The 6 A.M. Wire

The darkness envelops my sense of urgency to arrive promptly at the Ben Taub OR at 6:30 A.M so I can have the best pick among the patients needing intubation. My steps are soft on the concrete, but the synthetic fibers of my scrubs swooshing and my ID badge colliding with the head of my stethoscope serve as familiar music on the short journey from my car on "Lanesborough Street" to the Smithlands Metrorail station.

I check for cars twice before making a potentially fatal crossing that would otherwise be safe if only a luminous walking man signal were present. I'm well aware that I awakened from my dreams only thirty minutes earlier. I arrive at the rail stop and fill an empty seat that lies between an African American lady and a balding Asian man engaged in conversation. I lean back against the glass, trying to give them space to communicate. The lady is showing many of her teeth in her laughter, and she seems to be saying to the other man, "... much better job. You just don't work as much." It doesn't make sense, but I admire that she is animated while knowing that a med student sits beside her in that pre-dawn state in between slumber and wakefulness. It's similar to the "in-between" state in anesthesiology where it's dangerous to extubate patients: you want to make sure the patient has regained all their airway reflexes before you take the endotracheal tube out.

The conversation continues, and the lady's voice is the only one I can hear on the metrorail station. It's an anomaly, and I enjoy that at least two people around me know eachother. Suddenly the man turns away, the lady still speaking, now looking in another direction, "I don't know what he wants. But this is what he should have done..." What's going on? Who is she talking to ? Is the man mad at her? Or does she have schizophrenia? I want to know more, I want to ask her, but I've learnt that people don't always like that. Just like in the 2nd grade one time when I saw Casey and Shannon sitting on the monkey bars talking to each other about something that I wanted to know about. I yell out from down below,"Who are you talking about?" "Mind your own beeswax!" Casey yells back. I walk away thinking "Yeah, well I'm never gonna tell you anything again." Not that I had ever told her any of my juicy secrets prior to that moment... Not that I had any juicy secrets. I was eight.

The lady was still talking, still laughing, and the Asian man was now looking in the opposite distance, presumably for the train to arrive. And then, I see the wire, highlighted by the red background of her blouse. A wire that connects a cell phone I can't see to a small silver earpiece. Ahh, I should have known. It was the all-pervasive cell-phone conversation, with an apparently crazy woman and a wire as clues. Now I'm sad - no one on the rail station knows eachother, and maybe the lady and the balding man would have begun conversing, maybe about the Astros losing last night, if she hadn't had her cell phone. Or maybe she and I would have talked. Or maybe I would have talked to the Asian man. I still could say hi... but I decide I'm too sleepy, too tired, not interesting enough. I sigh, wondering how long it'll take for me to awaken, just as the train arrives and opens its doors, allowing me to enter.