Bodies

Working night shift in a personal care home was about as exciting as it sounds. Paperwork, filing, a bit of cleaning, and a lot of down time. The pay wasn't great, but it was steady. Decent benefits too. 

He worked on the lower level. The nurses' station was on the upper level. The nurse's aide was supposed to do hourly rounds on both levels, but she usually never came downstairs. This was fine with him. Had he been a more social person, he probably wouldn't have taken the job, let alone kept at it for years.

Sure, he'd occasionally go up and chat with the nurses and the aide. He wasn't much for watching TV, and night-time radio sucked. So, he'd go up in the rickety old elevator, grab a smoke with the other staff, make a little small talk and then return to his office and whatever latest book he was reading. 

He made his rounds without fail, every hour. Sometimes twice an hour if he was bored. Most of the residents slept like logs. Some of the whackier ones would be up well into the night, usually watching TV in the game room or raiding the vending machines. Big Joe was never much of a night owl, but he always enjoyed seeing him when he was up.

Big Joe was one of the residents. He was maybe 70-75, big as a mountain, light-skinned and about as jolly a man as you'd ever care to meet. 

"Well Hiiiiiiiiii there!", Big Joe would always say, loud enough to cause ear damage. He'd suffered a number of health issues, and his family didn't have the means to look after him, so he got dropped off in the care home. It was sad, really. Big Joe was clearly used to better, but he'd made his peace with his circumstances.

Everyone loved him, residents and staff alike. 

---

An average shift would start around 9:00pm. He'd arrive, get updates from whoever he was relieving, get his charting started, and make his first rounds of the night. Who was present, who was absent - maybe in the hospital or a home visit - who was awake, who was asleep. He'd see if anyone needed anything. If not, he'd start filing paperwork. At 10, he'd make his rounds again, and again at 11. After that, he'd usually head upstairs and order some food with the nursing staff. Once it arrived, he'd go back to his office, eat, and go back to paperwork and rounds. Most nights, the residents were usually asleep by midnight. By one, his paperwork was usually finished, so he'd read until it was time for rounds again. Aside from the occasional smoke break, or the even rarer medical or psychiatric necessity (his size was his main work asset - even the old folks could get rowdy), this was how his nights went. Night after night. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year.

Ambulances and hearses were common sights. Most of the residents were old, and they all had health problems. The lucky ones went in their sleep. Big Joe wasn't one of them.

He'd made his rounds at 5. Everyone was asleep. He charted everything, same as any other night. 

The nurse's aide was supposed to monitor some of the residents who had more acute issues. Big Joe was one of them. He'd been having some issues lately with his blood pressure and dizzy spells. 

It was about 10 minutes to 6 when the nurse's aide, a short, heavy, dark-skinned woman, came puffing into his office.

"Quick! I need your help! It's Big Joe!"

He jumped up from his chair and followed her down the hall to Big Joe's room. Apparently, he'd gotten up - presumably to use the toilet - and died while standing. He'd gone down, face first onto the cold, linoleum floor. 

"We need to move him! Get him back in his bed!" the aide practically shrieked. 

He kneeled beside Joe to check his pulse. He wasn't just dead; he was already cold. He'd been dead close to an hour. During 5am rounds, Big Joe was asleep, just as he charted.

Big Joe's face was completely smashed. At over 350 pounds, the impact of hitting the floor face first shattered his nose and teeth. There were chunks of broken tooth on the floor.

"We can't move him," he said. There were a few reasons, but the most pressing was that the two of them alone wouldn't be able to lift him. 350 pounds of dead weight would require at least three people. Maybe four. He suggested the aide call a code and get the nurses to come down.

"I can't!" she yelled at him. "I was supposed to check his blood pressure every half hour...but I fell asleep!"

"You're still gonna have to call a code," he reminded her. The aide was becoming extremely upset, so he offered to do it for her. 

"They're gonna have to call the cops!" The aide was really worried. The way he saw it, for all the wrong reasons.

His own charting was, as usual, impeccable. Who/what/when/where. T's crossed. I's dotted. Exact dates and times duly noted. He wasn't sure why she was getting so worked up. One consistent in this job - people are gonna die. It's never pretty. Maybe Big Joe was her first. 

He called the code.

The nurses made their way down, just as the daylight staff were coming in for their shift. Breakfasts and morning medication time would be starting soon. 

It was just after 6am. He'd have to do his final rounds. He left the aide with Big Joe's body.

As he left work for the day, just after 7am, he saw the police arrive, along with the funeral home's hearse. They all nodded to each other in that 'it's too damned early for this' way that people in this field know too well. 

On his way home, he thought about Big Joe. He'd miss him. It was really about all the prayer he had for the situation. He was mildly annoyed by the aide's overreaction, until he remembered his own first dead body.

--- 

It never stopped feeling odd to drink a few beers at 8am. Such is the life of a nightshift worker. Life is no different than anyone else, just the hours are different.

That night, he got to work early. He checked with the shift nurse to see how the aide held up. 

She'd already called off for the night. 

The charge nurse asked if he could help cover her duties. 

As he made his first rounds of the night, he peeked into Big Joe's room. His belongings had already been packed up and removed. The room was as spotless as it would ever be. The mattress looked naked and stained. Soon, it would be someone else's room. 

For a brief moment, he let himself hear Big Joe's voice in his head, one last time. 

"Well Hiiiiiiiiii there!"

copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger

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