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Show 359 They have kissed me good-bye and gone home now and I am hoping I will not forget in my tomorrows that they were here today. I am hoping that I will remember that they love me. That they want me to keep trying, as hard as all this must be for them, as hard as they know it is for me. They think that I am worth it. Dr. Emerson is coming through the door. His shoulders are drooping somewhat. His eyes have dark circles beneath then. "You look tired," I comment, too drugged to decorate the obvious. Versed detaches my syllables one from another and slurs my speech. He is swinging his stethoscope, regarding me. "Four of my patients died today," he is telling me by way of explanation. "I'm sorry," I am saying, trying to be empathic. "That must be difficult." He is shrugging his shoulders, catching his stethoscope from its swing, placing it against my back. "People die every day," he responds. "Breathe," he is telling me. I breathe as deeply as possible. It is not very deep. People die every day, he said. It is a fact. He is stating a fact. Perhaps stating facts is the only way left to him of dealing with the incompre- |
