long nights

James had an overnight pass last night. It was a well-needed reprieve from the hospital (and the hospital is among the worse places to be with a non-functioning immune system). We have no structure or routine (or space of our own), but there is something to be said for the freedom to move at your own pace.

Tonight, I had to leave him in the hospital again. It is the hardest in the evening. I feel his absence the strongest. We will both have long nights. James will be awoken each hour to have his vital signs taken. His IV medications will be complete in the middle of the night. He will wake to the beeping of a machine, search for the call bell in the dark, and wait for a nurse to disconnect him. There will be continuous movement in the hallways and bright lights at all hours. James will listen to his body. He will be able to fall back asleep with ease after each disturbance.

I will have the company of Ophelia by my feet, but I will still feel the loneliness of a dark and empty apartment. She will remain close with each and every change of position and will not stray with my diminishing hopes of sleep. Insomnia has a tendency to feed into cycles of further insomnia. I will get into bed with the fear that I will be awake to hear the evening traffic slow to silence, and still be wide eyed with the rise of the sun. The bright lights will eventually seep in through the curtains, and I will welcome the streetcars and sirens as a signal to the end of this nighttime torment. I will start another day with forever darkening circles under my eyes. I know that I will eventually fall asleep. How long can I go without rest? Perhaps, I will sleep tonight. Regards, I will try (and Ophelia is already warming the bed).