where did those two years go?

Night shift has swallowed up two weeks of my life, but last night it took two giant years off my age! It was quite pleasant really.

At 4am we admitted a young woman whose birth year was the same as mine. 1975.

'She's my age,' I thought, 'Thirty. How nice!' (I always feel a greater affinity with patients who are almost the same age as me)

Sitting down to read through her history I found a record of her age as 32. Now hang on a minute... she's the same age as me remember? Thirty! Don't be going and adding an extra year or two just because you feel like it.

And then it registered with me - not thirty! I'm not thirty. I'm 32. Tricked out of two years of my life by the dopey dullness of a night shift mind. Or was it those delusions of eternal youth catching me out? Thirty always was my ideal age. Whatever, I was mightily shocked to remember how quickly time ticks on. (I mean, half way through September already... what is this?!)

I suppose the good thing about time ticking past so fast is that my night shifts are already all done. I can rip the make shift curtains (three hastily hung blankets) off the window and start reengaging with the world.

There was another bonus to working night shift (apart from the hefty penalty rates warranted by loss of beauty sleep)... Frank missed me a lot.

I surprised myself by adjusting well, sleeping soundly during the day and remaining alert most of the night. Poor old Frank worried about me, pointed out my pale cheeks and blood shot eyes in a most concerned manner and just couldn't wait for me to return to the land of the living. After my last shift last week he was so relieved to have me back that he presented me with a bunch of the most beautiful roses ever - they even smelt like real roses, which is a real novelty! Hmmm. Maybe I should work nights more often!