In the quiet morning.

Shhh, don't wake me. I'm up early to go and try to walk to the top of Tioga Pass from the bottom. 3000' of gain in 12.4 miles. The 30th annual "run" put on by a local guy who's "isn't it great to be out here?" enthusiasm is so big it got me up this morning even though I slept through my (phone) alarm for three of the first five minute intervals. Not even sure if I can do it this time, but of course I am going to try. For the t-shirt if not for the views. Oh, and the accomplishment.

Was called out to the hospital again last night. Just about an hour before I was going to hand off call to a co-worker so I could sleep well for today's event. The ER was as busy as I've ever seen it; broken arms, head injuries, bad coughs, chest pain. And, a woman who was here on vacation who cut herself up pretty good. Her family is a deeply intimate look at what financial crisis can cause; a woman, her husband, their two kids jammed into an exam room, blood on his shirt, her pants, terror in the eyes of the five year old, and milk on the face of the youngest. Immigrants who work hard in the service industry, hours cut to less than half, feeding their family but losing their car to the repo man, here to "get away," an offer from a friend who had a voucher for a motel. Her husband thought this would help her with her bad thoughts and quiet mood; she couldn't take the tranquillity here, the pressure of all that is going wrong with none of her typical distractions. The pressure to feel better when she can't. She didn't want to die, she just needed something to give. Skin will do that if the object is sharp enough.

She was grateful to talk. She was visibly relieved and ready to go back to the medications that had helped her in the past. They felt empowered by their plan of action and I was grateful to interview someone who wasn't intoxicated. She clutched the paper with the phone numbers of clinics in her area where she might find connection. He wept with concern. I headed home thinking of them and their little family having a chance to, at least, deal with how hard they are working to keep from the despair that lingers, and that this woman, by making her wounds visible, had done them a favor. Now they can relate, understand, remember.

These interactions matter, I tell myself. We all, in that room surrounded by the sounds of a busy emergency room, re-set our balance. Now, they will head home and I will head up. Whew.