An older post, from my private journal about my very first
day night on the job right before I moved to Durham, NC for my ‘first’ adult job. 5 year ago. Also, it was the last time I did something ‘crazy, and unexpected’. Somehow, that was considered ‘responsible’ while taking some time off to explore seems ‘careless’. I’ve done a bit more research and decided that I am going to try to visit all 13 countries on the South American continent. I’ve been in touch with some volunteer outfits that will allow me to stay for free if I agree to work a certain amount of time each day. Win-win. My current plan–if you can call it that–is to arrive in Caracas, skedaddle on over to Colombia as quickly as possible, follow my way down the Pacific coast all the way down to the Beagle Channel, scoot back up the Atlantic coast, and hit the interior where it makes sense. I’ve currently got applications for a Bolivian and Brazilian visas in the works and for the rest of it, I’ll figure out things as I go along. I leave in 2 months; let’s get packing.
Reality is the first night on the job, and you are the only RT in the building. This is better than reality TV
I have had a license to practice respiratory care in South Carolina for a whopping 8 days, and here I sit, at the hospital on a Saturday night, working. I am the only respiratory therapist in the building. God help us all if there in an EMERGENCY tonight. I am working with my favorite hospitalist, so that helps.
You know, I have never moved. I’ve done a lot of shuffling back and forth between here and there, but I have spent my entire life essentially within a 50 mile radius. (You know, other than when I lived in Mexico or spent the summer in UK) I am beyond nervous, somewhat excited, and generally hopeful that I haven’t committed a major fuck-up. My biggest fear is that I won’t be good enough or smart enough to handle taking care of actual sick people.
Here’s the thing… even though I worked at Hillcrest almost the entire time I was in school, spent time in ER and ICU, I can still count on my fingers the number of bona-fide emergencies I’ve been involved in because Hillcrest is a place for the not-well or those recovering from surgery. It is not a place for the actually dying or people in actual emergencies. There just not the equipment or sheer number of people needed to participated in a real life-or-death situation.
And I am going to work in a hospital with a Level 1 trauma center, a level 3 NICU, and very large PICU, and while I don’t know where I’ll eventually end up, I chose, I chose, PICU, NICU, and ER as my top 3 choices of where I’d like to work.
The reality of what I’ve done is starting to set in. I’ve packed up a month’s worth of clothes, a few books, my laptop, a sleeping bag, my kick-ass stereo that goes with me everywhere, and a sense of adventure. In the morning, after working a 12-hour shift, I’m moving to Durham, North Carolina where for a least the next year, I’ll be participating in a pilot residency program for newly graduated respiratory therapists. I’ve left Shadow, Spot, all my friends, and all the bad memories of the last few months behind.
And later that day…after driving 272 miles, crashing for a few hours in my sleeping bag in a hammock on the screened-in porch, and unpacking my paltry amount of possessions…
I’m living in a roughly 8 x 15 cement cinder block room in the basement of a rather large house. It’s double the size of a jail cell, slightly smaller than a dorm room. I have a minuscule closet, a wall full of wooden built-ins, and an old parquet floor. It looks like a hallway and furniture arrangement is going to take some, um, creativity. Lighting is awful; I have those old, tube fluorescent lights, and the tiniest of windows which I can’t even open. My guess is that it’s not a ‘legal’ bedroom, but whatevs, it’s cheap, and close to the hospital where I’ll be working.
The bathroom beside my room has clearly seen better days. It has a stand-up shower, a pedestal sink, and a toilet. The minimum. Rent is $282.50/month… which hopefully after a month or so of settling in, I can begin to save up money, pay off student loans, and finally take a vacation. I don’t even have a bed yet. I report to work at promptly 8:30am. It’s too late to turn back now. This is my new reality, and reality is highly overrated.