1/
When my alarm went off this morning, I didn't want to get out of bed. Not because I'm a person who struggles with mornings—I don't.

Nope.

Not because I still felt super sleepy—I didn't. Mostly, it just felt super comfortable. And safe. And just. . . peaceful.

Yeah. That.
2/
I hit the snooze button, stilled myself, and just listened. I could hear the tinkle of Willow's collar and his feet padding the floor while exiting my son’s room. Then I heard the plop of his body settling to the floor outside of my door.

*thud*

I turned onto my back.
3/
A few dry coughs came from the direction of another bedroom. And my partner’s rhythmic breaths beside me added to my ambient morning music. It all felt so good.

So very good.

And safe.
And peaceful.

Yeah. That.
4/
And this? I'm learning that this is not a tiny mercy. It's a big one.

Yeah, man.

Just having a bed where you can rest. One just for you that you either look forward to getting into or that you feel reluctant to leave. It’s no small thing.

No, sir and no, ma’am.
5/
Me: "You're looking so much better, sir. You're off of oxygen and walking to the bathroom and back by yourself. And your fevers have gone away. I think we can let you go today."

His face filled with panic. This was not good news.

Nope.
6/
Him: "I don't feel all the way better. I prefer y’all just go on and hold me until I'm back to 100%."

Me: "You know? It's a lot better for you to just finish recuperating at home without all this noise and folks waking you up."

I hoped that would help.
It did not.
7/
Him: "That don't bother me. I'd just rather stay a few more days."

Me: "Sir? We do have to go ahead and discharge you today now that your body is strong enough to finish getting better at home. But how ‘bout we send a home health nurse there to see about you?" *weak smile*
8/

Him: *looking visibly distressed*
Me: "You okay?"
Him: *tearful* "No. I just really, really want to keep getting better here in the hospital."

*silence*

Me: "Remind me of where you live again?"
9/
Him: "With my daughter. And her family for now."

Me: "Okay. I say when you get back there, you just slide on under the covers and keep on resting when you get home. I bet they’ll be glad you’re doing better, sir.”

*silence*

Me: *trying to look positive* "Okay?"
10/
Him: *now tearful and frustrated* "First of all, I stay on a COUCH not in a room. And it's just . .just . . .just CHAOS all 'round there!”

Now he was full on crying.

Him: “Please, Miss Manning. Please.”

I felt my face burning.
11/
Him: “People walking all around, smoking and cussing and talking all loud. TV on all hours of the day and folk letting me know I'm in they way. Like, 'Naw, we don't want it so comfortable that you don't get up outta here.' And I don't blame 'em."

His chest was heaving now.
12/
Him: "I know you can't hold me past what you s'posed to. But I wish SO bad I had some place that just feel good, you know? Where I can just get in my bed and like it there. And get all the way better. But I ain't got that. I don’t!"

Me: *tiniest whisper* "Damn.
13/

After that I asked him to tell me what he meant by "CHAOS" and he did. And nothing about it sounded pleasant or like a good set up for a brother that's trying to convalesce after dealing with some real serious health stuff.

It sucked.
14/
And this? This situation of unstable housing and "staying with somebody " because of lost jobs or disability or life stuff? Man. This is waaaay more common than I wish it was. Way, way more.

Yep.

That patient gave it a good name: "Homeless-ish."
15/
Wish I could say I had a plan B to offer my homeless-ish friend that day. I didn’t. At least, not a fast or immediate one.

And beyond my ♥️’s desire, with the large numbers of sick pts down in the ER still awaiting beds? I knew the chaotic couch would have to do.

Sigh. 😞
16/
So this morning before the snooze went off again, I prayed for him to find some pocket of solace in the next few days. Prayed that someone in that house would choose to speak in their inside voice or skip the loud TV or insist that everyone tiptoe and close the doors softly.
17/
That somebody would lightly place a comforter over his body and bring out a pillow, fluff it, and ask if he's okay. I prayed that until I could see it. I did.

After that, I gave gratitude.
18/

For tiny coughs, jingling dog collars, low pitched hums of sleeping husbands, goose down comforters, alarms with snooze buttons and just. . . peace.

Peace, man.

Because somebody somewhere would give anything for it, man.

This I know for sure.
19/
Every day I think about my patients experiencing homelessness. But now I know to remember the homeless-ish ones, too.

Yeah.

Thanks for reflecting with me. 👊🏽
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