A Nursing Kaleidoscope

On Thursdays and Fridays, I set my "harp" alarm for 5am and follow it up with a "fog horn" at 5:15. (I learned the hard way over Summer that the harp, while indeed a lovely awakening, can be easily slept through... and I am still having heart palpitations thinking about racing onto the floor at 0658 with two minutes to spare). I throw on my scrubs and try to do some upkeep to look halfway presentable (it's fine to be schleppy at that time of morning but by a more reasonable hour I'm always glad I put in some effort... even if it's just mascara and pomegranate burts bees lip stuff). By 6am I'm monitoring nextmuni.com for the 6:12 44-O'Shaughnessy, taking bites of cereal between tasking, and thanking my lucky stars I thought to pack my bag the night before. 6:09 rolls around fast and I'm sure my roommates hate me for my clog-heavy dash to the door.

Six months into MEPN, I know there will be a powder blue scrubbed guy at the corner of 6th and Clement in a Giants or Niners jacket depending on the season also waiting for the 44. I know there will be the same lady bus driver and we'll exchange familiar "Getting through! Almost the weekend!" pleasantries. I know four other scrubbed up men and women will get on at 6th and Geary. I lose track after that but once we get out of the park, I notice we are all peaking around the heads in front of us to see if the N is coming down 9th yet... and more importantly, if we can catch it. Half of us make the dash, the other half keep going on to Judah and hike up the hill to the hospital.

On Thursday I made the N, and by 0630 we pulled up to the UCSF stop. I love the moment right after the doors slide open and one by one we clunk down the three steps into the still-dark morning. Me in my green and khaki, them in powder blue, navy blue, and even some hunter green, slate gray, and crimson red scrubs belonging to other providers. Too early and too cold to chat with each other, we move staggered... yet together... from our respective muni doorways, through the most convenient ambulatory care doors, up the first elevator ride of the day, across Parnassus, and into the hospital through the main entrance or through the ED. We are simultaneously illuminated and shadowed under the orange street lights and fog.

That morning I was describing this phenomenon to the only person I will speak to at that ungodly hour, and Clint perfected my initial designation of it as a 'nursing migration'. "It's a nursing kaleidoscope," he counseled. Certainly you have captured its essence the most beautifully, sir.