Missing

I am well hugged these day, a gratifying experience, as I take leave of the many wonderful people I have known under stressful and amusing circumstances over the last couple of years. Help a nurse or scrub tech through a multi trauma, receive a hand for a huge oncology disarticulation, a bond forms. I am assured I will be missed, emails exchanged, commiserations exchanged. More than the obvious memories were pricking the backs of my knees.

Then I began looking up Army expressions. Trying to remember pertinent "I'm so short..."s.

FIIGMO. FUBIS. I'm so short, if I pulled my socks up, I'd be blind. Soon, don't bother opening the door, I'll just walk under it, then I'll sit on a dime and my feet'll dangle, ultimately, I'll parachute off said dime. Army friendships, forged fast and deep in the misery of the military, then abandoned with transfers. Love of conversation, and companionship, warring with frustration at the organization that forces the closeness. People who take care of each other, in the context of a stupid institution. Knowing I will lose contact with friends who know me very well, probably forever. Desperate to leave an increasingly toxic post.


Chewing the fat, never being more lonely than I wanted, bullshitting with tough warm people without brakes, I still miss that. The OR fills it in a slightly healthier, and substantially more lucrative and sustainable form. This particular hospital management reminds me rather forcefully of my National Guard experience. Yes, I am down to counting hours left to work (52). Details in a few weeks. Or I'll forgive and forget, see how I feel then.

I never really socialized with the nurses and techs here, not being used to bar-gatherings, nor formal parties. I demurred. Especially after knowing my time was growing short. One exception, I let the techs I often work with know at a bowling event, low key and a lot of fun, right before handing in my notice. Mostly much younger, another hurdle. My fellow nurses provided references for me months ago. Two have already told me they would be stopping by to visit us in SLC within the year.

My social ineptitude, back pain, preference for D's company, yearly moves, terrible inflexible schedule, all hampered extra-cirricular meetings. As well as the inherent problem of Boston, few who work here live in this polarized city, students and transients, or the very wealthy. Most middle income, permanent Bostonians live out, bedroom communities, as far as New Hampshire and Rhode Island, or out on Cape Cod. My former pattern of hanging out in friends homes could not work here.

I will miss all the people I work with, I will miss so many people getting most of my little jokes and references. I will have to clean up my language, again. (Not as bad as when I spent time among those who considered fuck to be an all purpose word; adjective/adverb/noun/verb/ and phrase connector, like black, goes with everything.) Good, funny, smart, caring people.

They also give good hugs, and tell me I will be missed. I will miss them.