Since I started blogging on Myspace way back in 2004, I started a tradition in 2006 to do a new years blog that recaps my year. I will follow that tradition today once again as year number five of my December 31st blog.
December 31st, 2009, I was with everyone at Randi and Joe's apartment. Well almost everyone. Some were on vacation. We showed up a a little late. As expected everyone was already drunk. We watched the Red Bull buy on TV do a jump. Jerald and gross creepy hair. The guys played Mario on the Wii while the girls gossiped in the other room.
January was a new start. I was back at home from Weber and settling in, and going to school at SLCC again. I missed playing pool as much as I did. I struggled to find a new hobby to replace the gap. I picked up the acoustic guitar that semester and started taking lessons. I remember the excitement of something new.
February my old friend Kyle came home from his mission. Everything was different and a little the same. It was good to see him safe and sound. I got punched in the face for the first time by a patient. Later that month, I had crashed my car into a deer. I would not fix it forever.
In March I bought a lot of new guitars to push on with my new hobby. I also got new electric drums that I could finally play at night with. I had to sell off my old set piece by piece. It was hard to let it all go. My dog Jake had also passed away by the end of the month. I felt so helpless to help him in his time of need. I could not watch the vet put him down. I remember feeling the drums were connected in a way. When my old dog Annie died, I had just started playing the drums. I get a new drum set and then Jake dies. I knew there was no real correlation. But I was depressed nonetheless. Many of my friends had shown compassion for my loss. It hit me harder than I thought it would. Mustache March was once again in power but many contestants left. I just looked like a Hispanic drug lord.
In April I was pretty set on nursing school again. I had been working towards the requisites and thinking of my future nursing career. what would I do. Where would I work? Would I be happy? I even looked into vocational schools, even if they did cost me a lot of money. I just wanted to be done with school and not be old when I started my career.
In May, it started to slowly warm up. As with every year, as the days started getting warmer so did my spirits. I was happy again. My trip to Spencer, Idaho was somewhat of a disappointment. My sisters boyfriend getting drunk and embarrassing my dad was the worst thing to happen that I could remember. My uncle decided to pass out and everyone looked to me for answers. There was little paintball because of it. The vacation I needed was put out.
In June I started to work out again so I could lose weight. I was tired of looking chubby and feeling out of shape. I got my car fixed finally so the front headlight wouldn't be out. Jeff and I planned our trip to Chicago so I could help him move to med school. My sister moved out of the house waited to tell my parents till the last second.
In July, I had a nice relaxing 4th of July, my favorite holiday. I got ready to go to Chicago with Jeff. All I could think about was going on this awesome road trip with my best friend. It was all I could talk about. The trip failed in the first 10 hours when the car broke down in Denver. It was slightly funny. But everything was ruined. I was so put down by it. July was also marked by my friends Jeff and Kevin moving away to graduate school. Things changed from there.
In August, I had lost 35 pounds all together. It was the lightest I have been since high school. I loved it. School started back up and then I stopped going to the gym. I would gain 15 lbs back by December. I started to think about med school for the billionth time. I started to work PRN at Park City ER.
In September. I went to a family reunion in New Mexico that I generally enjoyed but was glad when it was over. It was nice to see the family again. I couldn't help but feel so out of place there. Every year I seem to feel more distant from them. I started to buckle down with school and get crap done.
October was fairly uneventful. I started watching Star Trek again, which I have enjoyed on many levels. So much of my life had become sedentary by this point. I started to buy guns again for my collection. My AR-15 jammed the first few times I shot it. I have yet to go back out and shoot it again. I had also backed into a wall at work. My car was busted again.
November was again uneventful. I turned the dreaded 24. I went to Fat's Bar and Grill and drank a pitcher and a half of beer. I played pool and ate so much delicious food. It was much needed. But yet, my life had remained sedentary.
In December finals took over my life for a couple of weeks. I started to go back to the gym in favor of getting rid of my fat ass. I had gained weight again. Christmas was nice and relaxing.
And now, here I am. I look back at 2010 and scowl. So much went wrong. Very little went right. Things were broken. Money was lost. Friends went away. From July on, I have rarely seen my friends or had much in the way of a social life. So much has fallen through this year. So many let downs. So much loss and isolation. Of course, it could have been worse. But I can't remember the last time I had such a shitty year. It's been a while. 2009 was mediocre. 2010 was worse. I can only hope that 2011 is full of better choices. More hope. More decisions. Solidity. Prosperity. Fun. Anything that was the opposite of this year. Good riddance 2010. You will not be missed. Let's start the new year off with my best friends at Randi and Joe's party. Here's to you 2011, don't let it get worse from here.
Friday, December 31, 2010
My Adventure Through Medicine Part 6: ER
My exposure to the ER was both accidental and purposeful. In high school, I had a vague interest in becoming an EMT because my dad wouldn't let me do the CNA program. He said I would hate it and never do healthcare because of it. Which is one of the reasons why he pushed me towards EKG and radiology. I figured if I couldn't do CNA then maybe EMT might be the way to go. I didn't have much of an interest in emergency medicine then. I thought I would never be able to function under the pressure or handle the things they handled. Of course, I was also under the same public misconception that everything that happened in the ER or in the field was a crazy traumatic emergency. It never occurred to me that people would go to the ER for bullshit reasons. That would be ridiculous. But alas, I had missed my window for the EMT program because I didn't do the other program needed for it. So that was out of the question.
My next exposure to the ER wouldn't until my last few months at Cottonwood in dietary. I had to deliver sandwiches to the fridge. I was scared to go there fearing I might see something gruesome. I went in there trying to look as official as possible. I couldn't understand why everyone in the ER didn't look so crazy stressed. The staff seemed reasonably happy. All I could hear was moaning from a patient behind a curtain. I was somewhat scared for some reason. I busted out of there as quickly as I could. Whenever I worked in the cafeteria, I always thought the ER staff looked the most hardened of all the people in the hospital. I had an odd respect for them. I just thought all ER staff went above and beyond. Not sure why I thought this, since I had no exposure to the ER at all.
My next exposure to the ER was when I worked in the lab. On my tour of the hospital in the first week, I vividly remember walking through the ER. Everyone was always moving around. There was always something happening it seemed. Everyone seemed happy even if they appeared stressed. I was intrigued by this. I was still guided by the misconception that everything in the ER was an emergency. I thought, if they could be happy under these kind of circumstances, why couldn't I be? Over my course in the lab, I got to know some of the EMT's who worked in the ER at Alta View. They were cool people. They were young and normal people. Not odd and hardened like I had thought. I decided to get my EMT that fall.
I took the EMT class for a variety of reasons. Not only was I inspired by the working indirectly with the ER staff from the lab and radiology, but I wanted something new. I wanted a certification that could get me a better job. All the jobs I saw at the hospitals required a CNA or an EMT. I decided that EMT would be more practical and longer lasting. I am happy with this decision as it has saved me so much trouble.
I remember being so scared my first day at the campus. I took the SLCC course which required it to be at a military facility way out west. Which was kind of intimidating. They spent the first two days of class completely psyching us out. Making everything into a big deal. I'm sure the speech was designed to make people care and take it seriously. It worked to say the least. As the classes went on, I felt less qualified to do the work. There were people who were much better than me at it. But there were also people in the class who were surprisingly much worse. It absolutely shocked me that people so stupid could actually be on an ambulance. It shocked me more how little the requirements actually were for people to go out on the street and help people. Not to mention the insane low pay, low respect, and burn out rate of it all. I remember how inadequate I felt during a team lead exercise. We all had to take turns being the leader of 5 people for a patient who was critically ill or wounded. (These were mock scenarios so don't be alarmed.) I failed miserably every time. I clumsily stumbled through the exercise failing at almost every turning point. Someone else in the group would take over for me and do it correctly. I really felt as though I could not competently do the job. To make matters worse, I was terrible at splints and bandaging. I had consistently done poorly on trauma management and splinting. They forced us to remember several splints that are actually never used in the field with 5 different types of devices. Awesome.
We had to do one clinical to get some hands on experience with patients. Ideally this was supposed to be on an ambulance. But since there wasn't any ambulances allowing ride alongs, I had to go to an ER. I was disappointed by this notion. I wanted to be on an ambulance! I was starting to lean more and more towards becoming a paramedic for an ambulance in the future. I was still extremely nervous for the day I had to work 8 hours at Pioneer Valley Hospital. Where the hell was this hospital? Was it any good? I remember it being busy all night long. I remember running up and down the hallways watching IV's and a good amount of sick patients pass through. I remember an elderly man who was dying of stage 4 liver cancer in an insane amount of pain. I remember an Asian man who was practically in DKA. I didn't fully understand what was going on but I actually enjoyed it, even though I felt like an idiot most of the night.
After the class I took my written and practical tests with success. Now the challenge was to find a real job where I could actually use my skills. I had applied to Gold Cross twice. No success. I had walked in to a station where Southwest ambulance used to operate and basically threw myself at the mercy of their kindness. Unfortunately, I was not yet 21, which was the minimum age requirement for their company. I had lost a little bit of hope. I decided that maybe I should try to work in an ER instead until I could get on with an ambulance. By this time, I had formulated a long term plan that involved me becoming a full paramedic. I gave up hope of becoming a doctor. I soon discovered that getting into an ER was harder than getting onto an ambulance which was pretty ridiculous as it was. My only way in was to suck up. So I started volunteering at Alta View Hospital and UUMC in the ER. I was hoping since the staff at both places knew me from both my jobs already, that if I proved my worth I could get hired on. I did just that. I worked harder than any volunteer could. I tried to be sociable and nice. Basically I tried to make myself appear I was employable.
The experience I had gained at those places was inspiring and invaluable. As the months went on, I realized more and more that the ER was what I wanted. I liked the people. I liked the atmosphere. I liked the teamwork. I remember seeing traumas at the U. I remember seeing a full arrest at Alta View and watching everyone try as hard as they could. I remember the ER doctor ending the code by asking "Can anyone think of anything else we can do?" There was no response. She then said, "Is everyone comfortable if we call it?" Everyone agreed with the decision. The patient had died in front of me. Later on that night, I had got to help transport a patient to the helicopter pad to help Lifeflight load a patient. I got to see the helicopter and talk to the nurse and medic who were on the copter. I was so excited. The staff at Alta View trusted me to help take the patient to the pad. I knew now I wanted to be a part of this somehow.
I eventually got an interview at the U a month after I started this idea. I didn't get the job, which was extremely disappointing to me. The interview was awkward. It was silent most of the time while I got stared down by a nurse and a tech. Both of whom I would eventually have to work with later on when I did eventually get hired there. I knew I didn't get the job after I left the interview. I tried to stay in good spirits with the staff to appear that it hadn't bothered me at all. Even though it was only a PRN job, I wanted so badly to be apart of it. I had felt most comfortable at that ER despite not getting along with the staff as well as Alta View's. I wanted to see the high acuity the U had. That was the main allure.
I tried every way I knew how to get in to an ER. I spoke to ER staff managers, recruiters, human resources people, just anyone who could help me get in. Later on, I got a chance again. Four chances actually. I got interviews for four different ER's in one week. One interview a day. I was to be interviewed at UUMC for a second time, Utah Valley Hospital in Provo, Cottonwood Hospital, and LDS Hospital. The one at the U didn't work out well again. I knew I wouldn't get the job that time too. Again it was awkward. The one at Utah Valley went well, but they didn't seem particularly interested. It seemed like they may have already had someone else in mind and they were just going through the motions. The interviews at Cottonwood Hospital and LDS had both gone really well. Both were very interested. At Cottonwood, I thought I had really made it clear about how badly I wanted the chance to prove myself at the job. At LDS, I had a little bit of extra help. The manager had recognized my name because of my dad, and an incident that had occurred nearly 3 years ago from that point. At my company orientation for my food service job, she was one of the speakers. She recognized my name because of my dad and announced to everyone how much she liked that name. When I told her I was related, she was ecstatic and said that she would not forget me or my dad. I thought it was all just empty words. Funny thing is, this lady had remembered that exact situation and me 3 years later as I was interviewing in her office. Kind of interesting how life does that to you.
I wanted the job at Cottonwood more. Intermountain Medical Center was 2 months away from opening. If I got the job at Cottonwood, I would get to move to IMC. Be at a brand new hospital. See crazy traumas again. Be apart of something big, like I had always wanted. If I went to LDS, I would only see trauma for a couple of months, then be stuck at a community hospital. I was thinking of the big picture. I wanted the big stuff.
I worked my jobs at radiology, cardiology, pathology, plus my two volunteer jobs almost every day. I waited impatiently for a phone call from human resources from any one of those places. Just anywhere. I wanted to finally do work that I wanted to be apart of. But my mind became sidetracked. My great grandmother had just passed away. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Although I knew her passing was near, it was still shocking all the same. She had not been doing well for a few months. All I could think about was how guilty I felt for not seeing her more often. Not getting to know her more. It consumed my thoughts for a days. I couldn't concentrate. The day I was leaving for the funeral, I was in the car with my family. We were just about to hit the freeway and head up to Idaho. I got a call from human resources to to be offered the job at LDS Hospital. I wasn't disappointed. Though I think the lady on the other line might have thought I was. My voice and affect was flat. I accepted and said I would be out of town for the weekend. It was a short transaction with little information exchanged. I was happy. But I decided to keep generally quiet about it. I wasn't in the mood to celebrate.
I never had to quit 5 jobs before. I gave my two weeks notice for all of them. I wanted to stay PRN at radiology for the money. They said that was ok, but they never called me for any shifts. My supervisor said it was ok to stay PRN to my face, but apparently had let me go the day after our conversation without me knowing. I didn't find this out till 5 months later. I didn't care though. Everywhere else, had congratulated me formally. It was an odd feeling of letting go of so much for one thing. The jobs I had were generally good to me. All of them taught me so much. All of them would be relevant to this new job.
I don't remember my first day. All I remember is that I had to do a twelve hour for the first time in a long time. I remember how nervous I felt. I had every right to be as nervous as I did. I soon found out how cut-throat a trauma center ER was. I knew it was rough with my experience at the U as an EKG tech. But I never knew just how ridiculous it was. It was like a high school clique. If they liked you, it was a grand time for you. If they didn't know you or didn't like you, you knew about it every second you were there. People didn't trust you. People didn't talk to you or treat you like a person. You really had to prove yourself there. Although the first month there was peppered with awesome stories that I continue to tell to this day, (Me tipping over a cricothyroidotomy tray in the middle of the procedue, the fake seizure girl who asked for dilaudid, and a few that I will touch on later.) I had never felt so alone and hated. I began to dislike my job a little after a couple of months. Although I was decent at my job, the nurses and other techs made no effort to be nice to me. A few were nice when they wanted something, a couple were just genuinely nice.
I remember talking to the doctors the first time. Some insisted on being called by their first name, some were just cool and down to earth. A quality I had yet to see in other types of doctors I worked with previously. The pathologists I worked with were nice, but generally awkward and stern. The radiologists I worked with were typically high stress for just reading images all day. They had no problem being mean just because. There was only one doctor in radiology that was ok with being called by their first name and he was super nice. Most of the others, if you failed to call them doctor I would get a lecture about how they didn't go to med school for 4 years and 6 years of residency to get called by "just" their first or "just" their last name. I had to call them doctor. Because of that stigma for a couple of years, I still have trouble calling doctors I know really well by their first name. I fear somewhat of a consequence to it to this day. Cardiologists were very much the same. Suddenly, I'm talking with doctors who talked with nurses and techs like regular people. Talking about hobbies, beer, making funny jokes. I had never seen that kind of teamwork before.
I loved being a part of traumas that came through. I saw so many good ones. But each trauma, it was made sure very quickly that the nurses did not trust me and the techs who were with me didn't either. I guess with reason. I wasn't very good and made mistakes. But I also did a lot of good and enjoyed being part of the moments that counted. I didn't want LDS Hospital to stop being the trauma center. I wanted to go to IMC when the move happened so I could still be apart of it. I did eventually go PRN there. I was touring the ER a week before it opened and happened to come across the manager of IMC ER. I talked about how I wanted to transfer there the second there was an opening available. On the spot the manager offered me the PRN position and said they needed help with filling gaps in the schedule. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I worked the first week of hell that it opened....
I remember my first interactions with homeless people. At first I thought it was sad and it tugged on my feelings hard to see people live the way they did. I felt like I was doing a service to the community helping take care of them. I had no idea that people abused the system just to sleep in a bed. I had no idea so many drunks came to an ER. I had no idea so many people were mean and combative. I had no idea people came in for nothing. It all felt so wrong. It shocked me. The most shocking was watching a male nurse I work with get punched by a crazy homeless guy in the CT scanning room while I stood horrified. I then saw that nurse retaliate back. I was in so much shock. I thought it to be so wrong to hit a patient or to be hit by a patient. Who would want to hit someone who is taking care of them? So much was so new and unclear.
I remember how valuable I finally felt to have skills and to see things that mattered. I remember irrigating a laceration for the first time. I couldn't help but have a stupid grin on my face while thinking "this is real medicine, this is what I came for." Seeing torn flesh for the first time was such a big deal. It seemed so crazy. I loved irrigating lacerations. I have come to hate it since it's generally time consuming and all the same nowadays. But every time I stepped into a patients room, I remember how fresh and awe inspiring it was every time. I felt like I was making a difference. I felt important and useful.
I remember being there for my first full arrest. It was the first time I did chest compressions. The guy was huge and looked super dead. When they called it shortly after, I couldn't help but feel it was slightly my fault. I remember seeing my first trauma not make it. He passed away before my very eyes. I also felt responsible as the family cried over them. All I ever wanted to do was help people and make a difference. And there I was stood, 20 years old and powerless. I had failed them. I failed myself. It was nothing like I thought it would be.
I quickly grew tired of working at IMC. I hated how disorganized it was there. I hated how nothing stayed the same. I hated how I knew almost no one there. I hated the requirements they were putting on techs there. They asked me to leave since I was not picking up more than 2 shifts a month.
When LDSH stopped being a trauma center, everything changed. Staff that I was just getting acquainted with were gone. Acuity that I was used to, gone. Large numbers of patients, gone. It was like starting over again. It didn't matter to some degree. It was partially my fault being so shy. I could barely muster a word out for a nice conversation. I hardly talked. My first year I was practically dead silent.
As time went on, I got better at my job and got better acquainted with the people I work with. I was better, more confident and still felt useful. This led to me getting more PRN jobs. I eventually worked at UUMC ER PRN but hated it more than IMC. It was a fun place for learning new skills. But I soon learned that the staff was worse. Many were arrogant assholes with a "god complex." So many of the other techs there had no particular hopes or dreams. They just worked at that ER for life. As a result they saw me as inferior and treated me as such. The doctors weren't bad. I never had a real connection with any of them. I saw good traumas and strokes, good high acuity and learned new skills. But none of it mattered to how much I was treated by management and staff. I left after only 10 months. I couldn't take it. I later learned that most of the people I used to work with there left shortly I did. Management was falling apart and everyone knew it. I work at Park City ER PRN with which I have no personal feels for or against. It's a nice hospital with nice patients. It's the most laid back place I have ever worked and have enjoyed my time there thus far.
It's been almost 4 years since I started in the ER. So much has changed about myself. I want more out of life and a job. I feel more useless than useful. I'm embittered by my patients and used like a kleenex by some crappy nurses. The challenge of my job is gone. But yet I have no where else to go. No where that I might enjoy something as much as I do with this. My struggle through school has only proved to be a bigger problem with this. Nurse. Physician assistant. Doctor. I'm getting older now and am no closer to moving up. I fear that this job is my peak and I am done fore. Although that's not the case. I can't help but feel so burned out by what I'm doing. I don't hate it, but I don't love it. I don't like being a great tech. I want to be a great something else. Anything. I don't want to be stuck with this job forever. The perks are many, but not enough.
The other day I walked out of a critical patient's room that I had just helped out in. I smelled something familiar. It had nothing to do with mouthwash, urine, poop, homeless stink or anything. Just a smell that was faint and familiar. It forced me to think of everything I had been through. As I was thinking about it, everything seemed to slow down. I was on my way off a long night shift. The halls that I'm familiar with seemed to blend to white. I was taken down through memories of what brought me here. Where I started. The people who have influenced me greatly. As I walked through the hallways, into another room, it was more like the room passed around me and time had slowed down much slower. I thought of the nurses who taught me so much, believed in me, trusted me. I watched them all make huge differences in their patient's lives so many times. Each time I thought, "I want to be more like that. I want to be more like them." I thought of the doctors who inspired me to care, to go further, to do more, to do more. I see so many of them as people I wish I could be. Their instinctive qualities to medicine. Being so intuitive on what's going on. Being so smart and hardworking. I have stood in envy of many of these people and have hoped to become as great as them. I thought about the people who got me here. All the way back to food service. I hated the job, but a few people thought I would make it further. I wanted out and a few pushed me to go further. The job sucked but it made damn sure that wasn't the end of the road. The people in the lab taught me to be more laid back. To work harder to make it and earn trust. Cardiology taught me that clinical status is all I wanted. Radiology gave me the invaluable knowledge to know what the hell I'm looking at in scans. So many people and qualities to thank. I finally clocked out and walked out of the ER. I had to be back later that night for another graveyard. I didn't feel so bad about being here. But I didn't feel so great about coming back as still a tech.
My next exposure to the ER wouldn't until my last few months at Cottonwood in dietary. I had to deliver sandwiches to the fridge. I was scared to go there fearing I might see something gruesome. I went in there trying to look as official as possible. I couldn't understand why everyone in the ER didn't look so crazy stressed. The staff seemed reasonably happy. All I could hear was moaning from a patient behind a curtain. I was somewhat scared for some reason. I busted out of there as quickly as I could. Whenever I worked in the cafeteria, I always thought the ER staff looked the most hardened of all the people in the hospital. I had an odd respect for them. I just thought all ER staff went above and beyond. Not sure why I thought this, since I had no exposure to the ER at all.
My next exposure to the ER was when I worked in the lab. On my tour of the hospital in the first week, I vividly remember walking through the ER. Everyone was always moving around. There was always something happening it seemed. Everyone seemed happy even if they appeared stressed. I was intrigued by this. I was still guided by the misconception that everything in the ER was an emergency. I thought, if they could be happy under these kind of circumstances, why couldn't I be? Over my course in the lab, I got to know some of the EMT's who worked in the ER at Alta View. They were cool people. They were young and normal people. Not odd and hardened like I had thought. I decided to get my EMT that fall.
I took the EMT class for a variety of reasons. Not only was I inspired by the working indirectly with the ER staff from the lab and radiology, but I wanted something new. I wanted a certification that could get me a better job. All the jobs I saw at the hospitals required a CNA or an EMT. I decided that EMT would be more practical and longer lasting. I am happy with this decision as it has saved me so much trouble.
I remember being so scared my first day at the campus. I took the SLCC course which required it to be at a military facility way out west. Which was kind of intimidating. They spent the first two days of class completely psyching us out. Making everything into a big deal. I'm sure the speech was designed to make people care and take it seriously. It worked to say the least. As the classes went on, I felt less qualified to do the work. There were people who were much better than me at it. But there were also people in the class who were surprisingly much worse. It absolutely shocked me that people so stupid could actually be on an ambulance. It shocked me more how little the requirements actually were for people to go out on the street and help people. Not to mention the insane low pay, low respect, and burn out rate of it all. I remember how inadequate I felt during a team lead exercise. We all had to take turns being the leader of 5 people for a patient who was critically ill or wounded. (These were mock scenarios so don't be alarmed.) I failed miserably every time. I clumsily stumbled through the exercise failing at almost every turning point. Someone else in the group would take over for me and do it correctly. I really felt as though I could not competently do the job. To make matters worse, I was terrible at splints and bandaging. I had consistently done poorly on trauma management and splinting. They forced us to remember several splints that are actually never used in the field with 5 different types of devices. Awesome.
We had to do one clinical to get some hands on experience with patients. Ideally this was supposed to be on an ambulance. But since there wasn't any ambulances allowing ride alongs, I had to go to an ER. I was disappointed by this notion. I wanted to be on an ambulance! I was starting to lean more and more towards becoming a paramedic for an ambulance in the future. I was still extremely nervous for the day I had to work 8 hours at Pioneer Valley Hospital. Where the hell was this hospital? Was it any good? I remember it being busy all night long. I remember running up and down the hallways watching IV's and a good amount of sick patients pass through. I remember an elderly man who was dying of stage 4 liver cancer in an insane amount of pain. I remember an Asian man who was practically in DKA. I didn't fully understand what was going on but I actually enjoyed it, even though I felt like an idiot most of the night.
After the class I took my written and practical tests with success. Now the challenge was to find a real job where I could actually use my skills. I had applied to Gold Cross twice. No success. I had walked in to a station where Southwest ambulance used to operate and basically threw myself at the mercy of their kindness. Unfortunately, I was not yet 21, which was the minimum age requirement for their company. I had lost a little bit of hope. I decided that maybe I should try to work in an ER instead until I could get on with an ambulance. By this time, I had formulated a long term plan that involved me becoming a full paramedic. I gave up hope of becoming a doctor. I soon discovered that getting into an ER was harder than getting onto an ambulance which was pretty ridiculous as it was. My only way in was to suck up. So I started volunteering at Alta View Hospital and UUMC in the ER. I was hoping since the staff at both places knew me from both my jobs already, that if I proved my worth I could get hired on. I did just that. I worked harder than any volunteer could. I tried to be sociable and nice. Basically I tried to make myself appear I was employable.
The experience I had gained at those places was inspiring and invaluable. As the months went on, I realized more and more that the ER was what I wanted. I liked the people. I liked the atmosphere. I liked the teamwork. I remember seeing traumas at the U. I remember seeing a full arrest at Alta View and watching everyone try as hard as they could. I remember the ER doctor ending the code by asking "Can anyone think of anything else we can do?" There was no response. She then said, "Is everyone comfortable if we call it?" Everyone agreed with the decision. The patient had died in front of me. Later on that night, I had got to help transport a patient to the helicopter pad to help Lifeflight load a patient. I got to see the helicopter and talk to the nurse and medic who were on the copter. I was so excited. The staff at Alta View trusted me to help take the patient to the pad. I knew now I wanted to be a part of this somehow.
I eventually got an interview at the U a month after I started this idea. I didn't get the job, which was extremely disappointing to me. The interview was awkward. It was silent most of the time while I got stared down by a nurse and a tech. Both of whom I would eventually have to work with later on when I did eventually get hired there. I knew I didn't get the job after I left the interview. I tried to stay in good spirits with the staff to appear that it hadn't bothered me at all. Even though it was only a PRN job, I wanted so badly to be apart of it. I had felt most comfortable at that ER despite not getting along with the staff as well as Alta View's. I wanted to see the high acuity the U had. That was the main allure.
I tried every way I knew how to get in to an ER. I spoke to ER staff managers, recruiters, human resources people, just anyone who could help me get in. Later on, I got a chance again. Four chances actually. I got interviews for four different ER's in one week. One interview a day. I was to be interviewed at UUMC for a second time, Utah Valley Hospital in Provo, Cottonwood Hospital, and LDS Hospital. The one at the U didn't work out well again. I knew I wouldn't get the job that time too. Again it was awkward. The one at Utah Valley went well, but they didn't seem particularly interested. It seemed like they may have already had someone else in mind and they were just going through the motions. The interviews at Cottonwood Hospital and LDS had both gone really well. Both were very interested. At Cottonwood, I thought I had really made it clear about how badly I wanted the chance to prove myself at the job. At LDS, I had a little bit of extra help. The manager had recognized my name because of my dad, and an incident that had occurred nearly 3 years ago from that point. At my company orientation for my food service job, she was one of the speakers. She recognized my name because of my dad and announced to everyone how much she liked that name. When I told her I was related, she was ecstatic and said that she would not forget me or my dad. I thought it was all just empty words. Funny thing is, this lady had remembered that exact situation and me 3 years later as I was interviewing in her office. Kind of interesting how life does that to you.
I wanted the job at Cottonwood more. Intermountain Medical Center was 2 months away from opening. If I got the job at Cottonwood, I would get to move to IMC. Be at a brand new hospital. See crazy traumas again. Be apart of something big, like I had always wanted. If I went to LDS, I would only see trauma for a couple of months, then be stuck at a community hospital. I was thinking of the big picture. I wanted the big stuff.
I worked my jobs at radiology, cardiology, pathology, plus my two volunteer jobs almost every day. I waited impatiently for a phone call from human resources from any one of those places. Just anywhere. I wanted to finally do work that I wanted to be apart of. But my mind became sidetracked. My great grandmother had just passed away. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Although I knew her passing was near, it was still shocking all the same. She had not been doing well for a few months. All I could think about was how guilty I felt for not seeing her more often. Not getting to know her more. It consumed my thoughts for a days. I couldn't concentrate. The day I was leaving for the funeral, I was in the car with my family. We were just about to hit the freeway and head up to Idaho. I got a call from human resources to to be offered the job at LDS Hospital. I wasn't disappointed. Though I think the lady on the other line might have thought I was. My voice and affect was flat. I accepted and said I would be out of town for the weekend. It was a short transaction with little information exchanged. I was happy. But I decided to keep generally quiet about it. I wasn't in the mood to celebrate.
I never had to quit 5 jobs before. I gave my two weeks notice for all of them. I wanted to stay PRN at radiology for the money. They said that was ok, but they never called me for any shifts. My supervisor said it was ok to stay PRN to my face, but apparently had let me go the day after our conversation without me knowing. I didn't find this out till 5 months later. I didn't care though. Everywhere else, had congratulated me formally. It was an odd feeling of letting go of so much for one thing. The jobs I had were generally good to me. All of them taught me so much. All of them would be relevant to this new job.
I don't remember my first day. All I remember is that I had to do a twelve hour for the first time in a long time. I remember how nervous I felt. I had every right to be as nervous as I did. I soon found out how cut-throat a trauma center ER was. I knew it was rough with my experience at the U as an EKG tech. But I never knew just how ridiculous it was. It was like a high school clique. If they liked you, it was a grand time for you. If they didn't know you or didn't like you, you knew about it every second you were there. People didn't trust you. People didn't talk to you or treat you like a person. You really had to prove yourself there. Although the first month there was peppered with awesome stories that I continue to tell to this day, (Me tipping over a cricothyroidotomy tray in the middle of the procedue, the fake seizure girl who asked for dilaudid, and a few that I will touch on later.) I had never felt so alone and hated. I began to dislike my job a little after a couple of months. Although I was decent at my job, the nurses and other techs made no effort to be nice to me. A few were nice when they wanted something, a couple were just genuinely nice.
I remember talking to the doctors the first time. Some insisted on being called by their first name, some were just cool and down to earth. A quality I had yet to see in other types of doctors I worked with previously. The pathologists I worked with were nice, but generally awkward and stern. The radiologists I worked with were typically high stress for just reading images all day. They had no problem being mean just because. There was only one doctor in radiology that was ok with being called by their first name and he was super nice. Most of the others, if you failed to call them doctor I would get a lecture about how they didn't go to med school for 4 years and 6 years of residency to get called by "just" their first or "just" their last name. I had to call them doctor. Because of that stigma for a couple of years, I still have trouble calling doctors I know really well by their first name. I fear somewhat of a consequence to it to this day. Cardiologists were very much the same. Suddenly, I'm talking with doctors who talked with nurses and techs like regular people. Talking about hobbies, beer, making funny jokes. I had never seen that kind of teamwork before.
I loved being a part of traumas that came through. I saw so many good ones. But each trauma, it was made sure very quickly that the nurses did not trust me and the techs who were with me didn't either. I guess with reason. I wasn't very good and made mistakes. But I also did a lot of good and enjoyed being part of the moments that counted. I didn't want LDS Hospital to stop being the trauma center. I wanted to go to IMC when the move happened so I could still be apart of it. I did eventually go PRN there. I was touring the ER a week before it opened and happened to come across the manager of IMC ER. I talked about how I wanted to transfer there the second there was an opening available. On the spot the manager offered me the PRN position and said they needed help with filling gaps in the schedule. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I worked the first week of hell that it opened....
I remember my first interactions with homeless people. At first I thought it was sad and it tugged on my feelings hard to see people live the way they did. I felt like I was doing a service to the community helping take care of them. I had no idea that people abused the system just to sleep in a bed. I had no idea so many drunks came to an ER. I had no idea so many people were mean and combative. I had no idea people came in for nothing. It all felt so wrong. It shocked me. The most shocking was watching a male nurse I work with get punched by a crazy homeless guy in the CT scanning room while I stood horrified. I then saw that nurse retaliate back. I was in so much shock. I thought it to be so wrong to hit a patient or to be hit by a patient. Who would want to hit someone who is taking care of them? So much was so new and unclear.
I remember how valuable I finally felt to have skills and to see things that mattered. I remember irrigating a laceration for the first time. I couldn't help but have a stupid grin on my face while thinking "this is real medicine, this is what I came for." Seeing torn flesh for the first time was such a big deal. It seemed so crazy. I loved irrigating lacerations. I have come to hate it since it's generally time consuming and all the same nowadays. But every time I stepped into a patients room, I remember how fresh and awe inspiring it was every time. I felt like I was making a difference. I felt important and useful.
I remember being there for my first full arrest. It was the first time I did chest compressions. The guy was huge and looked super dead. When they called it shortly after, I couldn't help but feel it was slightly my fault. I remember seeing my first trauma not make it. He passed away before my very eyes. I also felt responsible as the family cried over them. All I ever wanted to do was help people and make a difference. And there I was stood, 20 years old and powerless. I had failed them. I failed myself. It was nothing like I thought it would be.
I quickly grew tired of working at IMC. I hated how disorganized it was there. I hated how nothing stayed the same. I hated how I knew almost no one there. I hated the requirements they were putting on techs there. They asked me to leave since I was not picking up more than 2 shifts a month.
When LDSH stopped being a trauma center, everything changed. Staff that I was just getting acquainted with were gone. Acuity that I was used to, gone. Large numbers of patients, gone. It was like starting over again. It didn't matter to some degree. It was partially my fault being so shy. I could barely muster a word out for a nice conversation. I hardly talked. My first year I was practically dead silent.
As time went on, I got better at my job and got better acquainted with the people I work with. I was better, more confident and still felt useful. This led to me getting more PRN jobs. I eventually worked at UUMC ER PRN but hated it more than IMC. It was a fun place for learning new skills. But I soon learned that the staff was worse. Many were arrogant assholes with a "god complex." So many of the other techs there had no particular hopes or dreams. They just worked at that ER for life. As a result they saw me as inferior and treated me as such. The doctors weren't bad. I never had a real connection with any of them. I saw good traumas and strokes, good high acuity and learned new skills. But none of it mattered to how much I was treated by management and staff. I left after only 10 months. I couldn't take it. I later learned that most of the people I used to work with there left shortly I did. Management was falling apart and everyone knew it. I work at Park City ER PRN with which I have no personal feels for or against. It's a nice hospital with nice patients. It's the most laid back place I have ever worked and have enjoyed my time there thus far.
It's been almost 4 years since I started in the ER. So much has changed about myself. I want more out of life and a job. I feel more useless than useful. I'm embittered by my patients and used like a kleenex by some crappy nurses. The challenge of my job is gone. But yet I have no where else to go. No where that I might enjoy something as much as I do with this. My struggle through school has only proved to be a bigger problem with this. Nurse. Physician assistant. Doctor. I'm getting older now and am no closer to moving up. I fear that this job is my peak and I am done fore. Although that's not the case. I can't help but feel so burned out by what I'm doing. I don't hate it, but I don't love it. I don't like being a great tech. I want to be a great something else. Anything. I don't want to be stuck with this job forever. The perks are many, but not enough.
The other day I walked out of a critical patient's room that I had just helped out in. I smelled something familiar. It had nothing to do with mouthwash, urine, poop, homeless stink or anything. Just a smell that was faint and familiar. It forced me to think of everything I had been through. As I was thinking about it, everything seemed to slow down. I was on my way off a long night shift. The halls that I'm familiar with seemed to blend to white. I was taken down through memories of what brought me here. Where I started. The people who have influenced me greatly. As I walked through the hallways, into another room, it was more like the room passed around me and time had slowed down much slower. I thought of the nurses who taught me so much, believed in me, trusted me. I watched them all make huge differences in their patient's lives so many times. Each time I thought, "I want to be more like that. I want to be more like them." I thought of the doctors who inspired me to care, to go further, to do more, to do more. I see so many of them as people I wish I could be. Their instinctive qualities to medicine. Being so intuitive on what's going on. Being so smart and hardworking. I have stood in envy of many of these people and have hoped to become as great as them. I thought about the people who got me here. All the way back to food service. I hated the job, but a few people thought I would make it further. I wanted out and a few pushed me to go further. The job sucked but it made damn sure that wasn't the end of the road. The people in the lab taught me to be more laid back. To work harder to make it and earn trust. Cardiology taught me that clinical status is all I wanted. Radiology gave me the invaluable knowledge to know what the hell I'm looking at in scans. So many people and qualities to thank. I finally clocked out and walked out of the ER. I had to be back later that night for another graveyard. I didn't feel so bad about being here. But I didn't feel so great about coming back as still a tech.
Monday, October 18, 2010
My Adventure Through Medicine Part 5: Cardiology
Where do I begin with this one? So much of what I knew and loved about anatomy came from the subject of cardiology. My dad, made it a point to imprint his fascinations on me. Cardiology was no exception. He loved learning about the subject. He worked in cardiology research for years. Even today it is still one of his favorite science topics. He gets excited talking about it. As a kid, I never fully appreciated this fund of knowledge. My dad went to great lengths to teach me everything he knew about the subject in hopes I would be interested. I knew what EKG's were before most kids who were 8. In high school, I had a general idea on how to read them because of my dad.
It is also because of my dad that I pursued a job in cardiology. If you remember back to the dietary part, my dad had enrolled me in an EKG reading course. He had hoped I would work as an EKG tech like he once did. After failing to get in at LDS Hospital EKG when I was 18, I had lost some interest. This interest was renewed after I got my EMT-Basic. I realized this could be the hands-on opportunity I'm looking for. I could learn so much from this and maybe decide what I wanted to do. I stumbled upon an EKG tech opening at the University of Utah Medical Center. It was PRN only. But the requirement was every Sunday, 3-11 PM.
Sweet.
I applied that day and got an interview the next. The interview went really well. After so many failed interviews in the past, I had mastered the art of the interview. Things started to go my way for once. I was getting jobs that I wanted. I got offered the job two days later. I was most ecstatic about it. Finally, something clinical. Patient care. Bedside manner. Stuff that really mattered.
My first week went well. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. Everything was so new. Everything was being experienced for the first time. I saw what an inpatient floor looked like. I saw how an ICU functioned. I saw how hard people worked. It was eye opening. It didn't take long to master the job though. Before I knew it, I was running the show by myself. Weekends were slow enough that there was only one tech on at a time on Saturdays and Sundays. This was nice sometimes. Other days, it was so busy I could barely keep up. Most of the time I just sat in the office watching movies, doing homework, or in some cases napping.
What made the experience great was the patients. I had barely quit the lab when I first started and only worked PRN in radiology. Even when I picked up my lab job again, this was the only job I truly enjoyed. I saw patients. I did diagnostic testing. I got to wear a fancy pager. It was all the stuff I wanted. It seemed important. I was at an important hospital. For the first time ever, I felt like I was going places. I was moving up.
Even when patients were assholes, I still enjoyed my job. I loved the feeling of getting the page for a code and running with the code team. I loved seeing sick ICU patients. I loved seeing stroke patients. I loved seeing floor patients. I saw every floor I ever wanted to see. The job was fascinating enough where I thought it might be fun to work in cardiac care. I considered getting a CNA job on a tele floor or cardiac ICU. However, nothing excited me more than getting a page to the ER. I knew when I was going down there, people were waiting for me to do something important. I saw everything. Traumas, STEMI'S, full arrests. Everything I had learned about in my EMT course but never got to practice.
After spending so much time in the ER, I realized how much my EKG job was lacking. It didn't have solid hands on care. No continuity. No extra skill. No teamwork. I also realized how I could never do ICU or floor jobs at the time. I remember an event that touched me deeply one night. I was walking out of the Neuro ICU. It had been a long night. I had been doing EKG's continually for eight hours. All I wanted to do was get back to my office and be left alone till my replacement got in. But as I passed the Neuro ICU I heard something peculiar. It sounded like singing. Couldn't be. I walked over there to investigate. My ears had not deceived me. It was a Polynesian family singing a hymn. There must have been 30 of them. They sang so beautifully and yet so solemnly. It struck a nerve in my somewhere. I was somewhat choked up. I heard them pray for the stuff to do their best. To be capable and competent in helping their loved one. I remembered why I even got into medicine. To help people. To be there because I was needed. I realized that my job was only a small part of the larger puzzle. I was helping patients, but not in the way I would like. I realized, that I had to get a job that was more hands on. Something where I could make a bigger impact. Be a bigger piece to the puzzle.
I saw and learned so much from my time there. Even if I only worked there for 9 months, for usually one day a week, it was the job I liked the most. Radiology and the lab were nice supplements to my failing income. I was out on my own struggling to make a decent wage to pay rent and pay for everything else. But I had come to think of UUMC EKG as home. I started to get to know the staff on the cardiac units and ICU's. I started to befriend people from the ER. I had lost interest in cardiology very quickly. Although the cath lab was intriguing and failing hearts exhilarating, it was nothing compared to what I thought the ER was. I wanted nothing more than to be in the ER. But that's a different chapter.
However, every place I've been to has it's stories. What I remember most about UUMC cardiology is a guy I worked with. He always came in as my relief every Sunday night at 11. At first he seemed nice and harmless. But it soon became apparent that he was weird and homeless. I came to find out that he had been living in the hospital for months. Security was always looking for him trying to route him out of the place. This explained a lot about this guy. Every time I would work there, I would see him in his scrubs hours before his shift started. He would just be aimlessly wondering the hospital. To the untrained eye, it looked as though he had somewhere to go and something to do. But to the people that knew him, everyone knew he was just walking around for 8-10 hours at a time until his shift started. He was most certainly crazy. He would yell about how things were a mess and how everyone screws him over. It was quite absurd. He would supposedly go on expensive vacations to other states to see his family all the time. Yet, he lived in the hospital under everyone's nose. I never managed to find the rats nest he had made home somewhere in the hospital. On my downtime, instead of editing EKG's or paperwork, I would wonder the hospital trying to find where he might be living. I tried to think, "If I was homeless and had to live in the hospital without getting caught, where would I go?"
I thought he would get fired for this. Turns out he never gets in trouble. I would run into him 2 years later to find out he was still working in EKG.
But none of that mattered. Soon I was going to quit all three of my jobs and work in an ER.
This picture was meant to be a joke sent to my friends. But it's the only picture I can find that documents I was even an EKG tech.
It is also because of my dad that I pursued a job in cardiology. If you remember back to the dietary part, my dad had enrolled me in an EKG reading course. He had hoped I would work as an EKG tech like he once did. After failing to get in at LDS Hospital EKG when I was 18, I had lost some interest. This interest was renewed after I got my EMT-Basic. I realized this could be the hands-on opportunity I'm looking for. I could learn so much from this and maybe decide what I wanted to do. I stumbled upon an EKG tech opening at the University of Utah Medical Center. It was PRN only. But the requirement was every Sunday, 3-11 PM.
Sweet.
I applied that day and got an interview the next. The interview went really well. After so many failed interviews in the past, I had mastered the art of the interview. Things started to go my way for once. I was getting jobs that I wanted. I got offered the job two days later. I was most ecstatic about it. Finally, something clinical. Patient care. Bedside manner. Stuff that really mattered.
My first week went well. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. Everything was so new. Everything was being experienced for the first time. I saw what an inpatient floor looked like. I saw how an ICU functioned. I saw how hard people worked. It was eye opening. It didn't take long to master the job though. Before I knew it, I was running the show by myself. Weekends were slow enough that there was only one tech on at a time on Saturdays and Sundays. This was nice sometimes. Other days, it was so busy I could barely keep up. Most of the time I just sat in the office watching movies, doing homework, or in some cases napping.
What made the experience great was the patients. I had barely quit the lab when I first started and only worked PRN in radiology. Even when I picked up my lab job again, this was the only job I truly enjoyed. I saw patients. I did diagnostic testing. I got to wear a fancy pager. It was all the stuff I wanted. It seemed important. I was at an important hospital. For the first time ever, I felt like I was going places. I was moving up.
Even when patients were assholes, I still enjoyed my job. I loved the feeling of getting the page for a code and running with the code team. I loved seeing sick ICU patients. I loved seeing stroke patients. I loved seeing floor patients. I saw every floor I ever wanted to see. The job was fascinating enough where I thought it might be fun to work in cardiac care. I considered getting a CNA job on a tele floor or cardiac ICU. However, nothing excited me more than getting a page to the ER. I knew when I was going down there, people were waiting for me to do something important. I saw everything. Traumas, STEMI'S, full arrests. Everything I had learned about in my EMT course but never got to practice.
After spending so much time in the ER, I realized how much my EKG job was lacking. It didn't have solid hands on care. No continuity. No extra skill. No teamwork. I also realized how I could never do ICU or floor jobs at the time. I remember an event that touched me deeply one night. I was walking out of the Neuro ICU. It had been a long night. I had been doing EKG's continually for eight hours. All I wanted to do was get back to my office and be left alone till my replacement got in. But as I passed the Neuro ICU I heard something peculiar. It sounded like singing. Couldn't be. I walked over there to investigate. My ears had not deceived me. It was a Polynesian family singing a hymn. There must have been 30 of them. They sang so beautifully and yet so solemnly. It struck a nerve in my somewhere. I was somewhat choked up. I heard them pray for the stuff to do their best. To be capable and competent in helping their loved one. I remembered why I even got into medicine. To help people. To be there because I was needed. I realized that my job was only a small part of the larger puzzle. I was helping patients, but not in the way I would like. I realized, that I had to get a job that was more hands on. Something where I could make a bigger impact. Be a bigger piece to the puzzle.
I saw and learned so much from my time there. Even if I only worked there for 9 months, for usually one day a week, it was the job I liked the most. Radiology and the lab were nice supplements to my failing income. I was out on my own struggling to make a decent wage to pay rent and pay for everything else. But I had come to think of UUMC EKG as home. I started to get to know the staff on the cardiac units and ICU's. I started to befriend people from the ER. I had lost interest in cardiology very quickly. Although the cath lab was intriguing and failing hearts exhilarating, it was nothing compared to what I thought the ER was. I wanted nothing more than to be in the ER. But that's a different chapter.
However, every place I've been to has it's stories. What I remember most about UUMC cardiology is a guy I worked with. He always came in as my relief every Sunday night at 11. At first he seemed nice and harmless. But it soon became apparent that he was weird and homeless. I came to find out that he had been living in the hospital for months. Security was always looking for him trying to route him out of the place. This explained a lot about this guy. Every time I would work there, I would see him in his scrubs hours before his shift started. He would just be aimlessly wondering the hospital. To the untrained eye, it looked as though he had somewhere to go and something to do. But to the people that knew him, everyone knew he was just walking around for 8-10 hours at a time until his shift started. He was most certainly crazy. He would yell about how things were a mess and how everyone screws him over. It was quite absurd. He would supposedly go on expensive vacations to other states to see his family all the time. Yet, he lived in the hospital under everyone's nose. I never managed to find the rats nest he had made home somewhere in the hospital. On my downtime, instead of editing EKG's or paperwork, I would wonder the hospital trying to find where he might be living. I tried to think, "If I was homeless and had to live in the hospital without getting caught, where would I go?"
I thought he would get fired for this. Turns out he never gets in trouble. I would run into him 2 years later to find out he was still working in EKG.
But none of that mattered. Soon I was going to quit all three of my jobs and work in an ER.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
My Adventure Through Medicine Part 4: Radiology
Radiology had always been an interest of mine since I was a kid. My mom worked in radiology as a receptionist at Cottonwood Hospital for years when I was a kid. One day she had to take me to work with her because she had no other choice. During her time at work, she walked me back to where someone was getting an MRI. I remember seeing the massive piece of equipment in there and almost being scared. I'm not sure why I was scared in the first place. The tech showed me around the computers which were all touch screen. This was cutting edge technology since touch screens were only available in multi-million dollar pieces of equipment in the 90's. I remember the screen just being orange and black. The tech let me hit the scan button. I saw the images print out on the computer. I was amazed by everything. At a simple touch of a button, we could see images inside of someone. I didn't think it was real. But honestly, I was more fascinated with the touch screen. That technology seemed so far away when I was young. I love star trek and longed for touch screen technologies. Being 8 years old at the time, all I could think about was "why isn't everything like this touch screen?"
As I got older, my dad started to imprint in my head how great of a career radiology was. The cool stuff you would get to see. The insane amounts of money you would get to make. I ate right into it. The more I heard about it. The more I liked it. I liked the idea of diagnosing things from advanced imagery. It seemed so futuristic and complex. While working in dietary, I always did research on ultrasound techs, or x-ray techs. Anything. I just wanted to know more. By the time I reached the lab, I was starving to know more about the field of radiology. I applied several times to be an x-ray tech assistant with no success. It bummed me out that I was being blocked from a field I so greatly desired. I wasn't sure why, but that was one of the moments I thought about medical school the hardest so I could be a radiologist. I knew nothing about what a radiology doctor did. All I knew it was advanced and seemed cool.
My parents once again stepped in to help. They knew people who worked in radiology and heard they were looking for people to help out on the schedule. They recommended me and I got a chance to shadow someone. I wasn't sure what the job entailed once again. It was just another vague description. All I knew for sure was that it paid well. I thought this would be a sweet gig to make some extra cash when I wasn't working at the lab. It would also give me an opportunity to learn more about the field I wanted to possibly go into. I was so excited. I learned that I would be working at LDS Hospital where my dad used to work. I thought it was funny how things were coming into full circle. I would be working at the hospital where my dad had worked for so long and formed his medical career. It was the big hospital. Completely different from the others since it was a trauma one center at the time. During this time I was taking my EMT course, so the fact I was at a trauma hospital excited me.
I had to be there early in the morning for my first shadow. Which was fine, but I had no idea how to get to LDS Hospital on my own. I had only been there with my mother when I was a kid to visit my dad. Needless to say, I wondered the avenues forever till I finally found it. I ended up being 10 minutes late because of it. It was embarrassing. I'm trying to make a good impression so I can get this sweet new job, and I'm late right off the bat. Great.
I wasn't sure what to expect. But they told me to dress as if I was going to an interview. I was dressed with the usual shirt and tie for the occasion. I've always hated dressing up. It's always uncomfortable for me. Which sucked because I would be shadowing for about 4 hours. Since I was dressed up, I guessed that no patient care would be involved. I was disappointed by realizing this. Maybe this wouldn't work out....
When I got there, they greeted me and showed me to the second floor where outpatient radiology was. I was taken to a dark room full of cubicles. Large computer screens were lit up with x-rays and other things I had never seen before. People in white coats talking into a microphone as they looked at the images. What the hell were they doing? I had never seen anything like this before. I was sat in a cubicle with the person I was shadowing. We had access to all the images, the reports, everything. The person I shadowed showed me every radiology modality. I was awe struck. I had never seen CT scan images before. I had never known what nuclear medicine was until that moment. It was so much to take in.
But what was my role for this job? I soon found out. The job was nothing more than a glorified secretary for lazy radiologists. If someone tried calling the radiologist, it was our job to answer the phone to see if we could help them first or pass on a message. If the system went down, it was our job to fax reports to the departments where the reports were needed. If the radiologist had to talk to a doctor, it was our job to call them. I also learned that although we were working in IHC hospitals that we were contracted by another company to work in IHC hospitals.
I was disappointed. Yet another job where I'm separated from the clinical setting. But the intrigue of learning more about radiology is what made me stay. The extra pay was a sweet bonus. I only had to work one day a week for only 4-8 hours. It was a sweet gig while working in the lab. It was an easy job. I could do homework. It was a PRN only sort of thing so my obligations were little. I was stoked about it. When I quit the lab, it was the only job I had. I learned quickly that I couldn't get by with school and gas by working 2 days a month.
Working there answered all my questions about radiology. I found that most of the radiologists I worked with were incredibly smart. But many were also socially awkward and rude. There was practically no patient care involved unless a procedure had to be done during the day or on an emergent basis. Either way, the radiologists acted inconvenienced and bothered that they had to even had to talk to a patient. However, not all of them were like this. Some of them were really cool and normal. I learned so much from them about how to read x-rays and CT's. It's an amateur skill that has helped me immensely today. For the most part, I didn't mind the job. Working at LDS Hospital or Cottonwood Hospital, depending where I wanted to be, was not a bad gig. When I moved out on my own to Murray, I mostly stayed at Cottonwood where I was most familiar with things. I saw old friends all the time there. I knew my way around the hospital. It felt like home. A small ego bonus was running into people that I used to work with in dietary. With my pager and my important seeming job, it looked as though I had moved on to bigger and better things. It seems rude. But it was nice to be reminded that I made it out of there and did something.
Most of the days at this job were uneventful aside from occasionally getting yelled at over a phone call. But one day, I saw something that would change my life.One day when I was working at LDS I saw a group of people running to angiography with a patient on a stretcher. They were doing chest compressions on the way up. I glanced in the room to see what was going on. The radiologist was setting up to try to put a stent somewhere from the femoral artery. It was a noisy chaotic mess. Orders where being shouted left and right. People running to one place or the other to get a piece of a equipment. People trading out doing compressions. I watched with fear and intrigue as the patient coded and died. They never revived the patient. I learned a couple of hours later that those people who rushed the patient up were from the ER. I thought that was amazing. I thought to myself that maybe, it would be fun to do something like that, if I wasn't scared. I had my EMT-Basic by this time. I wondered if there was anyway I could work with them, instead of the ambulance. From that point on, I did everything to try to immerse myself with emergency medicine. Every time I heard the alarm for a code blue or a code trauma, I wanted to be there. I wanted to see it. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to find excuses to try to be in the ER.
Radiology, was not for me.
As I got older, my dad started to imprint in my head how great of a career radiology was. The cool stuff you would get to see. The insane amounts of money you would get to make. I ate right into it. The more I heard about it. The more I liked it. I liked the idea of diagnosing things from advanced imagery. It seemed so futuristic and complex. While working in dietary, I always did research on ultrasound techs, or x-ray techs. Anything. I just wanted to know more. By the time I reached the lab, I was starving to know more about the field of radiology. I applied several times to be an x-ray tech assistant with no success. It bummed me out that I was being blocked from a field I so greatly desired. I wasn't sure why, but that was one of the moments I thought about medical school the hardest so I could be a radiologist. I knew nothing about what a radiology doctor did. All I knew it was advanced and seemed cool.
My parents once again stepped in to help. They knew people who worked in radiology and heard they were looking for people to help out on the schedule. They recommended me and I got a chance to shadow someone. I wasn't sure what the job entailed once again. It was just another vague description. All I knew for sure was that it paid well. I thought this would be a sweet gig to make some extra cash when I wasn't working at the lab. It would also give me an opportunity to learn more about the field I wanted to possibly go into. I was so excited. I learned that I would be working at LDS Hospital where my dad used to work. I thought it was funny how things were coming into full circle. I would be working at the hospital where my dad had worked for so long and formed his medical career. It was the big hospital. Completely different from the others since it was a trauma one center at the time. During this time I was taking my EMT course, so the fact I was at a trauma hospital excited me.
I had to be there early in the morning for my first shadow. Which was fine, but I had no idea how to get to LDS Hospital on my own. I had only been there with my mother when I was a kid to visit my dad. Needless to say, I wondered the avenues forever till I finally found it. I ended up being 10 minutes late because of it. It was embarrassing. I'm trying to make a good impression so I can get this sweet new job, and I'm late right off the bat. Great.
I wasn't sure what to expect. But they told me to dress as if I was going to an interview. I was dressed with the usual shirt and tie for the occasion. I've always hated dressing up. It's always uncomfortable for me. Which sucked because I would be shadowing for about 4 hours. Since I was dressed up, I guessed that no patient care would be involved. I was disappointed by realizing this. Maybe this wouldn't work out....
When I got there, they greeted me and showed me to the second floor where outpatient radiology was. I was taken to a dark room full of cubicles. Large computer screens were lit up with x-rays and other things I had never seen before. People in white coats talking into a microphone as they looked at the images. What the hell were they doing? I had never seen anything like this before. I was sat in a cubicle with the person I was shadowing. We had access to all the images, the reports, everything. The person I shadowed showed me every radiology modality. I was awe struck. I had never seen CT scan images before. I had never known what nuclear medicine was until that moment. It was so much to take in.
But what was my role for this job? I soon found out. The job was nothing more than a glorified secretary for lazy radiologists. If someone tried calling the radiologist, it was our job to answer the phone to see if we could help them first or pass on a message. If the system went down, it was our job to fax reports to the departments where the reports were needed. If the radiologist had to talk to a doctor, it was our job to call them. I also learned that although we were working in IHC hospitals that we were contracted by another company to work in IHC hospitals.
I was disappointed. Yet another job where I'm separated from the clinical setting. But the intrigue of learning more about radiology is what made me stay. The extra pay was a sweet bonus. I only had to work one day a week for only 4-8 hours. It was a sweet gig while working in the lab. It was an easy job. I could do homework. It was a PRN only sort of thing so my obligations were little. I was stoked about it. When I quit the lab, it was the only job I had. I learned quickly that I couldn't get by with school and gas by working 2 days a month.
Working there answered all my questions about radiology. I found that most of the radiologists I worked with were incredibly smart. But many were also socially awkward and rude. There was practically no patient care involved unless a procedure had to be done during the day or on an emergent basis. Either way, the radiologists acted inconvenienced and bothered that they had to even had to talk to a patient. However, not all of them were like this. Some of them were really cool and normal. I learned so much from them about how to read x-rays and CT's. It's an amateur skill that has helped me immensely today. For the most part, I didn't mind the job. Working at LDS Hospital or Cottonwood Hospital, depending where I wanted to be, was not a bad gig. When I moved out on my own to Murray, I mostly stayed at Cottonwood where I was most familiar with things. I saw old friends all the time there. I knew my way around the hospital. It felt like home. A small ego bonus was running into people that I used to work with in dietary. With my pager and my important seeming job, it looked as though I had moved on to bigger and better things. It seems rude. But it was nice to be reminded that I made it out of there and did something.
Most of the days at this job were uneventful aside from occasionally getting yelled at over a phone call. But one day, I saw something that would change my life.One day when I was working at LDS I saw a group of people running to angiography with a patient on a stretcher. They were doing chest compressions on the way up. I glanced in the room to see what was going on. The radiologist was setting up to try to put a stent somewhere from the femoral artery. It was a noisy chaotic mess. Orders where being shouted left and right. People running to one place or the other to get a piece of a equipment. People trading out doing compressions. I watched with fear and intrigue as the patient coded and died. They never revived the patient. I learned a couple of hours later that those people who rushed the patient up were from the ER. I thought that was amazing. I thought to myself that maybe, it would be fun to do something like that, if I wasn't scared. I had my EMT-Basic by this time. I wondered if there was anyway I could work with them, instead of the ambulance. From that point on, I did everything to try to immerse myself with emergency medicine. Every time I heard the alarm for a code blue or a code trauma, I wanted to be there. I wanted to see it. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to find excuses to try to be in the ER.
Radiology, was not for me.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
My Adventure Through Medicine Part 3: Pathology
The interview for this job was ridiculous. I had no idea what the hell the job entailed to begin with. What the hell was a "Clinical Lab Assistant" anyway? I was sat in a room of about 9 people where we worked out a fictional group scenario. The scenario was that you crashed in the desert, and had 15 items to organize from most useful to least. They separated us into two groups and studied our performances carefully. The people in the interview were nothing like me. The only people I remember was a blonde woman who was obnoxiously loud, not particularly bright and quite enamored with herself. The other person was this Asian kid who was overly assertive, condescending and came off as a "know-it-all." I thought one of those two was going to get the job. They seemed to attract the most attention. To this day, I'm not sure how I stood out. I was not assertive or in a position of leadership. I was mostly quiet and gave my 2 cents when possible. I left that interview crushed. For the billionth time, it felt like I was overshadowed by condescending douchebags.
Two weeks later, I was offered the job. I was shocked. I was so sure I wasn't going to get it that I forgot about the interview entirely. The phone call came just in time. I received the call the day after I got into a huge argument with my manager in dietary. I had woken up early that day to type up the entire argument that had taken place and turn it to human resources with my immediate resignation to quit. I was fed up with that place. I was fed up with the people. I was fed up with feeling terrible about myself every day. It was literally no more than five minutes after finishing this letter that I was offered the job. I was so happy that I was beside myself. I took one last look at the letter then deleted it. I knew that if I was going to take this job that I could not leave on such a bitter note. I held this job for 3 years. Future employers would be calling this place for a reference for a while. Last thing I need is for them to bring up the letter I wrote on my last day that ended with "Fuck You!"
I gave a respectful 2 weeks notice. But not before pillaging the place for free food for that couple of weeks. At the time I had a yellow VW Bus full of compartments for me to store my "borrowed" goods. I filled my bus with as much junk food that I could possibly carry out. It was my way of sticking it to them before I left. Nobody noticed.
It was odd leaving the place that last day. Everyone shook hands with me and said "Good luck." As if they believed in me all along when it felt like the past 2 years they were out to destroy me. I was overwhelmed with how happy everyone seemed to be for me. Although, I was extremely overjoyed to leave that place, a part of me was sad to depart. It was the hand that fed me so well during high school, fueled my ambition, and gave me a new perspective on what I wanted to do with my life. I had thought about staying PRN there just so I didn't feel like I was being "above" them in any way. I knew that wouldn't work. I would always be grateful for the experiences and people that helped me along my path there. But I had grown out of the job and was ready to move on. I got in my VW bus, started the engine and let out a loud whoop of joy as I drove away.
I had 5 days of downtime before I started my new job. I took the time to relax and buy my first pair of scrubs. I felt like a professional. As if I was part of the medical staff. I also celebrated my leaving of the department. My friends put together a party out in the desert that would turn out to be the most awkward party I've ever attended. (Another long and different story.) I was scared for this new job. I still had no idea what it was that I would be doing. The job description on the website told me nothing except statistics on Alta View Hospital, which is where the job was at. The interview didn't really say much about what it was except that it was in the medical lab.
My first day was scary. I wasn't sure what to expect. I walked into the lab where everyone there greeted me with smiles. I was fitted for a lab coat (before they made the lab switch to the crappy paper ones) and briefed on the job. It was nothing like I thought it would be. The job entailed tracking and sending lab tests to appropriate stations or hospitals. This was before IMC opened so lab tests went everywhere across the valley at the time. I had to memorize so much. I struggled with this job for the first few months. At first it was because I didn't get the job. Then I met a co-worker who I thought was a huge douchebag at the time. As far as training went, he was mean, condescending, and impatient. Nothing I did was right to him. Rightfully so, I wasn't doing anything right. Still, he wasn't nice about it. It was awful. I hated my job all over again because of this guy. He had a reputation for this sort of thing I had learned. He was an Iraq veteran who had been working at the lab while going to school to be a medical lab tech. He was a little burned out at his job. I soon came to learn that his hard nose approach to everything wasn't necessarily intentional. In a lot of ways, it was just the way he was. As I got better at the job, we got along a lot better. I really liked working with him in the end. When I look back now, I realize how much he taught me about my own sense of work ethic. I was so timid back then. I thought it was unfair how I was being treated. And maybe I was right to some degree. But for the first time ever, I was being trained to do a job that mattered. I was pushed to do it right. I was pushed to be good at this time. No one since has pushed me that hard to be good at a job. He was so good at it, knew everything about it. He was the go to kind of guy. I was nothing like that. But after that whole experience, I became a lot more like that. I didn't have the same type of bitter, condescending tones as he did. But every job I have taken since then has always been a huge push to be the best. When I train new people at jobs I find many of those mannerisms surfacing. I try to be nice about it though. But after writing this, I realized how much it formed me as a person.
Anyway, I got pretty good at the job after a few months. I knew what every test was for blood, urine and stool. I knew how to process them quickly. I had no problem handling urine, stool, and other fluids. (That took a lot of time to adjust to since I had no idea I would be handling that stuff on a regular basis.) It wasn't a bad gig. I was getting paid more, most of the people liked me, and I felt it had some importance. But it lacked hands on patient care that I had so craved. I had no contact with patients whatsoever. Also, my job felt boring and monotonous fast. I had to do something. But what?
It was during this time that I had started to take my EMT-Basic course. I fell in love with it immediately. I didn't like the instructors as much. But I loved how practical the knowledge was. It was scary for me. But I'll come back to this part later. I had an interest in radiology and eventually got a job doing that. I also got a job doing EKG's at the University of Utah shortly after. Both jobs were PRN. The lab was a part time job. I'll come back to both of those jobs later.
My job at the lab mostly had uneventful stories. I never really got close to anyone there. I mostly had to amuse myself in order to stay sane through the monotony. One way I kept entertained was as simple as abusing the privilege of the department label gun. My manager liked to label things for some reason. Just really ridiculous things like the drawers, files and computers. But I took it one step too far by labeling everything I could get a hold of. Pens, armrests, keyboards, desks, etc etc. I took it way too far and got in a lot of trouble for it. But it was totally worth it.
Another label gun related incident happened when I labeled my lab coat "Johnny Walker, MD". I thought this was funny as well since it was a sticky paper label on a cloth lab jacket. One day the fun of it ended. I went to the OR to pick up specimens. On my way out, a surgeon stopped me. He was an older man, with a scowl that just screamed "I hate everyone." He looked at the paper label on my jacket and said, "I don't think this is funny. Impersonating a doctor is serious business. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're lucky I don't call the police about this." He then proceeded to rip the sticker off my coat, throw it on the floor, and then step on it and grind his foot into it. It was a very dramatic gesture for a harmless prank. No one would have mistaken me for a doctor unless they were senile or just incredibly stupid.
Eventually, I decided to quit at the beginning of 2007 to focus on school. It didn't matter that much to me to leave a job this time. I wanted to be full time school and scrounge on the money I had. This idea would really fail when I decided to move out on my own 2 months later and realized how expensive it was to live on my own. My PRN radiology and EKG job would not support me. By chance of fate, I would run into my lab manager months later while looking for a job to support me again. She offered me my job again at the lab and I took it for just a few more months.
My real last day before I got hired in the ER was glorious. I was so burned out by the management there, I could have cared less what happened. That day wasn't supposed to be my last day, but they rearranged the schedule the day I got there so it would be. I was pretty sure they did it so they didn't have to tolerate and pay me for another 2 days of work. I was ecstatic of the news. So I made the best of it. To celebrate, I rummaged through the lab coat rack to see if I could find a new one. One that would signal to everyone else that I was going out in style. It wasn't long until I stumbled upon a chefs coat that somehow got mixed up on our rack. It had happened once before. The laundry service that washes the lab coats also gets chef coats from catering services. Every few months a chef coat would manage to wind up on the lab coat rack. I had worn it once but my manager caught me and wrote me up for being unprofessional. However, this was my last day. It had to have been fate that reunited me with this wonderful piece of cloth that was carelessly misplaced on our lab coat rack. I put the jacket on slowly to savor it. It fit perfectly. As the day went on, no one noticed my fancy chef coat. It was slow so I didn't care as much. Since it was my last day, I did something that I always wanted to do. I drank a tall cup of hot chocolate in the lab. This was a huge violation on so many levels. No food or drink in the lab! If I was caught, the worst they could do was fire me. The odds were stacked in my favor today. Fate was smiling upon me. They day was a couple of hours away from ending. I sat back in my chair smugly sipping my hot chocolate in my chef's coat. I reminisced about my past experiences there and how much I had learned. But my nostalgic moment was cut short. My manager and co-manager walked in to check my progress. I was able to sneakily hide my hot chocolate behind a computer. But they caught me in the chef coat. I got a stern lecture about professionalism and JCAHO regulations and so forth. I was forced to take off the coat and surrender it to the laundry service. I was helpless in the matter. I couldn't help but wonder if I had had the chef hat to complete the ensemble, things would have gone differently. They would have laughed and understood it was my last day. It was a comical one time thing that they could let slide. But no, I was screwed. That's not how things panned out unfortunately. With my chef coat gone, my happiness was in jeopardy. I then remembered I manged to hide my hot chocolate while they were lecturing me. It suddenly seemed to taste much sweeter since I had gotten away with it.
My last day came to an uneventful end. I said my last goodbyes and took one last look around the place. It had been awfully good to me. I went to the staff white board where notes of the day were taken to remind oncoming shifts of what to do. A smile crept across my face as I wrote on it in big bold letters:
"Johnny was here, Johnny was there, Johnny was everywhere! I'm watching you."
Two weeks later, I was offered the job. I was shocked. I was so sure I wasn't going to get it that I forgot about the interview entirely. The phone call came just in time. I received the call the day after I got into a huge argument with my manager in dietary. I had woken up early that day to type up the entire argument that had taken place and turn it to human resources with my immediate resignation to quit. I was fed up with that place. I was fed up with the people. I was fed up with feeling terrible about myself every day. It was literally no more than five minutes after finishing this letter that I was offered the job. I was so happy that I was beside myself. I took one last look at the letter then deleted it. I knew that if I was going to take this job that I could not leave on such a bitter note. I held this job for 3 years. Future employers would be calling this place for a reference for a while. Last thing I need is for them to bring up the letter I wrote on my last day that ended with "Fuck You!"
I gave a respectful 2 weeks notice. But not before pillaging the place for free food for that couple of weeks. At the time I had a yellow VW Bus full of compartments for me to store my "borrowed" goods. I filled my bus with as much junk food that I could possibly carry out. It was my way of sticking it to them before I left. Nobody noticed.
It was odd leaving the place that last day. Everyone shook hands with me and said "Good luck." As if they believed in me all along when it felt like the past 2 years they were out to destroy me. I was overwhelmed with how happy everyone seemed to be for me. Although, I was extremely overjoyed to leave that place, a part of me was sad to depart. It was the hand that fed me so well during high school, fueled my ambition, and gave me a new perspective on what I wanted to do with my life. I had thought about staying PRN there just so I didn't feel like I was being "above" them in any way. I knew that wouldn't work. I would always be grateful for the experiences and people that helped me along my path there. But I had grown out of the job and was ready to move on. I got in my VW bus, started the engine and let out a loud whoop of joy as I drove away.
I had 5 days of downtime before I started my new job. I took the time to relax and buy my first pair of scrubs. I felt like a professional. As if I was part of the medical staff. I also celebrated my leaving of the department. My friends put together a party out in the desert that would turn out to be the most awkward party I've ever attended. (Another long and different story.) I was scared for this new job. I still had no idea what it was that I would be doing. The job description on the website told me nothing except statistics on Alta View Hospital, which is where the job was at. The interview didn't really say much about what it was except that it was in the medical lab.
My first day was scary. I wasn't sure what to expect. I walked into the lab where everyone there greeted me with smiles. I was fitted for a lab coat (before they made the lab switch to the crappy paper ones) and briefed on the job. It was nothing like I thought it would be. The job entailed tracking and sending lab tests to appropriate stations or hospitals. This was before IMC opened so lab tests went everywhere across the valley at the time. I had to memorize so much. I struggled with this job for the first few months. At first it was because I didn't get the job. Then I met a co-worker who I thought was a huge douchebag at the time. As far as training went, he was mean, condescending, and impatient. Nothing I did was right to him. Rightfully so, I wasn't doing anything right. Still, he wasn't nice about it. It was awful. I hated my job all over again because of this guy. He had a reputation for this sort of thing I had learned. He was an Iraq veteran who had been working at the lab while going to school to be a medical lab tech. He was a little burned out at his job. I soon came to learn that his hard nose approach to everything wasn't necessarily intentional. In a lot of ways, it was just the way he was. As I got better at the job, we got along a lot better. I really liked working with him in the end. When I look back now, I realize how much he taught me about my own sense of work ethic. I was so timid back then. I thought it was unfair how I was being treated. And maybe I was right to some degree. But for the first time ever, I was being trained to do a job that mattered. I was pushed to do it right. I was pushed to be good at this time. No one since has pushed me that hard to be good at a job. He was so good at it, knew everything about it. He was the go to kind of guy. I was nothing like that. But after that whole experience, I became a lot more like that. I didn't have the same type of bitter, condescending tones as he did. But every job I have taken since then has always been a huge push to be the best. When I train new people at jobs I find many of those mannerisms surfacing. I try to be nice about it though. But after writing this, I realized how much it formed me as a person.
Anyway, I got pretty good at the job after a few months. I knew what every test was for blood, urine and stool. I knew how to process them quickly. I had no problem handling urine, stool, and other fluids. (That took a lot of time to adjust to since I had no idea I would be handling that stuff on a regular basis.) It wasn't a bad gig. I was getting paid more, most of the people liked me, and I felt it had some importance. But it lacked hands on patient care that I had so craved. I had no contact with patients whatsoever. Also, my job felt boring and monotonous fast. I had to do something. But what?
It was during this time that I had started to take my EMT-Basic course. I fell in love with it immediately. I didn't like the instructors as much. But I loved how practical the knowledge was. It was scary for me. But I'll come back to this part later. I had an interest in radiology and eventually got a job doing that. I also got a job doing EKG's at the University of Utah shortly after. Both jobs were PRN. The lab was a part time job. I'll come back to both of those jobs later.
My job at the lab mostly had uneventful stories. I never really got close to anyone there. I mostly had to amuse myself in order to stay sane through the monotony. One way I kept entertained was as simple as abusing the privilege of the department label gun. My manager liked to label things for some reason. Just really ridiculous things like the drawers, files and computers. But I took it one step too far by labeling everything I could get a hold of. Pens, armrests, keyboards, desks, etc etc. I took it way too far and got in a lot of trouble for it. But it was totally worth it.
Another label gun related incident happened when I labeled my lab coat "Johnny Walker, MD". I thought this was funny as well since it was a sticky paper label on a cloth lab jacket. One day the fun of it ended. I went to the OR to pick up specimens. On my way out, a surgeon stopped me. He was an older man, with a scowl that just screamed "I hate everyone." He looked at the paper label on my jacket and said, "I don't think this is funny. Impersonating a doctor is serious business. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're lucky I don't call the police about this." He then proceeded to rip the sticker off my coat, throw it on the floor, and then step on it and grind his foot into it. It was a very dramatic gesture for a harmless prank. No one would have mistaken me for a doctor unless they were senile or just incredibly stupid.
Eventually, I decided to quit at the beginning of 2007 to focus on school. It didn't matter that much to me to leave a job this time. I wanted to be full time school and scrounge on the money I had. This idea would really fail when I decided to move out on my own 2 months later and realized how expensive it was to live on my own. My PRN radiology and EKG job would not support me. By chance of fate, I would run into my lab manager months later while looking for a job to support me again. She offered me my job again at the lab and I took it for just a few more months.
My real last day before I got hired in the ER was glorious. I was so burned out by the management there, I could have cared less what happened. That day wasn't supposed to be my last day, but they rearranged the schedule the day I got there so it would be. I was pretty sure they did it so they didn't have to tolerate and pay me for another 2 days of work. I was ecstatic of the news. So I made the best of it. To celebrate, I rummaged through the lab coat rack to see if I could find a new one. One that would signal to everyone else that I was going out in style. It wasn't long until I stumbled upon a chefs coat that somehow got mixed up on our rack. It had happened once before. The laundry service that washes the lab coats also gets chef coats from catering services. Every few months a chef coat would manage to wind up on the lab coat rack. I had worn it once but my manager caught me and wrote me up for being unprofessional. However, this was my last day. It had to have been fate that reunited me with this wonderful piece of cloth that was carelessly misplaced on our lab coat rack. I put the jacket on slowly to savor it. It fit perfectly. As the day went on, no one noticed my fancy chef coat. It was slow so I didn't care as much. Since it was my last day, I did something that I always wanted to do. I drank a tall cup of hot chocolate in the lab. This was a huge violation on so many levels. No food or drink in the lab! If I was caught, the worst they could do was fire me. The odds were stacked in my favor today. Fate was smiling upon me. They day was a couple of hours away from ending. I sat back in my chair smugly sipping my hot chocolate in my chef's coat. I reminisced about my past experiences there and how much I had learned. But my nostalgic moment was cut short. My manager and co-manager walked in to check my progress. I was able to sneakily hide my hot chocolate behind a computer. But they caught me in the chef coat. I got a stern lecture about professionalism and JCAHO regulations and so forth. I was forced to take off the coat and surrender it to the laundry service. I was helpless in the matter. I couldn't help but wonder if I had had the chef hat to complete the ensemble, things would have gone differently. They would have laughed and understood it was my last day. It was a comical one time thing that they could let slide. But no, I was screwed. That's not how things panned out unfortunately. With my chef coat gone, my happiness was in jeopardy. I then remembered I manged to hide my hot chocolate while they were lecturing me. It suddenly seemed to taste much sweeter since I had gotten away with it.
My last day came to an uneventful end. I said my last goodbyes and took one last look around the place. It had been awfully good to me. I went to the staff white board where notes of the day were taken to remind oncoming shifts of what to do. A smile crept across my face as I wrote on it in big bold letters:
"Johnny was here, Johnny was there, Johnny was everywhere! I'm watching you."
Thursday, September 2, 2010
My Adventure Through Medicine Part 2: Dietary
The jobs I actually qualified for at the age of 15 were very few. Mostly food related jobs. I was on a quest to get some kind of job so I could have money and fund myself. I applied to Cottonwood Hospital to the food services department the very second I saw the opening. (Or the fancy title to make the jobs appear more important "Dietary Services.") I was called for an interview within the week. I was so excited. I had no idea what to do for say for an interview. I just knew I wanted the job. My dad gave me as much interview advice as I could remember. I was so nervous. The interview did not go well. I don't remember much about it other than it was in the cafeteria itself while it was closed. I didn't get the job. I was crushed by this. I wanted to work at the hospital more than anything. Plus it paid well for being only 15. It beat the hell out of minimum wage, which was $5.15 at the time. The hospital job paid $8.34 to start. That seemed like a ton of money!
Instead, almost a year later, I got hired at South Town Mall in the food court. Villa Pizza was my first real job. I made the minimum wage. It was terrible. It was hard work for practically nothing. I could work 12 hours and barely make 60 dollars. By the time taxes got through with my paycheck, it ended up being only about 54 dollars. My dad told me to be patient, that there would be another hospital cafeteria job hiring soon. There is high turnover in those areas. I worked at Villa Pizza for three long months. Cottonwood Hospital finally had another position open in the cafeteria. Again, I applied and got an interview. I was confident this time. I wanted the job badly. Luckily, I got it this time. I was able to leave that hell hole to a higher paying and hopefully slightly more gratifying job.
The company orientation was long and generally uneventful. I had never worked for the company before so I had to sit through a full ten hours of corporate jargon. The funny thing is, a woman who had known my dad recognized my name at the orientation. She was doing a presentation this day on company teamwork. During her presentation she mentioned my name and asked me in front of everyone if that was my dad. I said yes and she laughed. At the time it seemed innocuous since everyone knew my dad. 5 years later, this woman would recall that exact obscure situation and offer me a job at LDS ER the next day as my manager.
My first day wasn't what I thought it would be at all. I thought I was going to work in the cafeteria and just serve food. Instead, I had to work in the back and prepare patient meals. I wasn't ecstatic about that. I had asked to see if there was any way I could train out in the cafeteria any time soon. The answer was less than hopeful. I went back to helping prepare the meal trays. Then I got to do something that had surprised me. They said I had to go and deliver the trays to the patients. I was beside myself with surprise. Real contact with patients? This is more than I could have hoped for. I was nervous about it. I had not expected this. In the elevator I was going through how I would sound and try to act professional to my first patient. I was full of optimism and delight.
I was so happy, I was practically setting myself up for the downfall. My first patient would be the worst one. I knocked on the patients door and called out "Food service, may I come in?" I heard a faint "Yes." I walked in with a big cheasy grin on my face, just happy as can be to be there. When I finally saw the patient, who was an elderly old guy, I noticed he was frivolously masturbating in his bed. I dropped the food tray and stumbled backwards and yelled as loud as I could "Oh my God!" A nurse rushed into the room at the speed of light. She yelled "what's wrong?" and I pointed at the man covering my eyes trying to stumble backwards out of the room "That!" The nurse then proceeded to plead with the man as if this might have been an every day occurrence. "Sir put that away. That's not appropriate." The man pleaded back "But.....But" "No but's," replied the nurse "That's not appropriate, lets just put him away."
I finally manged to dramatically stumble out of the room. I was shocked halfway to Hell by this. But I decided to carry on anyway. I was only 16. How was I supposed to know that I might see that? Oddly enough, this did not deter me. I saw other patients that day, and they were all pretty nice for the most part. And when I say "I saw other patients," I really mean, I walked into their room and handed them their food tray and said enjoy. But I was excited just to be in the patient care setting.
I had an eventful three years there. It's all too much to go through in one blog. But most people wouldn't care to know half of it anyway. Failed work romances with a couple of co workers that had caused an excruciating amount of drama hell in my life. Crazy mischief that took place in the back with my friends (a few incidents almost cost me my job.). More crazy mischief that took place when I worked in the cafeteria or as a dietitian tech. Pager duels. The massive stealing of food from that place. My brief moments with getting drunk at parties and coming to work hungover. Occasionally smoking cigarettes with my friend on our lunch breaks. Pulling the girl out of the room who discovered the two dead bodies on the third floor (I didn't see anything, I just heard her scream. I reached in the room and pulled her out thinking she was in danger.) Getting written up the day after that for being in the background of a newscast regarding the double suicide (I was in the background open hand slapping my friends. It was a slap contest. Unfortunately my manager and a woman from human resources happened to be watching that newscast that night and recognized us. This was yet another incident by which I almost lost my job.)
I managed to get trained in the cafeteria eventually. Which was awful. I got yelled at by hospital employees all the time for supposedly overcharging them. Somehow they failed to realize in all the time working there, that hospital food is both mediocre and overpriced. It was easy work out there for the most part. Even when there was a rush it wasn't so bad. I still got to make myself a milkshake or any food I wanted. I had a habit of making smoothies that were surprisingly delicious. It's the one thing I miss about that place. Unlimited smoothies.
The top position besides dietitian or manager was the dietitian technician. It was the most patient focused for the department. You had to go visit patients before meals and basically take their orders. It was a glorified waiter job without tips. It did have its perks though. I at least got to see patients and shape up something almost resembling a bedside manner. I got to learn what certain equipment was and certain patient diseases. For a low entry job being in high school with no certifications, it was a pretty good gig to learn from. For the first time ever, I learned compassion for a nice stranger.
There is a patient I'll never forget who was at Cottonwood on the 5th floor (oncology/medicine). She was in her early 20's and losing the battle with cancer. I saw her every work day for 3 months. I didn't get to know her well, but I got to know her family and her condition eventually. Every time I went in there, she was always smiling and happy despite her dismal prognosis. She made me feel like I was actually helping her. Which even at the time seemed ridiculous. All I would do was take the order, chat for a few minutes, ask how she was doing and her family. But I felt like I was helping with this patient's well being. One day she passed away. I was really at a loss for words. Her obituary was posted on the floor and in our department. It was a happy but depressing obituary written by herself. She had realized her impending death was near and wrote an obituary that was not self-absorbed or overtly mopey about the life that was not fully lived. I remember reading it with tears almost welling in my eyes. I remember thinking to myself "All I wanted to do was help people. Why couldn't I have been in a better position to help her?" That was the moment I realized I truly belonged in medicine. In a real part of medicine. So I can really help people.
It wasn't long that I started to hate my job there. The supervisors were mean and literally stupid. My failed work romances created a personal hell I had not experienced before. I had little friends there as a result. I felt like I had outgrown the entry level job a long time ago and was ready for a real job that was more medically oriented. During my time working there, I had been in a band that was my pure focus. When that crumbled, I still had my job. I started to work at Local the music shop to help out there. (Again, completely different story.) I still could not commit myself to a medical career due to my intense fear of failure. I still clung to a career in music and told myself medicine was my "back-up plan." Sound reasoning right? Eventually, it came down me hating my job so much, that every day was a dread. I woke up fearing my day at work. I hated it there with an immense passion. It was time to move on. I applied to every job I could in a hospital setting, whether I was qualified or not. It was kind of a stupid thing to do, but surprisingly I still got interviews out of it. I interviewed for a variety of jobs at a ton of different hospitals. I was crushed when I didn't get the jobs I wanted. I was really bummed when I didn't get a job as an endoscopy tech at Cottonwood. I was so close to getting out of the job and they chose a return missionary instead. They had openly told me that was the only reason they chose him months down the road. My dad suggested I take a course on EKG's and I could be an EKG tech. I was willing to do anything. Luckily, my dad had an in once again. I got to take the class for free even though my current job had nothing to do with EKG's. After the course was done, I got an interview for a PRN EKG tech position at LDS Hospital. I thought I did well. They had checked my references and everything. My manager told me they got a call from that department and asked if I was going to leave if I got the job. I told them I had every intention of leaving if I got the job, even if it was just PRN. I ended up not getting the job. I was shocked and confused. I had no idea why that could be. Months later I found out they had intentionally sabotaged me because they didn't have the budget to hire someone to replace me at the time. This led to me hating my workplace that much more. (The EKG class did come in handy, I noticed V-tach on a tele monitor when there was no tech watching and notified a nurse. The patient died 10 minutes later. But it was something I would have never known had I not taken that course.)
For months I applied for everything under the sun. I went to 40+ interviews in 6 months. (That is no exaggeration. I have the emails to prove it. I have since had over 100 interviews. I have master the art at this point.) Things at work got progressively worse. More drama, more crap from ignorant supervisors and increased isolation. One day I reached my breaking point. My supervisor had accused me of being lazy after working 13 hours non stop in the dish room with no breaks. That is 13 straight hours of just washing dishes and cleaning pots and pans. The dish room was hot because the large dishwasher put off so much heat. It was a steam house. My supervisor said this to me and my friend Lincoln after she disappeared for 3 hours while still clocked in to go shopping at Target. I blew up and yelled back about how I was so sick of her shit and how awful the place was. I had full intentions of quitting the next day with a letter to human resources detailing the circumstances by which I quit. My friend Lincoln pulled me in close and whispered "Settled down. It's not like you to blow up like this. You're almost out of here. You can see the light. You will have a new job soon. You are so close. You're trying. I know you're trying. Stay cool." For some reason that calmed me down. I finished the shift and went home. I told my parents what had happened and they said they would support me until I got a new job. They were 100% behind me. I was so happy.
The next morning I got a phone call. I had just got offered a new job that I wanted.
My last day in dietary. I was a tech that day with my 2 other friends who were my age. Both have gone on to do great things. You'll notice my face is a little red. I was at Warped Tour a few days before this.
Instead, almost a year later, I got hired at South Town Mall in the food court. Villa Pizza was my first real job. I made the minimum wage. It was terrible. It was hard work for practically nothing. I could work 12 hours and barely make 60 dollars. By the time taxes got through with my paycheck, it ended up being only about 54 dollars. My dad told me to be patient, that there would be another hospital cafeteria job hiring soon. There is high turnover in those areas. I worked at Villa Pizza for three long months. Cottonwood Hospital finally had another position open in the cafeteria. Again, I applied and got an interview. I was confident this time. I wanted the job badly. Luckily, I got it this time. I was able to leave that hell hole to a higher paying and hopefully slightly more gratifying job.
The company orientation was long and generally uneventful. I had never worked for the company before so I had to sit through a full ten hours of corporate jargon. The funny thing is, a woman who had known my dad recognized my name at the orientation. She was doing a presentation this day on company teamwork. During her presentation she mentioned my name and asked me in front of everyone if that was my dad. I said yes and she laughed. At the time it seemed innocuous since everyone knew my dad. 5 years later, this woman would recall that exact obscure situation and offer me a job at LDS ER the next day as my manager.
My first day wasn't what I thought it would be at all. I thought I was going to work in the cafeteria and just serve food. Instead, I had to work in the back and prepare patient meals. I wasn't ecstatic about that. I had asked to see if there was any way I could train out in the cafeteria any time soon. The answer was less than hopeful. I went back to helping prepare the meal trays. Then I got to do something that had surprised me. They said I had to go and deliver the trays to the patients. I was beside myself with surprise. Real contact with patients? This is more than I could have hoped for. I was nervous about it. I had not expected this. In the elevator I was going through how I would sound and try to act professional to my first patient. I was full of optimism and delight.
I was so happy, I was practically setting myself up for the downfall. My first patient would be the worst one. I knocked on the patients door and called out "Food service, may I come in?" I heard a faint "Yes." I walked in with a big cheasy grin on my face, just happy as can be to be there. When I finally saw the patient, who was an elderly old guy, I noticed he was frivolously masturbating in his bed. I dropped the food tray and stumbled backwards and yelled as loud as I could "Oh my God!" A nurse rushed into the room at the speed of light. She yelled "what's wrong?" and I pointed at the man covering my eyes trying to stumble backwards out of the room "That!" The nurse then proceeded to plead with the man as if this might have been an every day occurrence. "Sir put that away. That's not appropriate." The man pleaded back "But.....But" "No but's," replied the nurse "That's not appropriate, lets just put him away."
I finally manged to dramatically stumble out of the room. I was shocked halfway to Hell by this. But I decided to carry on anyway. I was only 16. How was I supposed to know that I might see that? Oddly enough, this did not deter me. I saw other patients that day, and they were all pretty nice for the most part. And when I say "I saw other patients," I really mean, I walked into their room and handed them their food tray and said enjoy. But I was excited just to be in the patient care setting.
I had an eventful three years there. It's all too much to go through in one blog. But most people wouldn't care to know half of it anyway. Failed work romances with a couple of co workers that had caused an excruciating amount of drama hell in my life. Crazy mischief that took place in the back with my friends (a few incidents almost cost me my job.). More crazy mischief that took place when I worked in the cafeteria or as a dietitian tech. Pager duels. The massive stealing of food from that place. My brief moments with getting drunk at parties and coming to work hungover. Occasionally smoking cigarettes with my friend on our lunch breaks. Pulling the girl out of the room who discovered the two dead bodies on the third floor (I didn't see anything, I just heard her scream. I reached in the room and pulled her out thinking she was in danger.) Getting written up the day after that for being in the background of a newscast regarding the double suicide (I was in the background open hand slapping my friends. It was a slap contest. Unfortunately my manager and a woman from human resources happened to be watching that newscast that night and recognized us. This was yet another incident by which I almost lost my job.)
I managed to get trained in the cafeteria eventually. Which was awful. I got yelled at by hospital employees all the time for supposedly overcharging them. Somehow they failed to realize in all the time working there, that hospital food is both mediocre and overpriced. It was easy work out there for the most part. Even when there was a rush it wasn't so bad. I still got to make myself a milkshake or any food I wanted. I had a habit of making smoothies that were surprisingly delicious. It's the one thing I miss about that place. Unlimited smoothies.
The top position besides dietitian or manager was the dietitian technician. It was the most patient focused for the department. You had to go visit patients before meals and basically take their orders. It was a glorified waiter job without tips. It did have its perks though. I at least got to see patients and shape up something almost resembling a bedside manner. I got to learn what certain equipment was and certain patient diseases. For a low entry job being in high school with no certifications, it was a pretty good gig to learn from. For the first time ever, I learned compassion for a nice stranger.
There is a patient I'll never forget who was at Cottonwood on the 5th floor (oncology/medicine). She was in her early 20's and losing the battle with cancer. I saw her every work day for 3 months. I didn't get to know her well, but I got to know her family and her condition eventually. Every time I went in there, she was always smiling and happy despite her dismal prognosis. She made me feel like I was actually helping her. Which even at the time seemed ridiculous. All I would do was take the order, chat for a few minutes, ask how she was doing and her family. But I felt like I was helping with this patient's well being. One day she passed away. I was really at a loss for words. Her obituary was posted on the floor and in our department. It was a happy but depressing obituary written by herself. She had realized her impending death was near and wrote an obituary that was not self-absorbed or overtly mopey about the life that was not fully lived. I remember reading it with tears almost welling in my eyes. I remember thinking to myself "All I wanted to do was help people. Why couldn't I have been in a better position to help her?" That was the moment I realized I truly belonged in medicine. In a real part of medicine. So I can really help people.
It wasn't long that I started to hate my job there. The supervisors were mean and literally stupid. My failed work romances created a personal hell I had not experienced before. I had little friends there as a result. I felt like I had outgrown the entry level job a long time ago and was ready for a real job that was more medically oriented. During my time working there, I had been in a band that was my pure focus. When that crumbled, I still had my job. I started to work at Local the music shop to help out there. (Again, completely different story.) I still could not commit myself to a medical career due to my intense fear of failure. I still clung to a career in music and told myself medicine was my "back-up plan." Sound reasoning right? Eventually, it came down me hating my job so much, that every day was a dread. I woke up fearing my day at work. I hated it there with an immense passion. It was time to move on. I applied to every job I could in a hospital setting, whether I was qualified or not. It was kind of a stupid thing to do, but surprisingly I still got interviews out of it. I interviewed for a variety of jobs at a ton of different hospitals. I was crushed when I didn't get the jobs I wanted. I was really bummed when I didn't get a job as an endoscopy tech at Cottonwood. I was so close to getting out of the job and they chose a return missionary instead. They had openly told me that was the only reason they chose him months down the road. My dad suggested I take a course on EKG's and I could be an EKG tech. I was willing to do anything. Luckily, my dad had an in once again. I got to take the class for free even though my current job had nothing to do with EKG's. After the course was done, I got an interview for a PRN EKG tech position at LDS Hospital. I thought I did well. They had checked my references and everything. My manager told me they got a call from that department and asked if I was going to leave if I got the job. I told them I had every intention of leaving if I got the job, even if it was just PRN. I ended up not getting the job. I was shocked and confused. I had no idea why that could be. Months later I found out they had intentionally sabotaged me because they didn't have the budget to hire someone to replace me at the time. This led to me hating my workplace that much more. (The EKG class did come in handy, I noticed V-tach on a tele monitor when there was no tech watching and notified a nurse. The patient died 10 minutes later. But it was something I would have never known had I not taken that course.)
For months I applied for everything under the sun. I went to 40+ interviews in 6 months. (That is no exaggeration. I have the emails to prove it. I have since had over 100 interviews. I have master the art at this point.) Things at work got progressively worse. More drama, more crap from ignorant supervisors and increased isolation. One day I reached my breaking point. My supervisor had accused me of being lazy after working 13 hours non stop in the dish room with no breaks. That is 13 straight hours of just washing dishes and cleaning pots and pans. The dish room was hot because the large dishwasher put off so much heat. It was a steam house. My supervisor said this to me and my friend Lincoln after she disappeared for 3 hours while still clocked in to go shopping at Target. I blew up and yelled back about how I was so sick of her shit and how awful the place was. I had full intentions of quitting the next day with a letter to human resources detailing the circumstances by which I quit. My friend Lincoln pulled me in close and whispered "Settled down. It's not like you to blow up like this. You're almost out of here. You can see the light. You will have a new job soon. You are so close. You're trying. I know you're trying. Stay cool." For some reason that calmed me down. I finished the shift and went home. I told my parents what had happened and they said they would support me until I got a new job. They were 100% behind me. I was so happy.
The next morning I got a phone call. I had just got offered a new job that I wanted.
Monday, August 30, 2010
My Adventure Through Medicine Part 1: In the Beginning
The other day, I was reminded about how much I actually do love the field of medicine. Some days, it feels working in medicine isn't worth it. It can be overwhelming, sometimes your patients are the scum of the Earth, and minor mistakes can be devastating. Bad days in medicine can really have a wearing and lasting effect on you. But as I said, I had a gleeful reminder of why I'm in the right place.
Someone had recently made the unfortunate mistake of asking how I got to this point. I warned them, it was a long and boring story that stretches mainly over the last 7 years but has been a highlight throughout my life. But the person insisted I tell the story anyway. I didn't hold up my end of the bargain and chose not to tell the story. To tell a real detailed story of my previous inspiration and jobs through medicine, someone would have to read it. My monotonous voice kills storytelling, plus so many memories get washed away when you wing it on the spot. Nonetheless, this forced me to REALLY think back on how I got here. What brought me to this point and what has pushed me further. It was something I hadn't really put too much thought into recently.
So here it is, my series of adventures through medicine for those who care to know.
My mom and dad have always worked in a hospital. Their interest in medicine was probably the main reason I even became interested. My dad had always had an interest since he was young. He started working as a CNA when he graduated high school at a nursing home in Idaho Falls. He eventually met my mom there who was also a CNA at the time. My mom was also drawn to the prospects of medicine. They both seemed to share a love for caring for others and the challenges that came with it. My dad wanted to be a doctor and my mom wanted to be a nurse or a radiology tech.
Then I came along..................That put a small hold on their dreams. We moved to Utah where my dad got a job at LDS Hospital back when it was a level one trauma center. My mom got a job at Cottonwood Hospital in radiology. My dad worked everywhere during his long tenure there. He worked as an artline tech, an anesthesia monitoring tech, blood gas tech and a CNA. He worked mostly graveyards during the week. I didn't get to see him much as a kid. When I did see him, he would always be eager to tell me about all the cool stuff he had seen. I would hear stories about traumas, procedures, crazy patients and types of doctors. I was just a kid so the stories weren't very graphic. If I had questions about something medical, he had no problem answering them. In fact, he practically always answered them with a lot of enthusiasm. The more I heard about these stories, the more I loved it. I wanted more. My mom would always try to make trips up to my dads work for a visit. I loved going every time. I loved the feel and smell of the hospital. The way everyone walked around with meaning and importance. The vibe where it felt like something big and important was happening. I remember these exact feelings. My mom would also take me to her work in radiology. She would show me all the cool pictures of X-rays, MRI's and CT scans. I fell in love with the notion of taking pictures of the inside of the body. I loved the technology and how futuristic it seemed.
When I was in kindergarten, my parents bought me a book about the body for kids. I must have went through those pages a million times. It was my favorite book for a lot of years. Smaller events in my life pushed me along the medical path. In first grade I did a report on the heart. My dad was more than enthusiastic to help with this. He borrowed a bunch of equipment from the hospital to help my report be ridiculously accurate for just a first grade presentation. I had an old telemetry monitor at my disposal to show what an ECG looked like, an old doppler, and an awesome model of the heart.
I found a different picture a while ago of me actually doing the presentation. But I couldn't find it again so I could post it.
For a while, I was disinterested in medicine. I loved it when a kids shows on PBS would do segments about the body and health. I loved it when I learned about that stuff in class for science. But it was rare and not very often. I had ambitions to become a pilot for a while, or even join the military. I was playing basketball a lot and felt that an NBA all star career was for me. (I didn't realize I was too white to be in the NBA) My child mind was not really thinking of the consequences of those outcomes.
When I was about 13, I went to a health science fair that LDS Hospital did every few years. My dad had mentioned it to me about it casually. I really wanted to go when I heard about it. My dad, always eager to spark my interest in medicine, pulled me and my friend out of school the next day so I could go to it. It was an amazing experience that really opened my eyes to the subject again. We could go through an OR suite. Look at airway and dialysis equipment. Carve our names with an argon laser on popsicle stick. I held a human brain, an eye ball, and heart all in the same day. They had breast implants that we could touch. (After touching/fondling the various sizes of silicone breast implants, I had coyly turned to my friend who was with me and said "I just made it to 3rd base." My dad tried to pretend my comment wasn't funny and attempted to scold me for it. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it)
Even though I was extremely interested in medicine, I didn't want to act too interested. My dad really wanted me to do something medical. However, I was at a passively rebellious phase and decided that I was never going to do anything medical. Despite this, my mom had gotten me a job when I was 14 at the eye office she worked at. I only cleaned the place every Sunday when no one was there for 60 dollars a month. My dad had hoped that being exposed to the medical instruments and eye models would make me interested again. This actually worked but I never admitted it to my parents. Instead, I saved the $60 a month I earned for almost a year and bought a drum set. This led me to start a band with my good friends for almost 5 years. But that's a WAY different story.
By the time I got to high school, I was 99% focused on my band. I didn't want anything to do with medicine.....kind of. I took 2 health classes my sophomore year. I loved them. I excelled at them. In my free time I would read the news about health science so I could learn more about it. Amongst my friends, I was always known to know the most about health stuff. People would ask me health questions all the time. If I didn't know the answer, I would find ways to get the answer. I found that I enjoyed solving those types of problems and helping people. I don't want to make this sound as though I was some sort of genius. Most of the questions I answered were simple and stupid.
I started to show interest in medicine a little more. But mostly privately to my dad. My dad encouraged me to get an entry level job at a hospital to get my foot in the door. I didn't think it was possible to get a job at hospital so young.
Someone had recently made the unfortunate mistake of asking how I got to this point. I warned them, it was a long and boring story that stretches mainly over the last 7 years but has been a highlight throughout my life. But the person insisted I tell the story anyway. I didn't hold up my end of the bargain and chose not to tell the story. To tell a real detailed story of my previous inspiration and jobs through medicine, someone would have to read it. My monotonous voice kills storytelling, plus so many memories get washed away when you wing it on the spot. Nonetheless, this forced me to REALLY think back on how I got here. What brought me to this point and what has pushed me further. It was something I hadn't really put too much thought into recently.
So here it is, my series of adventures through medicine for those who care to know.
My mom and dad have always worked in a hospital. Their interest in medicine was probably the main reason I even became interested. My dad had always had an interest since he was young. He started working as a CNA when he graduated high school at a nursing home in Idaho Falls. He eventually met my mom there who was also a CNA at the time. My mom was also drawn to the prospects of medicine. They both seemed to share a love for caring for others and the challenges that came with it. My dad wanted to be a doctor and my mom wanted to be a nurse or a radiology tech.
Then I came along..................That put a small hold on their dreams. We moved to Utah where my dad got a job at LDS Hospital back when it was a level one trauma center. My mom got a job at Cottonwood Hospital in radiology. My dad worked everywhere during his long tenure there. He worked as an artline tech, an anesthesia monitoring tech, blood gas tech and a CNA. He worked mostly graveyards during the week. I didn't get to see him much as a kid. When I did see him, he would always be eager to tell me about all the cool stuff he had seen. I would hear stories about traumas, procedures, crazy patients and types of doctors. I was just a kid so the stories weren't very graphic. If I had questions about something medical, he had no problem answering them. In fact, he practically always answered them with a lot of enthusiasm. The more I heard about these stories, the more I loved it. I wanted more. My mom would always try to make trips up to my dads work for a visit. I loved going every time. I loved the feel and smell of the hospital. The way everyone walked around with meaning and importance. The vibe where it felt like something big and important was happening. I remember these exact feelings. My mom would also take me to her work in radiology. She would show me all the cool pictures of X-rays, MRI's and CT scans. I fell in love with the notion of taking pictures of the inside of the body. I loved the technology and how futuristic it seemed.
When I was in kindergarten, my parents bought me a book about the body for kids. I must have went through those pages a million times. It was my favorite book for a lot of years. Smaller events in my life pushed me along the medical path. In first grade I did a report on the heart. My dad was more than enthusiastic to help with this. He borrowed a bunch of equipment from the hospital to help my report be ridiculously accurate for just a first grade presentation. I had an old telemetry monitor at my disposal to show what an ECG looked like, an old doppler, and an awesome model of the heart.
For a while, I was disinterested in medicine. I loved it when a kids shows on PBS would do segments about the body and health. I loved it when I learned about that stuff in class for science. But it was rare and not very often. I had ambitions to become a pilot for a while, or even join the military. I was playing basketball a lot and felt that an NBA all star career was for me. (I didn't realize I was too white to be in the NBA) My child mind was not really thinking of the consequences of those outcomes.
When I was about 13, I went to a health science fair that LDS Hospital did every few years. My dad had mentioned it to me about it casually. I really wanted to go when I heard about it. My dad, always eager to spark my interest in medicine, pulled me and my friend out of school the next day so I could go to it. It was an amazing experience that really opened my eyes to the subject again. We could go through an OR suite. Look at airway and dialysis equipment. Carve our names with an argon laser on popsicle stick. I held a human brain, an eye ball, and heart all in the same day. They had breast implants that we could touch. (After touching/fondling the various sizes of silicone breast implants, I had coyly turned to my friend who was with me and said "I just made it to 3rd base." My dad tried to pretend my comment wasn't funny and attempted to scold me for it. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it)
Even though I was extremely interested in medicine, I didn't want to act too interested. My dad really wanted me to do something medical. However, I was at a passively rebellious phase and decided that I was never going to do anything medical. Despite this, my mom had gotten me a job when I was 14 at the eye office she worked at. I only cleaned the place every Sunday when no one was there for 60 dollars a month. My dad had hoped that being exposed to the medical instruments and eye models would make me interested again. This actually worked but I never admitted it to my parents. Instead, I saved the $60 a month I earned for almost a year and bought a drum set. This led me to start a band with my good friends for almost 5 years. But that's a WAY different story.
By the time I got to high school, I was 99% focused on my band. I didn't want anything to do with medicine.....kind of. I took 2 health classes my sophomore year. I loved them. I excelled at them. In my free time I would read the news about health science so I could learn more about it. Amongst my friends, I was always known to know the most about health stuff. People would ask me health questions all the time. If I didn't know the answer, I would find ways to get the answer. I found that I enjoyed solving those types of problems and helping people. I don't want to make this sound as though I was some sort of genius. Most of the questions I answered were simple and stupid.
I started to show interest in medicine a little more. But mostly privately to my dad. My dad encouraged me to get an entry level job at a hospital to get my foot in the door. I didn't think it was possible to get a job at hospital so young.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Johnny Walker, MD?
I had a dream again. I was a doctor walking the halls of a seemingly never-ending hallway. The fluorescent lighting was nearly blinding as I passed unfamiliar faces. My white lab coat lightly drifted in the air as I kept pace. (I never really found wearing the white coat appealing, but I guess it was the only way my dream could let me know I was a doctor.....or a mad scientist. It wasn't terribly specific but the surrounding details made it seem as though I was a doctor)
Next thing I knew, I was shocking a patient with the old school paddles in a code. (I have yet to see those actually used) Finally, some familiar faces from work were surrounding me. The patient came back to life like they do in the TV shows. I walked out of the room and casually strode in to another patients room to sew a toe back on to a patient. It was like a movie without words. I was stern and silent. Nobody seemed to want to talk. (Maybe I was an asshole doctor)
Despite the oddities, it felt so natural. It felt as though, this is the way I've always done things. The power. The knowledge. As if nothing else ever mattered. Do you ever suddenly realize you're in a dream? It doesn't happen often, but this was one of those times. Usually when you realize it, it doesn't last much longer. It happened to me. I realized it was nothing more than a dream.
But why did it have to be just a dream? Why can't I make that a reality? That's the first question I asked myself when I had awoke. I looked around for a moment to gather my surroundings. My room suddenly felt confining. Why couldn't I be a doctor anyway? My personal hang-ups? Pride? Ethic? Why am I so incapable of being a doctor if all that's holding me back is me?
It feels like lately, I've been getting cosmic [coincidental] signs to be a doctor. In reality, I'm likely just eating the power of suggestion since the subject has been on my mind so often lately. Everyone has seemed to bring it up. My dad, who has been a huge proponent of me being a doctor from day one brought it up yesterday. I suddenly felt like I could do it. For real this time.
I have a million reasons to want to be a doctor. Yet I'm still afraid of failure as it feels impending rather than just optional. My ego's desires can't put away the thought of "John Walker, MD" or "Dr. Walker." My soft side can't put away the thoughts of doing good for the grateful and ungrateful alike. My intellectual side can't turn away from the challenge it presents with competition and stimulation. Yet my entire self cowers at the remote prospect of failure and that trying again would only lead to more hurt.
As each day passes, I feel like this is something more I want to do...........again. And yet, as each day passes, I feel like I might be wasting my time again.
Next thing I knew, I was shocking a patient with the old school paddles in a code. (I have yet to see those actually used) Finally, some familiar faces from work were surrounding me. The patient came back to life like they do in the TV shows. I walked out of the room and casually strode in to another patients room to sew a toe back on to a patient. It was like a movie without words. I was stern and silent. Nobody seemed to want to talk. (Maybe I was an asshole doctor)
Despite the oddities, it felt so natural. It felt as though, this is the way I've always done things. The power. The knowledge. As if nothing else ever mattered. Do you ever suddenly realize you're in a dream? It doesn't happen often, but this was one of those times. Usually when you realize it, it doesn't last much longer. It happened to me. I realized it was nothing more than a dream.
But why did it have to be just a dream? Why can't I make that a reality? That's the first question I asked myself when I had awoke. I looked around for a moment to gather my surroundings. My room suddenly felt confining. Why couldn't I be a doctor anyway? My personal hang-ups? Pride? Ethic? Why am I so incapable of being a doctor if all that's holding me back is me?
It feels like lately, I've been getting cosmic [coincidental] signs to be a doctor. In reality, I'm likely just eating the power of suggestion since the subject has been on my mind so often lately. Everyone has seemed to bring it up. My dad, who has been a huge proponent of me being a doctor from day one brought it up yesterday. I suddenly felt like I could do it. For real this time.
I have a million reasons to want to be a doctor. Yet I'm still afraid of failure as it feels impending rather than just optional. My ego's desires can't put away the thought of "John Walker, MD" or "Dr. Walker." My soft side can't put away the thoughts of doing good for the grateful and ungrateful alike. My intellectual side can't turn away from the challenge it presents with competition and stimulation. Yet my entire self cowers at the remote prospect of failure and that trying again would only lead to more hurt.
As each day passes, I feel like this is something more I want to do...........again. And yet, as each day passes, I feel like I might be wasting my time again.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Overdue Update
So I had a bit of a hiatus from this blog. I didn't write the entire month of July. I was in fact busy. So for those who were itching to see what's going on in my life and didn't get their fix, sorry. (I don't think there is actually anyone who cared that much, but play along anyway)
July was a crazy month. I won't go into insane details but I'll summarize it for you.
Two of my best friends left that month. My best friend Jeff went off to Chicago to attend med school and my other friend Kevin went off to Washington to attend law school. I miss them already. I was supposed to go to Chicago with Jeff on a sweet road trip across country. I was in the middle of writing a blog about it, but it pissed me off too much so I scrapped it. I'm sure most people have already heard the story, and those who haven't have probably figured out the trip didn't happen anyway. The car broke down in Denver, and we had to fly back 12 hours later (long story short). I worked a lot to try to keep my income up. I lost a ton of weight too. I lost 25 lbs collectively by the end of July. (That's combining the months of June and July, so don't worry, I don't have an eating disorder.) I worked out a lot and have gotten in the best shape I've been in since high school. The last time I weighed that much was 2 years ago when I lost weight with Brennon. Now I'm below that weight. So currently, I'm the lightest I've been since I was 19. I'm not too far off from my actual weight that I was when I graduated high school. I have really gotten into my health and fitness. My body feels great. I feel more confident about myself. I feel less blue most days. I just overall feel great.
I've also been shopping for a new car. I've been looking at Jeep Wranglers a little more seriously now. I've test drove a few and have enjoyed it. My Nissan Sentra is an awesome car. I have had no problems with it. But I felt it was time for a change to something new. I want something that can handle relatively anything. Weather, dirt roads, mountains, climbing steep hills. A car that can do it all. Yes, the gas mileage sucks a little. But I will feel better driving in the winter. I hate winter. I hate snow. I hate driving in the snow. I hate being cold. So really, this is a better choice without getting a truck. I don't need a truck since I won't use all of it's useful utilities. But a little bit of engine muscle never hurt anyone (except for mother nature, the ozone, and all living life. No big deal). I have been doing battle with salesmen for over a month now. I've been putting my "not putting up with shit" skills to the test. I learned how to shop for cars from the best. My dad and grandpa are legendary car shoppers. They are like stone when it comes to getting what they want. I have done my best to do so myself. I'm hoping I can get the car I want for the price I want with a little diplomacy and hard bargaining. (On a side note, I have crazy theories that my family is Jewish somewhere down the line. We love to really save money where it counts and will fight for it relentlessly, if not brutally.)
School starts in a couple of weeks. Bleh. Can't say I'm really looking forward to that, but what do you do? It's gotta be done. I have to attend a family reunion for my mom's side of the family in New Mexico Labor Day weekend. I have mixed feelings about that trip. I won't get into that though. It should be fun for the most part. I want to plan a vacation to Chicago to make up for the terrible misadventure that happened in July. I don't think I'll get so lucky since money will be tight this fall, as it always is when school starts. I got a new job at Park City ER as a PRN gig to supplement my income. I can just add it to the list of hospitals I've worked at. Sweet. I think it will be a good job. It seems friendly, the hospital is nice and they see real patients most of the time. Seems like a winning combination to me. Additionally, I'm somewhat worried about the full time job I have at LDSH. The hospital is showing signs of going under. They are having a meeting tomorrow about how they can cut tech hours. I worry that my job will be up on the chopping block soon if things don't improve. It's a shame too. I really like the hospital I work at. Awesome people, good hours, familiarity. It's pretty sweet. But if they are going to cut my hours and increase my shifts, that will certainly cause problems for me. We will see. Perhaps I'm just paranoid. Or I'm just realistic. Reality blows sometimes (profound statement right?)
Well, there you have it. The update to my seemingly insipid lifestyle. It's a pretty good life, but it's hard to sugarcoat it so people will find it interesting to read. Even my vocabulary can't save the boringness of my blog. But that's ok. It's nice to just write anyway. It's one of my outlets sometimes. (of course it's an outlet! If you haven't read blogs about me bitchin' about everything in my life to blow off steam, then consider yourself lucky.)
Any case, life is good. Summer is great. My health has improved. I need a vacation. That is the full summary of this blog in case you just scrolled down to the bottom hoping for a summary so you didn't have to read the whole thing.
Word.
July was a crazy month. I won't go into insane details but I'll summarize it for you.
Two of my best friends left that month. My best friend Jeff went off to Chicago to attend med school and my other friend Kevin went off to Washington to attend law school. I miss them already. I was supposed to go to Chicago with Jeff on a sweet road trip across country. I was in the middle of writing a blog about it, but it pissed me off too much so I scrapped it. I'm sure most people have already heard the story, and those who haven't have probably figured out the trip didn't happen anyway. The car broke down in Denver, and we had to fly back 12 hours later (long story short). I worked a lot to try to keep my income up. I lost a ton of weight too. I lost 25 lbs collectively by the end of July. (That's combining the months of June and July, so don't worry, I don't have an eating disorder.) I worked out a lot and have gotten in the best shape I've been in since high school. The last time I weighed that much was 2 years ago when I lost weight with Brennon. Now I'm below that weight. So currently, I'm the lightest I've been since I was 19. I'm not too far off from my actual weight that I was when I graduated high school. I have really gotten into my health and fitness. My body feels great. I feel more confident about myself. I feel less blue most days. I just overall feel great.
I've also been shopping for a new car. I've been looking at Jeep Wranglers a little more seriously now. I've test drove a few and have enjoyed it. My Nissan Sentra is an awesome car. I have had no problems with it. But I felt it was time for a change to something new. I want something that can handle relatively anything. Weather, dirt roads, mountains, climbing steep hills. A car that can do it all. Yes, the gas mileage sucks a little. But I will feel better driving in the winter. I hate winter. I hate snow. I hate driving in the snow. I hate being cold. So really, this is a better choice without getting a truck. I don't need a truck since I won't use all of it's useful utilities. But a little bit of engine muscle never hurt anyone (except for mother nature, the ozone, and all living life. No big deal). I have been doing battle with salesmen for over a month now. I've been putting my "not putting up with shit" skills to the test. I learned how to shop for cars from the best. My dad and grandpa are legendary car shoppers. They are like stone when it comes to getting what they want. I have done my best to do so myself. I'm hoping I can get the car I want for the price I want with a little diplomacy and hard bargaining. (On a side note, I have crazy theories that my family is Jewish somewhere down the line. We love to really save money where it counts and will fight for it relentlessly, if not brutally.)
School starts in a couple of weeks. Bleh. Can't say I'm really looking forward to that, but what do you do? It's gotta be done. I have to attend a family reunion for my mom's side of the family in New Mexico Labor Day weekend. I have mixed feelings about that trip. I won't get into that though. It should be fun for the most part. I want to plan a vacation to Chicago to make up for the terrible misadventure that happened in July. I don't think I'll get so lucky since money will be tight this fall, as it always is when school starts. I got a new job at Park City ER as a PRN gig to supplement my income. I can just add it to the list of hospitals I've worked at. Sweet. I think it will be a good job. It seems friendly, the hospital is nice and they see real patients most of the time. Seems like a winning combination to me. Additionally, I'm somewhat worried about the full time job I have at LDSH. The hospital is showing signs of going under. They are having a meeting tomorrow about how they can cut tech hours. I worry that my job will be up on the chopping block soon if things don't improve. It's a shame too. I really like the hospital I work at. Awesome people, good hours, familiarity. It's pretty sweet. But if they are going to cut my hours and increase my shifts, that will certainly cause problems for me. We will see. Perhaps I'm just paranoid. Or I'm just realistic. Reality blows sometimes (profound statement right?)
Well, there you have it. The update to my seemingly insipid lifestyle. It's a pretty good life, but it's hard to sugarcoat it so people will find it interesting to read. Even my vocabulary can't save the boringness of my blog. But that's ok. It's nice to just write anyway. It's one of my outlets sometimes. (of course it's an outlet! If you haven't read blogs about me bitchin' about everything in my life to blow off steam, then consider yourself lucky.)
Any case, life is good. Summer is great. My health has improved. I need a vacation. That is the full summary of this blog in case you just scrolled down to the bottom hoping for a summary so you didn't have to read the whole thing.
Word.
The Drug I Can't Put Down
If you read the title hoping to read a juicy blog about a secret addiction to crack and heroin, you needn't read any longer. As that is not the case. Sorry :(
I should really start tagging blogs like this one as "whining about which path to take with my medical career." I guarantee over half of my blogs that I've written the past 2 years would show up.
This drug I speak of, the addiction I hold dear, is the seemingly impossible dream of being a doctor. Last week, a doctor I work with brought it up. They happened to bring up me going pre-med again. Truthfully, I hadn't thought of it in close to year. I had a harsh realization about my work ethic with school and my handicaps getting to certain points in life. I gave up the pre-med game and accepted that nursing was the route I would need to go realistically. There is nothing wrong with nursing by the way. Nursing rocks! But I really wanted to go to med school first. Anyway, having realized my failures and faults with pre-med, I switched to nursing and didn't look back. It hurt too much to look back at my wounded pride and failure. However, ever since that doctor I work with brought it up, my mind has been saturated with the thought of wanting to be a doctor again. It seems wherever I turn, something reminds me of this buried desire. TV even seems to be giving me cosmic [coincidental] signs about it. I've been watching a lot of "Trauma Life in the ER" on the Discovery Health Channel. What a wonderful show. Nurses and friends have brought it up a lot lately too over the past month. Every time I go to work now I seem to focus more on what the doctor is doing. I look at the doctors with envy wondering "Can I do it?"
Of course I've considered my other options in medicine, such as nursing (ER, Critical Care, Life Flight) or physician assistant. I feel my personality and ambition is well suited for those fields. But I often feel like that deep inside, I may not be happy with the outcome. Would I be happy with doing less than I wanted? The appealing thing about being a doctor is the vast amount of knowledge I would have. Being in control. Making real decisions. Doing real procedures. I love those aspects so much. It's honestly ridiculous how appealing that is to me.
But then reality checks in. My school ethic is crappy at best. My motivation is frail and fickle. I feel too old to do this now when I feel like I should have done it right the first time a long time ago. My chances of success are low. I'm tired of the position I'm in now and want to move on. etc, etc, etc. So much comes to mind when being confronted with these painful facts. And yet, I keep coming back to the same conclusion: Just do it! As if it were that easy. Logically speaking, it would seem like the right thing to do. It's where my passion and heart feel like that's where I need to be/should be. So many times have I left the pre-med game, then come back, faced failure only to return for more punishment. Why am I so pathetic? All the wishing in the world couldn't make me a doctor. Only the workload can. I'm stuck in career limbo. Where do I want to go? Who do I want to be? What do I want to do?
The people I respect and trust the most believe I can. But they are my friends, and it is a friend's job to believe in you, after all. I feel like I let down the people who believe I can do this. In the end, it doesn't matter what they think anyway. In the end, it comes down to me getting off my ass and finally doing it right. I worry if my ambition is misguided or if my friend's judgment is clouded by their need to help a friend out.
But no matter what, I keep coming back to the pre-med discussion like a heroin addict going to their 80th rehab visit. It's seriously that powerful. It has a lure that I cannot deny. It would be absurd for me to say, that this isn't what I want, and I can't do the job. I know I can do the job. But getting there is the hard part. It's hard for a good reason obviously. There is a lot of wishy-washy imbeciles out there who should never be doctors in any universe. You have to weed out the idiots somehow. Yet, I am one of those idiots who has been weeded out repeatedly. I keep coming back like herpes, or MRSA, or the flu. I'm that relentless. The weed that can't be killed or burned out.
If it's so hard to let go because it's so damn appealing, why can't I just buckle up and do it right?
I should really start tagging blogs like this one as "whining about which path to take with my medical career." I guarantee over half of my blogs that I've written the past 2 years would show up.
This drug I speak of, the addiction I hold dear, is the seemingly impossible dream of being a doctor. Last week, a doctor I work with brought it up. They happened to bring up me going pre-med again. Truthfully, I hadn't thought of it in close to year. I had a harsh realization about my work ethic with school and my handicaps getting to certain points in life. I gave up the pre-med game and accepted that nursing was the route I would need to go realistically. There is nothing wrong with nursing by the way. Nursing rocks! But I really wanted to go to med school first. Anyway, having realized my failures and faults with pre-med, I switched to nursing and didn't look back. It hurt too much to look back at my wounded pride and failure. However, ever since that doctor I work with brought it up, my mind has been saturated with the thought of wanting to be a doctor again. It seems wherever I turn, something reminds me of this buried desire. TV even seems to be giving me cosmic [coincidental] signs about it. I've been watching a lot of "Trauma Life in the ER" on the Discovery Health Channel. What a wonderful show. Nurses and friends have brought it up a lot lately too over the past month. Every time I go to work now I seem to focus more on what the doctor is doing. I look at the doctors with envy wondering "Can I do it?"
Of course I've considered my other options in medicine, such as nursing (ER, Critical Care, Life Flight) or physician assistant. I feel my personality and ambition is well suited for those fields. But I often feel like that deep inside, I may not be happy with the outcome. Would I be happy with doing less than I wanted? The appealing thing about being a doctor is the vast amount of knowledge I would have. Being in control. Making real decisions. Doing real procedures. I love those aspects so much. It's honestly ridiculous how appealing that is to me.
But then reality checks in. My school ethic is crappy at best. My motivation is frail and fickle. I feel too old to do this now when I feel like I should have done it right the first time a long time ago. My chances of success are low. I'm tired of the position I'm in now and want to move on. etc, etc, etc. So much comes to mind when being confronted with these painful facts. And yet, I keep coming back to the same conclusion: Just do it! As if it were that easy. Logically speaking, it would seem like the right thing to do. It's where my passion and heart feel like that's where I need to be/should be. So many times have I left the pre-med game, then come back, faced failure only to return for more punishment. Why am I so pathetic? All the wishing in the world couldn't make me a doctor. Only the workload can. I'm stuck in career limbo. Where do I want to go? Who do I want to be? What do I want to do?
The people I respect and trust the most believe I can. But they are my friends, and it is a friend's job to believe in you, after all. I feel like I let down the people who believe I can do this. In the end, it doesn't matter what they think anyway. In the end, it comes down to me getting off my ass and finally doing it right. I worry if my ambition is misguided or if my friend's judgment is clouded by their need to help a friend out.
But no matter what, I keep coming back to the pre-med discussion like a heroin addict going to their 80th rehab visit. It's seriously that powerful. It has a lure that I cannot deny. It would be absurd for me to say, that this isn't what I want, and I can't do the job. I know I can do the job. But getting there is the hard part. It's hard for a good reason obviously. There is a lot of wishy-washy imbeciles out there who should never be doctors in any universe. You have to weed out the idiots somehow. Yet, I am one of those idiots who has been weeded out repeatedly. I keep coming back like herpes, or MRSA, or the flu. I'm that relentless. The weed that can't be killed or burned out.
If it's so hard to let go because it's so damn appealing, why can't I just buckle up and do it right?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Men My Child-Self Wanted Me To Be When I "Grew Up"
My mom has been looking through old pictures of family for the upcoming family reunion in New Mexico. She has found many memories I have long forgot about. The ones that struck me the most were the ones of when I was in elementary school. Every grade seemed to have an assignment about what we wanted to be when we grew up. Most kids are never sure on what they want to be. It was funny to see the things that I wanted to be. By today's standards, I would never be able to do half the jobs I wanted.
Here is a sampling of a few of the jobs I wanted as a kid.
An Olympic Gymnast
This notion is so absurd that I laughed when I saw that on the paper. I was obsessed with Star Wars as a kid and wanted to do all the cool flips that Luke Skywalker could. I was jealous. Me being a gymnast now is insane. I'm so clumsy I would likely have accidentally killed myself in the first week of gymnastics class. Plus the whole flexibility thing. Yeah........
A Police Officer
I have nothing but the greatest respect for the men and women in law enforcement. They do a tough job for the greater good of our population and are still seen as "the bad guy" by most people. However, I could never do their job. I don't have the mettle to kick that kind of ass. I'm probably one of the least intimidating people out there. I'm short and fairly young looking. Criminals would have a hard time resisting the urge to kick my ass just for fun.
A Cartoon Writer
This meant I would have to learn how to draw. When I was six, I thought I was excellent at drawing. When I was 8, I realized I sucked at it. I had a desire to learn how to draw. I was jealous of my friends who could draw really well at a young age. They knew how to make something look kind of 3D. I could barely master the concept of the stick figure. This all stemmed from my great love for cartoons. It wasn't until high school where I briefly considered becoming a cartoon writer in a different sense: writing scripts and story lines. That dream quickly died.
NBA Basketball Player
I think every boy who was involved with sports fantasized frequently about being on a professional team. My friend David and I played basketball non-stop till middle school's end. I wasn't great at basketball. But I was pretty good according to my coaches. I started on every team I played. But I failed to get on the middle school team and realized I was mediocre on the offense. I also realized how competitive I was. Not against other people but against myself. I'm the one who brought me down every time I messed up. I wasn't competitive against other people so much. But when people got cocky competitive against me, I hated the game. It frustrated me so badly. I soon came to hate sports because of those people. I was ok being hard on myself because I still enjoyed the game. But the second I started playing with cocky, shit talking douchebags, that's when I hated the game. It was no longer fun to play because of people like that.
A Pilot
The last half of elementary school, I was obsessed with flying a plane. I liked military stuff. I had dreams of joining the army or the air force flying sweet fighter jets. My dad was supportive of this notion but also knew I was terrible at math. He would tell me, "That's great you want to be a pilot, but remember it takes a lot of math. If you master math, you can be a pilot." After hearing that a few dozen times, I too realized my stunning handicap at math. My dreams of flying were shattered by my retardation of mathematics. A part of me thinks that maybe some day, way down the road, I can get my private pilot's license. A day when I'm done with school and successful. It's probably for the better that I'm not flying multi-million dollar jet liners with hundreds of people on board. Really.
Military Officer
I had considered the marines in early high school. I didn't care for school and did mediocre to poorly in my classes during those years. I cared about nothing. The notion of combat was appealing to me. The notion of being in charge of people was much more appealing. There was 3 times where I had almost signed up for the army, marines or navy. I didn't go through with it. I had this thing about dying.......Yeah. Didn't want to die. So I scrapped that idea.
Rock Star!
In high 9th grade I started to learn how to play the drums. I loved it. I soon formed my own band that lasted for 4 years. That was an amazing part of my life. School suffered as a result. We had a pretty good amount of success with the band. Like everyone else who forms a band, everyone almost immediately has grandiose dreams of being signed on a big label, going on tour, and meeting a ton of chicks. Sweet! The band broke up near the end of my senior year. My dreams were shattered but my spirit not yet broken. For two years I was a fill in temporary drummer for sever bands and worked at the music shop local. I had a brief ideal of being a music producer but realized how crazy that was and my low likelihood of success.
How I got to the point I am now, is a completely long and boring story. Maybe a different blog will be made about that. And I'm sure I've forgotten about many other careers I thought I could do. If I think of any, I will be sure to post them.
Here is a sampling of a few of the jobs I wanted as a kid.
An Olympic Gymnast
This notion is so absurd that I laughed when I saw that on the paper. I was obsessed with Star Wars as a kid and wanted to do all the cool flips that Luke Skywalker could. I was jealous. Me being a gymnast now is insane. I'm so clumsy I would likely have accidentally killed myself in the first week of gymnastics class. Plus the whole flexibility thing. Yeah........
A Police Officer
I have nothing but the greatest respect for the men and women in law enforcement. They do a tough job for the greater good of our population and are still seen as "the bad guy" by most people. However, I could never do their job. I don't have the mettle to kick that kind of ass. I'm probably one of the least intimidating people out there. I'm short and fairly young looking. Criminals would have a hard time resisting the urge to kick my ass just for fun.
A Cartoon Writer
This meant I would have to learn how to draw. When I was six, I thought I was excellent at drawing. When I was 8, I realized I sucked at it. I had a desire to learn how to draw. I was jealous of my friends who could draw really well at a young age. They knew how to make something look kind of 3D. I could barely master the concept of the stick figure. This all stemmed from my great love for cartoons. It wasn't until high school where I briefly considered becoming a cartoon writer in a different sense: writing scripts and story lines. That dream quickly died.
NBA Basketball Player
I think every boy who was involved with sports fantasized frequently about being on a professional team. My friend David and I played basketball non-stop till middle school's end. I wasn't great at basketball. But I was pretty good according to my coaches. I started on every team I played. But I failed to get on the middle school team and realized I was mediocre on the offense. I also realized how competitive I was. Not against other people but against myself. I'm the one who brought me down every time I messed up. I wasn't competitive against other people so much. But when people got cocky competitive against me, I hated the game. It frustrated me so badly. I soon came to hate sports because of those people. I was ok being hard on myself because I still enjoyed the game. But the second I started playing with cocky, shit talking douchebags, that's when I hated the game. It was no longer fun to play because of people like that.
A Pilot
The last half of elementary school, I was obsessed with flying a plane. I liked military stuff. I had dreams of joining the army or the air force flying sweet fighter jets. My dad was supportive of this notion but also knew I was terrible at math. He would tell me, "That's great you want to be a pilot, but remember it takes a lot of math. If you master math, you can be a pilot." After hearing that a few dozen times, I too realized my stunning handicap at math. My dreams of flying were shattered by my retardation of mathematics. A part of me thinks that maybe some day, way down the road, I can get my private pilot's license. A day when I'm done with school and successful. It's probably for the better that I'm not flying multi-million dollar jet liners with hundreds of people on board. Really.
Military Officer
I had considered the marines in early high school. I didn't care for school and did mediocre to poorly in my classes during those years. I cared about nothing. The notion of combat was appealing to me. The notion of being in charge of people was much more appealing. There was 3 times where I had almost signed up for the army, marines or navy. I didn't go through with it. I had this thing about dying.......Yeah. Didn't want to die. So I scrapped that idea.
Rock Star!
In high 9th grade I started to learn how to play the drums. I loved it. I soon formed my own band that lasted for 4 years. That was an amazing part of my life. School suffered as a result. We had a pretty good amount of success with the band. Like everyone else who forms a band, everyone almost immediately has grandiose dreams of being signed on a big label, going on tour, and meeting a ton of chicks. Sweet! The band broke up near the end of my senior year. My dreams were shattered but my spirit not yet broken. For two years I was a fill in temporary drummer for sever bands and worked at the music shop local. I had a brief ideal of being a music producer but realized how crazy that was and my low likelihood of success.
How I got to the point I am now, is a completely long and boring story. Maybe a different blog will be made about that. And I'm sure I've forgotten about many other careers I thought I could do. If I think of any, I will be sure to post them.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Soft Spot II
Other things I have a soft spot for.
1. VW Buses. It was my boyhood dream car and eventually owned one when I was 19. It was the coolest car I have owned to date. And perhaps the funnest (aside from fixing it every 5 days or less). I couldn't afford to keep it anymore. But every time I see one now, my nostalgic side tugs at me quite a bit. It makes me miss my old one and makes me yearn to own a similar one in the future. (Not likely)
2. Breakfast foods. Breakfast foods are great. They are always cheap, easy to make and freaking delicious! Having coffee or hot chocolate with pancakes or french toast is the best thing ever. It always reminds me of having breakfast with my grandpa and uncles every time I visited them in Idaho. I felt like I was one of the men in the group every time. Breakfast foods never fail to bring a smile to my face.
3. Musical instruments. Any time I see a musical instrument, I can't help but think what music has done for me and what it has done for others. My attention is always drawn to an instrument when I see one. I just concentrate to the shiny parts, the sound it makes, and I always wonder how long it took the person to get good at it.
4. A sunrise in the summer as I'm driving home from work. I love driving home to an awesome sunrise in the summer. I can roll down all the windows, enjoy the scenery of the sun peaking over the mountains, feel the warm wind in my hair. After a shitty night at work, everything can seem righted during that 20 minute drive.
5. Cartoons. I love cartoons more than most healthy adult males should. I can watch any cartoons for the most part. Generally, the cartoons I watch are more adult humored in nature, but I can easily spend time on Cartoon Network during the day or Nickelodeon and not be remotely bothered by it.
That's all I can think of. And I'm sure that's all you care to know about anyway. So win/win!
1. VW Buses. It was my boyhood dream car and eventually owned one when I was 19. It was the coolest car I have owned to date. And perhaps the funnest (aside from fixing it every 5 days or less). I couldn't afford to keep it anymore. But every time I see one now, my nostalgic side tugs at me quite a bit. It makes me miss my old one and makes me yearn to own a similar one in the future. (Not likely)
2. Breakfast foods. Breakfast foods are great. They are always cheap, easy to make and freaking delicious! Having coffee or hot chocolate with pancakes or french toast is the best thing ever. It always reminds me of having breakfast with my grandpa and uncles every time I visited them in Idaho. I felt like I was one of the men in the group every time. Breakfast foods never fail to bring a smile to my face.
3. Musical instruments. Any time I see a musical instrument, I can't help but think what music has done for me and what it has done for others. My attention is always drawn to an instrument when I see one. I just concentrate to the shiny parts, the sound it makes, and I always wonder how long it took the person to get good at it.
4. A sunrise in the summer as I'm driving home from work. I love driving home to an awesome sunrise in the summer. I can roll down all the windows, enjoy the scenery of the sun peaking over the mountains, feel the warm wind in my hair. After a shitty night at work, everything can seem righted during that 20 minute drive.
5. Cartoons. I love cartoons more than most healthy adult males should. I can watch any cartoons for the most part. Generally, the cartoons I watch are more adult humored in nature, but I can easily spend time on Cartoon Network during the day or Nickelodeon and not be remotely bothered by it.
That's all I can think of. And I'm sure that's all you care to know about anyway. So win/win!
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