I know it’s morning because the birds are chirping, just a few as it’s also raining. I’ve otherwise lost track of time but I do know it’s Sunday. I feel quite delirious now.
I make my way to the bedroom and lean on the bed for support as I undress, throwing my soiled suit to the floor. After three consecutive house calls I have sweated my blouse into a stinky mess and my white collar is make up stained. My jaw cracks with a yawn as I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I hardly recognise my reflection- I think I looked better when I used to stumble in at this time from a nightclub marathon in my twenties. Mascara smeared and red lipstick on my chin was a far better sight than the fright that peers back at me now. I appear pale, lines under my eyes and my Botox has worn off completely – I look haggard. The rain batters down heavier now as I roll into bed without taking off my two day old makeup and knowing I should shower but I simply can’t stand on my feet any longer.
As I pull the covers up to my chin and pray the work phone also takes a nap, I revisit my time on the road overnight. The dead I collected from beds.
The 35 year old cancer victim holding her childhood teddy bear.
The heavy lad that had me almost toppling backwards off the porch as we manoeuvred him on a carry stretcher around tight corners.
The tiny frail lady with a daisy in her veiny hands clasped across her chest.
I’m so grateful to feel this tired, weak, exhausted.
And as I decline yet another Sunday coffee date via text before I close my eyes, I know that right now- in his time of my life, I live for one thing and that is helping the dead any time day or night.
To take helpless bodies into our care.
I feel myself drift off to sleep and my tummy grumbles.
On second thought, I really could have gone a good smashed avo on toast and latte….