Monday night I was musing to Tim that the three day weekend had almost, almost, been enough. If I hadn’t had to work on Saturday morning it probably would have. I was feeling almost relaxed, it was almost enough time with Josie, and Tim and my family. I felt better than I had in weeks on Monday night. Tuesday, everything went to hell.

It started with a meeting early yesterday morning. I am not a muckity-muck, but I do have a Title that requires semi-frequent gatherings with the Mucks. Without going into ugly details, a proposal was made that would eliminate access to medications for indigent patients in our office. The proposal wasn’t out of malice; it was motivated by the increasing rules, regulations, and paperwork that medications generate for our offices. At the end of the day though, motivation doesn’t mean anything to my patients who don’t have their drugs. So, the meeting went poorly. The head Muck proposed we passed the new rules, I said I didn’t agree, and there was an awkward silence. I asked if anyone else would help me if I put together a plan that maintained access, and there was an irritated silence. Then I asked for at least a week before a final decision was made. So now, next week, (on my day off), I’ll be at a meeting in the early morning hours trying to sell a plan I don’t yet have to a roomful of grumpy Mucks. Awesome.

I drove the thirty minutes to my office frustrated and muttering to myself, and then I pulled into my parking lot behind a state police car. He couldn’t park, because the parking lot was completely full- let's not forget it was the day after a three day weekend, and the week after school started. I ran in the backdoor and was greeted with the blare of our security alarm. The rooms were filled with patients that my meeting had made me late to see, I was informed that there was a walk-in having crushing chest pain, and my nurse handed me a chart and a phone and said the coroner wanted to talk with me. I looked at the chart, and the nurse and couldn’t figure out why the damn alarm was so loud and why a coroner would want to talk to me about a patient in perfect health who I had seen only 2 weeks ago. She kept handing me the phone and it finally it sunk in that he must be dead. He was fifty-two years old. I talked to the coroner and hung up just as the fireman in full hazard gear walked in.

Holy heck, how much can a girl take? It wasn't even a CUTE fireman, and it was just an alarm malfunction. The fireman somehow disconnected a wire that dulled the ear splitting alarm to a bleep that went on for a full three hours before the security company showed up.

Let’s just say the constant bleep was very very bad.

I called my patient’s wife as soon as I hung up with the coroner. I have no idea what to do in these circumstances. I call. I say I am so very sorry. I try not to cry, and yesterday I wasn’t good at it. It is all I have to offer. I am his wife’s doctor too, and his daughter’s. It is what makes being a family doctor so hard. It is easier when you don’t know the family.

It can be over any day. I know I say this here every few months, but I can’t say it to myself enough. Any day can be the last that you have the person you love with you. It is all so fleeting, this life we have. And so precious.