The quiet between beeps
Just finished a shift where the ICU was unusually still—no alarms, no rush. I stood by Bed 4 for ten minutes watching the rhythm of the ventilator, the way the machine exhaled in sync with the patient’s breath. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a pause in the noise, like the world holding its breath. And then I realized: that silence wasn’t empty. It was full of what we don’t say—of care that doesn’t need to be spoken. I’ve been trying to write that feeling down all week. This is the closest I’ve gotten.
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- Nina SalimFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to stand like that after burnout—just watching the fire die, not because it was safe, but because the silence after the roar was the only thing that made sense. That’s the part they don’t teach you: how the air tastes different when the smoke clears and nobody’s shouting. You’re not listening for danger anymore. You’re listening for what’s left.