Or early. I can’t tell which. At home I can judge the time of night by sounds and sights. TV jabbering in the family room meant it was before midnight. Dad would be sitting up, laptop on his knees, doing paperwork. A soft glow from Harvey’s nightlight shining under my door but a silent house, meant it was after midnight. No glow, silence and a grey rather than black room and it was close to dawn. In hospital, it’s much harder to gauge. During the day the sound of a vacuum means it’s about seven in the morning. The food trolley rattling and clanging can be one of three times – breakfast at eight, lunch at midday or dinner at five-thirty. But if I’m awake after ten, it’s impossible to work out what time it is without checking my watch. Nights are kind of eerie. The hall lights are dimmed and night staff prowl the corridor armed with torches, so it’s never completely dark. Patients cough, cry out in pain and sleep talk. Night. Day. Day. Night. They roll on and on. Tonight, something has woken me – maybe a dream or pain.
What do You think about You Don't Even Know (2013)?
