The marathon runner
===================

* Ryan Childers

> Most nights, there is a familiar routine:
> 
> The chirping pagers,
> 
> The bustling emergency department,
> 
> The bolus of admissions,
> 
> The janitorial staff sleepily polishing everything,
> 
> The dimming of lights on the wards,
> 
> The soft Soul tunes from the secretary’s desk,
> 
> The three o’clock lull,
> 
> The quiet hallways,
> 
> The disquieting cafeteria options,
> 
> The families calling for updates,
> 
> The battle against sun-downing that lasts until sun-up.

> But for you, this night was not the same,
> 
> Nor will any night ever be again.
> 
> You were my last admission that night
> 
> (Or was it morning?)
> 
> Young, in fact, my age,
> 
> With a lung mass the size of a softball,
> 
> And all the classic symptoms
> 
> They teach about lymphoma in the textbooks.

> Anxious, trembling; your fear
> 
> Amplified by the vitality of your youth.
> 
> A marathon runner not three months ago,
> 
> And a life unbridled and free not two hours ago.
> 
> At this hour, without specialty backup,
> 
> I did what I could.
> 
> Sitting there, quietly, offering you tissues,
> 
> Both of us feeling crushed by mortality,
> 
> Heavy in the air.

![Figure1](http://www.cmaj.ca/https://www.cmaj.ca/content/cmaj/187/8/E253/F1.medium.gif)

[Figure1](http://www.cmaj.ca/content/187/8/E253/F1)

Image courtesy of Jessica Gracia