Night shifts are tough. You’re combating one of the harshest sleep schedules available in professions (although, the military surely has our nurses beat), alongside God-awful cafeteria meals. I mean, do you know how starved you have to be to look forward chicken nuggets as if they were a filet mignon? PRETTY STARVED, THAT’S FOR SURE. Worst of all, many of us nurses get the darkest bags under my eyes, although I may be saying “many” just to not make myself feel worse about it. Seriously. When the clock strikes that nightly hour, cinderella may be turning from a princess into a poor servant girl again, but I turn into a freaking raccoon at night.

These nights of unbeautification were especially bad during my early days of nursing service, prior to when my coworkers were properly able to recognize me. Just picture me, strolling through the hospital corridor, poking in patient rooms, making sure everybody was properly situated. Some patients, thrashing through their restless nights, while others were sleeping so soundly I could’ve almost placed them in incubation alongside the actual newborns. 

One night in particular, the maintenance on the lighting was exceptionally low, giving the corridors a more dark, shadowy appearance, although it certainly wasn’t pitch black. Regardless, the halls were shrouded enough that you couldn’t make out someone’s face when they were on the opposite end of it from you. As I strolled down it, a fellow coworker of mine, Judith, heard my footsteps. She was carrying a flashlight, so when she glanced up at me, the beam found its way on my face. She must’ve noticed my eyes, since instantly shrieked, and her exact words were:
“You looked like you were dead.”


Needless to say, I died of laughter.