He died on Friday. I was expecting it but still surprised. Not sure why. I'm pleased that I ignored those that told me that we could just "wait and see" before holding a family meeting. It was apparently quite nice, as far as deaths go. Certainly one of the ways that I'd consider going if I had to. It sounds macabre but I wish I was there to certify the death. I feel a bit sad that someone who didn't know him and didn't chat to him about his wife and his daughters and his job and his friends was the one to do that. It feels wrong.
I am very tired. I came home last night trying to focus on driving instead of the golden dipped moon high on the adrenaline of trying to think and work well past bedtime. Then lay in bed, fidgety, reminding myself I had to be at work in 6 hours and trying to turn off. It never works.
I got laughed at (nicely) yesterday because as part of my admissions I always include a social history; a brief snapshot of who each person lives with, their family, their job, even if they're now retired. I like being able to present a case that gives an idea of the actual person beyond their pathology. I can cut to the chase there, and adequately and accurately describe why they're in hospital, but I can't help but want to remember a patient for more than their festering disease. Aside from anything else it helps me remember them and their disease and their treatments easily. Photographic memory helps. But most people don't do it. At least not in surgery.
I'm still tired. And weary. I need a holiday. But more than that I need something. I think it's a bit late coming but I've just realised the enormity of what it means to be in fulltime employment and to need to be. I'm the main earner in the house now that Bingley is part time, and the knowledge at 5:40am when the alarm goes off in the darkness that I have to get out of bed and into the cold is a daily adolescent battle with petulance and responsibility. Doesn't matter how good I am at my job, or how much I enjoy it, at 5:40am I don't give a fuck. I just want to snooze for another 5 blissed out hours.
And I miss the anticipation that there used to be, a few months ago, when there was always the air of something. Something that made getting out of bed a little easier. Before I got jaded and grew up.