Lights from the city shade the stars as he awaits the dark. When the maze of stars appears, the distraction and solace eases his pain. Life outside with all of its hazards suits him, feels safer, closer to who he is than any homeless shelter.
After all, he is a survivor, and solitude is a comfort and a path. Flashbacks of Vietnam he can’t shake. It’s easier alone, less shame. The struggle a way of life now.
Apparition of ice and stone:
How it swells above the highway,
over small cars and upturned eyes.
It sits on high. Pristine
and remote from me,
exalts me and cuts me
down to size.
He was a spy, or so we thought. He had traveled the world, spoke eight languages fluently, and knew much more about world affairs than your average Joe. He was a typical COVID patient—jolly, no apparent breathing difficulties, just a slight fever three days ago and a positive test. He came to the emergency department (ED) because he had a blood oxygen saturation reading of 88% at home, later determined to be 90% in the ED. We also saw the much-feared blurry white patches on his chest X-ray.
A Lonely Death During a Pandemic Read More »
Even when I share a physical space with people, I tend to be emotionally alone. I am not a social person; instead, I stumble with the small talk essential for human interactions. My shyness and self-consciousness due to my tallness cause me to find a safe spot, usually one in the corner or against a wall, far from the madding crowd.
A Singular Sensation Read More »
T.S. Eliot was slightly off: I consider May, not April, the cruelest month.
May 8: A birthday, Maril’s. She died of pancreatic cancer—too soon after her brother, my step-father, died of the same disease.
May 10: A diagnosis—the date I learned I had pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia, two days before my 14th birthday.
Dear Pulse readers,
One autumn evening when I was twenty-two years old, I boarded a bus in New York’s Port Authority bus terminal and headed off with my guitar. Dreams of musical success swirled in my head–new songs I would write, places I would perform–and beckoned me forward.
Over the next several months, I pulled into towns where I knew no one (Columbus, Indianapolis, Cincinnati) and took up a solitary existence. I’d find a cheap place to stay and spend my days alone, waiting for inspiration to strike, practicing the guitar and scoping out places I might play.
June More Voices: Alone Read More »
My name is Lisa Burr. I am a family nurse practitioner, and have been for nearly three decades. I grew up in California, the “Sunshine State.”
In the 1960s, my dad, a military test pilot, was the first astronaut with NASA’s Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL) program, which pioneered crewed space stations as reconnaissance satellites. My mother was a beautiful model.
My Alzheimer’s Story Read More »
I was supposed to see Jane for abdominal pain, but within minutes of meeting her, she told me that her boyfriend hits her. Once, so hard that he fractured and dislocated her jaw. She has a lot of bruises, but only in areas covered by her clothes. To the unknowing, Jane appears neatly put together, whole. But, underneath it all, she is unraveling, coming undone.
Forty years ago, I experienced a miracle—the first of many in my nursing career. I was about six months into my first nursing job, in the neonatal ICU at Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago. It was there that I met baby Jonathon, and it was his mother who made me a true believer.
Jonathon had come to us with severe kidney disease. He looked sickly: His skin was very pale—translucent even. He acted like a healthy infant, though, and as he got older, he actually smiled at us. But despite the doctors’ best efforts, his kidneys were barely functioning.
The Birthday Party Read More »
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