hours of alarms,of running,of coffee that tastes like guilt.Thirty hours of people needing answers I do not always have.
Outside it is raining.The heavy kind.Flooding the roads.Operation theatres undisturbed though.Ambulances sound sharper in this rain.
The blood is for theatre.Low hemoglobin.Fetal distress.Decision made.Cesarean now.My job is to get this bag to OT before the anesthetist starts.I was walking fast past wet floors and the smell of antiseptic.My scrubs are damp from getting caught between buildings earlier.
On the other side,my chocolate is not joy.It is fuel.At hour 18 my brain started dragging.At hour 22 my hands shook.Someone said sugar keeps you alive when sleep does not exist.So I let squares melt on my tongue between forms and phone calls.Sticky.Sweet.The only proof I am still human and not just hands that carry blood.
I am so tired my thoughts move through water.I cannot remember sitting down.I cannot remember sleep without the sound of monitors.My eyes burn.My back aches.The rain on the windows blurs everything like I am watching my own shift from far away.
And yet.
In ten minutes this blood goes into a woman.She will wake up and meet her baby.Someone’s daughter.Someone’s wife.Someone’s whole world goes home because exhausted people did not quit.
That is why the chocolate is here.That is why I am still walking.
This job does not ask if you are tired.It does not care about the rain.It only asks if you will show up.So I show up.Blood in one hand.Chocolate in the other.Wet socks and all.
When this ends I will sleep for a day.But right now,I have one more corridor to cross.
