Graveyard Shift

This past Saturday, just as I expected, I had to work the dreaded "Graveyard Shift" from 6pm to 6am. I had never worked a 12 hour shift before, let alone a graveyard shift. It was something I hope I don't have to do again.

It takes a certain kind of person to work the graveyard shift: insomniacs, night owls, teenagers and twentysomethings hopped up on speed. These sorts of people can handle it. I can't.

As I clocked in at 6pm, I told myself "OK, just think of this as taking a long flight back to Taiwan."

To fly from L.A. to Taiwan takes nearly 14 hours, and when you're flying economy it's next to impossible to get some sleep. So I just resigned myself to the fact that I would be awake for quite a while, and that I'd just have to catch up on my sleep later.

By 8:00pm, I knew it was going to be a long night because I already started yawning regularly.

"Uh oh, this is not good. I've still got 10 hours to go."
At 10:30pm, I took a meal break and drove home, since I don't live very far from the hospital. I had to take a quick shower to refresh myself for the remaining seven hours that I had left.
By 12:00am, the place was as dead as a morgue. I hadn't seen any patients in quite a while and none seemed to be coming in. One of my colleagues advised me to page the supervisor, and maybe because it was so slow I would be able to leave early. So I paged her, and she called me right back.
"This place is pretty slow." I told her. "I've only seen about two patients in the last 6 hours."
"No, unfortunately we need you there." she replied in a drowsy voice, dashing my hopes of ending the night early.
I spent the next few hours reading newspapers, magazines, internet stories, and writing in my notebook. It just wasn't busy at all. Doctors, who also have to work long shifts, at least have the option of going to empty patient rooms and sleeping when there isn't any work for them. In my department, though, we can't do that.
At 2:30 a.m, Christy called me from home, telling me she couldn't sleep well because I wasn't there. Awww. That made me feel a little better.

By about 3:30a.m., things were getting bad. I had a headache. My wrist hurt, and for some reason my gums were aching. When a patient finally did come in, I had trouble typing simple commands into the computer. I was making mistakes and numerous typos. When I started to talk to a patient, I was forgetting things I needed to say, and I was slurring my speech. They probably thought I was drunk.
At 5:00a.m., I walked to the hospital cafeteria (which was closed) and I ate an egg sandwich that Christy made for me. It gave me just enough energy to make it through the final hour. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I crawled straight into bed and went to sleep. I managed to sleep for about 6 hours, but was awoken numerous times by noisy kids (my own and others.)

It would take me two days to recover from this experience, just as it does for me to get over jet-lag. Having done it, I really have to admire those people who work these hours all the time. They're truly brave.