Night Shift

Working night shift,
beneath a full moon glow,
a sense of dread tugs
disturbing my soul.

Shift report, patients routine.
Discharge orders for some.
I make rounds on my charges,
look for clues of chaos to come.

Twenty years in medicine
a full moon hasn't failed me yet.
I work, wait for disarray to begin.
Hold my breath, four hours left.

A dark shadow draws me to a door.
A young woman lays in repose.
Blue stains her lips, skin ice cold;
a land of ghosts, far too close.

Dilaudid given a hour before.
She devised a lethal cocktail.
Purse open, rainbow of pills on sheet.
STAT measures, stop deaths' detail.

Call in troops, CPR, Narcan on board.
Why did she do it? We seldom know.
Our job to make sure she lives.
To ICU, a vent with high oxygen flow.

One more hour, I'ill be home free,
a full moon, just one haunted scene.
Then the old man walking the hall,
went into DT's, surprising us all.

No one said alcohol was a diagnosis.
Seizing, I search for our emergency flask.
A injection of Librium finally quiets him,
a call to the doctor to cover my ass.

Nursing is an intriguing profession.
When your ducklings are safe, it's too slow.
A cunning hunter sneaks in to cause woe.
Life is never simple, just jump in and row.


By Kathie Stehr
April 18,2020