Insomnia

I've had a nice relaxing day. I slept in, thanks to a sleeping pill, did an
appendectomy, came home and watched The Gospel of John on DVD, played the
guitar, cooked some beans and rice, fed the horses, went to evening prayer
and read "Le Comte de Monte Cristo" until 10pm when my eyes were so heavy I
knew I'd fall asleep immediately.

Boy, was I wrong.

At first, the earplugs seem to drown out all noise and the bed is so
comfortable. It's not even too hot. I feel myself sinking into the bed and
a deep sleep. But then, slowly, the ear plugs un plug a little and the
sounds of children's squeals and shouts breaks through. The drum beats waft
over the full-moon lit night. I start to feel a little cold. I pull on the
sheets. Then my muscles feel a little stiff. I stretch them out. I start
to toss and turn. Then I feel hot and take the sheets off. My thoughts
start to pour in on themselves.

Maybe I should've taken out that inflamed Cecum instead of just draining the
peri-appendiceal abscess. I'll probably have to operate tomorrow and it'll
be complicated and who knows what will happen.

Is that a knock on the door? I pull out my earplugs. Nothing. Then a
faint, "tap, tap, tap" of knuckles on sheet metal. I pull off the eye shade
and the other ear plug. I fumble for some shorts and stumble out to the
door, the way lit by the incandescent blue of the bug lamp. It's Samedi.

"The young man with the snake bite. His dad wants to take him home. I told
him I can't release him without the doctor's orders. I tried to explain to
him to wait until the morning, but he says that everyone in the neighborhood
is saying that his son is dead, so he wants to take him home."

"What kind of excuse is that?" I think to myself then reply to Samedi,
"have him sign the form that he's leaving against medical advice. We're not
a prison, we can't force anyone to stay. The dad doesn't even care that his
son is better and if he was going to die he would've done it the first day
or two?"

"I've tried to reason with him," Samedi replies. "Even Pierre and the lab
guy tried to talk to him. He's totally beyond reason."

"Ok, bon travail!"

I try to return and hope that now I'll be able to sleep.

At first, I think it'll work. But then the thoughts start to come in,
unwanted worries crowd my head. The kid's voices keep penetrating the
silence of the ear plugs. Medical and surgical cases keep parading through
my subconscious along with preoccupations that I should have done things
differently or maybe I should've done this and not done that. Then, I start
thinking about the projects I want to do, all the preventative measures that
could be taken. What are we going to do about malaria? Will DDT spraying
ever happen? What about the TB and AIDS patients? Will I ever get time to
train the village health care workers like I want to? What about the
Moundou project? How are the volunteers going to work out? Am I giving
them enough direction? Am I being too controlling?

As I fitfully fall into a light slumber, the tossing and turning continues
as I continually wake up, my heart beating fast having dreamt once again
that I'm having to flee something...that I need to escape something that is
chasing me and almost finds me except miraculously, they somehow overlook my
obvious hiding place. It's a recurrent nightmare.

Thoughts in French wander in about the Count of Monte Christo and what I've
just read. Is that a knock on the door? I pull out the right earplug.

"Oui?" I ask. I look out the small bedroom window onto the porch. The
moon illuminates the door. There's no one there.

I'm cold again. Now I'm hot. Oh, it's so comfortable on my back as I
stretch my legs out. Now it's uncomfortable. Maybe on my side. I
should've taken a sleeping pill.

I pull out my earplugs. The dancing and singing and playing has stopped.
The crickets and frogs are blasting a cacophony around the house. Somewhere
a rooster crows. His friends answer from all over the neighborhood. A tint
of red lights up the windows. Dawn is on it's way. I get up, turn on the
computer and write this email...