Worked Nights this past weekend.
It was eerily quiet. Spooky, really — you could shoot a cannon down the Treatment Rooms hallway and all you would hit would be the yellow “Wet Floor” sign.
We had no complaints about the wait time. Patients scampered in and zoomed out, happy with scripts in hand. Admitted patients got beds.
We kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. The multisystem trauma. The AMI in cardiogenic shock. Even the “dissecting aneurysm” EMS patched in turned out to be a dud — it was gastroenteritis.
No BADs off their meds and pulling off their clothes. Only one OD, and she only took a few benzos. She didn’t even fuss with the charcoal, and slept the sleep of the innocent all night long.
An abusive, drunken 18 year-old would have broken the monotony. Didn’t get any of those, either.
No drama whatsoever.
Truth be told, it sort of freaked us out. We’re used to chaos. We’re used to having 25 admits in the department, wait times of 4 hours, screaming patients and nowhere to put anyone.
Instead we played on the ‘Net and took 2 1/2 hour executive power naps.
And now, we’re nervous. We will pay. I know we will.