muse:visibility, zero.

muse:
i close the door with a soft click, and then descend my staircase.
people burgeon all around me, pulsing as if one individual beast sliding into the shiny box that is the elevator in the building. i tap the button for the ground floor before the sliding contraption gets too full with other people. a soft silence descends over all of us, disturbed only by little pings through the air of the elevator announcing "fifth floor. fourth floor. third floor" in an alarmingly chipper voice for a monday. i follow the stream of people out of the elevator once it hits the ground floor. sun lances in through the glass windows of the hospital, reflecting off my white coat and making me far too noticeable. i keep my eyes glued to the floor and navigate my way to the staff garage. the lobby is silent, save for the hissing of the sliding entrance doors and the quiet whispers between patients, nurses, and families.


when i had walked through these hospital doors for the first time about four years ago, i guess my co-workers would say that i was an entirely different person. bright, ebullient, joyful. a regular ray of sunshine making its way through the dark corridors haunted by the emotions of children long passed. i remember my justification for doing what i did--"in order to know and appreciate life enough, you have to know and work with death." and that's exactly what i did--worked with and against death.

at first, it was extremely hard to confront the children of the cancer ward, knowing that this could very well be their last day seeing golden light weave its way into their rooms through the satin curtains of their room.

"doctor," they'd say, "please don't tell my parents how i'm doing." they'd always make me pinky promise, and i would have no choice but to lock away half their secret with my littlest finger. if i look at my left hand, i can recount and remember every secret and every face that i'd ever had the privilege of helping in and out of the rooms in the hospital--jamie, linda, erin, jonah, eric, kim... the names go on. working with those doomed to death seemed gruesome at first, and it motivated me initially to keep working hard to find cures. "don't worry," i'd tell them, "hopefully i won't have to share your secret."

i had no idea that i would have to lie so many times.


i unlock the door of my small apartment and step quietly inside. this place had long stopped feeling like a home, once finding out that i wasn't marriage material. for anyone. people had always told me that it was good to guard me heart, and that's what i did. far past the point deemed reasonable, even. walls up so high that i couldn't trust anyone with anything, and even then i would still hunger for relationship.

"i can't continue with this," they had said. "i don't feel like i know you."

"but you do," i had always replied. "you know me so well."

"you think i do, but i really don't. there is no way that i know you completely."

and every last person had left, leaving me emotionally drained, with no more happiness to give. each pinky promise i give now seems to be a sentence to either death or sadness, whichever seems more charitable on a given day.