October 22, 2003

I got the myolectric arm recently. It's okay, it helps a little, as far as making certain tasks more convenient. It has a lot of limitations though. For one thing, it can't hold much weight. About two pounds, to be exact.

I saw this patient today who was in his eighties. He was very feeble and could barely even move his limbs. I started thinking, what if that happened to me someday, only my right arm fails and that's all I have? Of course, I have the myoelectric one, but what if something happened and I couldn't control it? I know I shouldn't dwell but I kept thinking, so this is what I have to look forward to…maybe I don't even want to live a long life anymore. Maybe it's better to just die early. I didn't think my life would be like this, I thought I'd be married and have a bunch of kids like everyone else. I feel so old, I look in the mirror and all I see is old. I see all that gray in my beard and I don't like it but I don't even have the energy to shave it off. I'm old and useless, and all the pretty people are passing me by, with their smug faces and lively gaits. I used to have something once, some kind of spark that kept me going, but now it's gone. I was a great surgeon but it's in the past. There's no room for me anymore, they should just put me out to pasture. Oh hell, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Why do I write in this thing?

I had a prescription filled for some sleeping pills. Trazodone. It's not just for sleeping, sometimes I just want to know that I have a medication at home. Trazodone's an anti-depressant. I asked Marty for a prescription and he gave it to me without batting an eye. Something strong. I have Percodan at home too, left over from when I fractured my ankle a few months ago. Just in case, you know, the pain got to be too much. I haven't been taking them, I just like knowing that they're there.

November 2, 2003

I still think about calling my family sometimes, but I don't. My mother left a message on the answering machine the other day, while I was at work. Said they're all getting together for Thanksgiving later this month, and they'd love to have me join them, if I'm not too busy. How easy it is for me to write back, or call, and say, Yes, I'm too busy, I have surgeries scheduled, I'm sorry but I just can't get away. She'll say, I understand Robert, they need you at the hospital. That will be the end of it. I don't even remember when I last saw my brothers, it's been a while. My brother Joe and his wife bought a house in Indiana, apparently. So everyone's in Wisconsin or Indiana. So close and yet so far. I wouldn't mind seeing my niece Kyla, actually. She e-mails me every once in a while. Right now she's doing some theater program abroad for teens. She's living in Paris. I used to travel to Paris, to London, to Rome, all over. Maybe one day I'll get the urge to go away again. Lord knows there's nothing keeping me here.

I see Elizabeth in the hallways sometimes, on her way to consults. We don't talk much, sometimes she'll ask me about a patient that one of the residents bumped her way. Other times she just passes by and gives me this sympathetic smile, this sort of "Poor you" smile. I think she doesn't want to talk about her surgeries, maybe she think she'd been rubbing it in, reminding me of what I used to do. I avoid her mostly. I haven't seen her with Dorsett lately. Probably they're just keeping it on the sly.

I thought of calling her the other night, actually. It was just a crazy impulse and I held back, good thing too as I'm sure I would have made a fool out of myself. I guess I just had the urge to talk to somebody and she came to mind. I don't have anyone to talk to anymore. All of my golf buddies are gone, it's not like I'm going to call them up and ask if I can watch them play, or try to give it a whirl with my artificial arm.

November 20, 2003

The suicide fantasies are stronger lately, I think about finally taking all the pills, and falling off to sleep for good. I even think about who might find me. For some reason, I picture a policeman and a nurse, and then Elizabeth's there. I picture her finding me and how she might bend gently over my lifeless body, like she must have done once with her husband.

God, I'm a selfish fool. Elizabeth loved Mark. She doesn't love me. Why would she care if I died?

I put the pills away. They're on a high shelf in the medicine cabinet, behind some aspirin and cough medicine. I could overdose on aspirin if I wanted, but I know that I wont do that. If it'll be anything, it'll be these prescription pills. I know how potent they are, and how swiftly they'd go down, like a bittersweet elixir, ending all my misery. I like knowing that they're there, waiting for me, any time I want them.

I don't want to die, I just want to really live. I'm so lonely….