MICU Here I Come!

I hate change. It's just that simple. I'm not sure if it's the unsurity of it all, or the irregularity of getting off track from my usual routine that scares me. And it's not that I'm against any and all change. I'm not one of those people who can never rearrange the furniture or do something different with my hair. In fact, I more than enjoy those types of change. For quite awhile I'd become notorious for going to see Elizabeth, my stylist, and coming home having had all my hair chopped off. Yet this change, I'm sure, is well overdue.

A few days ago I sat down in front of my laptop and nervously filled out an online application to transfer upstairs to the Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU). Of course after clicking the send button I burst into tears and paced the floor, cursing my own name, wondering what I had done to myself. These feelings continue to come in waves. Currently there's nothing more I can do from my end of the application process. Now I have to wait to hear from the director of the ICU's. So I suppose I really shouldn't entitle this blog "MICU Here I Come!" but more "MICU?"