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- The hospital soars above the city skyline, tall, massive, imposing; an interloper from the Gotham plane. The building rose up during the Depression, and it shows. (There should be a large clock on the exterior, to which desperate flunkies could cling). So far I have had nothing to do, besides be intimidated. I have a direct supervisor, and serve two doctors, one of whom is currently on vacation. So far, I've sorted incoming mail, ferried the outgoing mail downstairs, and answered the odd phone call. Most patients only call my number by accident, and must usually be transferred to the clinics many floors below. Patients, nurses, and orderlies don't even set foot on this floor. When I see anyone, it's a doctor (skulking incognito without a labcoat) or someone in administrative service of one. There is talk of me assisting with a project or two, composing business letters, learning medical transcription, researching...things, and making hotel and flight reservations. None of this is happening right now, though, because they all require the initiation or participation of someone else. Everyone's busy, or not in evidence. There are lots of closed doors. For now I sit in a small, slightly cluttered room with two white walls, one dusty rose wall, and one mauve, gazing out a wonderful 8 foot window, and trying to look as though I am deep in thought about anything that might justify a very fair wage. The view is complex. There is an immense construction site across the street below my eyeline, with the only easily viewable portion being a massive construction crane soaring up and the above me, high above it all. The hospital outbuildings and accessories are slightly dull, but are ringed by a great bowl-shaped valley of houses and trees, and an ascent to the top of a ridge featuring a Greek Orthodox church with fantastic spires. Between my window and the church towers, there is nothing else as high to interrupt the rather pleasant view. Beyond that church on the ridge, I know that the hills drop gradually away to the water, but viewed from here, the end of the land is sudden. Nothing after the church appears for miles--until another sweeping set of foothills with trees marching over, and finally, a mountain range. I am afraid to websurf. I don't think it would look seemly if I am reading a book. I can only write.
Second day on the job here at Hospital Gigante. It's like an ER episode come to life, if ER concentrated inexplicably on the administrative wing of a hospital, and had lower production values. The hallways are a practical white and off-white or ecru and yellow-y, with oak doors. Nothing has a glacial blue or white translucent glow like Chicago County General, or expensive tiles and dark wood, as on House. Of course, I never expected such unnecessary lucite or neon or glass in a place like this, but it's going to make watching television even funnier. Everyone here has been very nice, so far, which is a little alarming. I like the doctor to whom I play a supporting role. She is tall, pale, girlish for her age, and slim as a greyhound, with a head of expensively highlighted hair and a wardrobe from the window of Talbot's. Her manner is suspiciously solicitous. I suspect that she is sometimes not so nice, and is attempting to build up capital in order to spend it later. However, I am fiercely interested in her work, which for reasons of propriety I can say little of. My direct supervisor is kind in a less alarming way. Betty is older, with winged silvery hair, owlish specs, soft clothes, and a corresponding expression. She seems to have a strong sense of conscience; somehow there is no better word. I suspect she has grown children. She has been very kind, and has encouraged me to ask questions. I still don't have much to do. This morning I distributed the mail, drank two weak cups of coffee and had some melon (any food leftover from meetings is brought up to our sideboard, and everyone has a go), checked my new email address (nada) and phone messages (same), faxed a feeding tube order, and answered a call from the Good Doctor herself. She speaks incredibly fast; my anxiety shot straight up in empathy. She was friendly enough, though. So far, the highlight of the day has been the melon, and putting classical "hold" music on speakerphone and pretending I had a radio. That would depress me if the wages were bad. (Since they aren't, I have decided to feel jaunty).
I feel rather cheerful today, considering I've slept only 6 hours per night for three days, and I normally crave 8. But my new bedtime is scarcely possible. I keep flouting it. Having full-time work might be the culprit, but I think sitting in indirect natural light for three days is helping my mood as well. I've been very bad about maintaining a routine this winter. I kept getting up at noon and getting only 4 hours of light per day before the sun crashed down. It was rotten for my mood, but I hadn't persuaded myself to do things any differently. This afternoon, I'll get to try my hand at medical transcription. I imagine it will either be fascinating, or completely tedious. Either way, I have a little thrum of interest at the idea of something new. The Good Dr. will talk and record, I'll transcribe it and fix the grammar and hand it back, double-spaced for further edits and "softening". (She will be critique-ing the work of people with far less seniority and apparently does not wish to say the very first things that pop into her head).
This morning, the Happiest Whores on Earth dashed out of the hospital elevator as I was getting in. The skinny brunette was wearing pink zebra-print spandex pants made more truly amazing by the fact that she had sourced them at all, than by their remarkable tightness. Her companion's long hair had been bleached to hell and back, and looked like the curious, dry locks on vintage baby dolls at thrift shops. The blonde's waxy jet-black eyebrows had been pencilled on quite earnestly, despite the fact that her normal ash-brown eyebrows--half an inch below--were quite adequate. The two women bounced off down the hallway towards the espresso kiosk, chattering enthusiastically as thought without a care in the world--perhaps they had scored painkillers or opiates without having to resort to everyday methods. I felt as though in the presence of unusual creatures one doesn't normally get close to...deer, perhaps. Strung-out city deer in pink spandex and stonewashed denim. They were so perfectly archetypal that I would've suspected the hand of a casting director if there had been any reason to. I'm starting to get used to 6 hours of sleep. Here's hoping that I manage to transmogrify that into getting used to going to bed at 11pm. That would be significantly more impressive. I-- 12:50pm - Whew! Sheesh. The pace of a doctor's life. January 17, 2006 -
On Friday had only a 15 minute lunch even though I am supposed to have an hour. I believe this offcially violates the terms of my contract and sets all kinds of bad precedents, although the doctor did not appear to encourage the matter, only to completely overlook it. I made up for it by claiming an equivalent stopping time on my time sheet, as the inadequate lunch break is much more likely to cause upset at the temp agency, rather than working a little late. The doctor seems to have standards as to rules and regulations and appearances, which is helpful in these matters. I can tell she does not want to be seen as a bad boss. A slightly distant secondary concern: whether she actually is a bad boss. She strives not to be difficult...unless it seems like a really, really good idea at the time. Ha!
"Well, let's see," she said, plucking up a red pen and looking over the formatting and the content. "Hm. No. No, no, NO--I TOLD her!" and, quite visibly agitated, she struck out several sentences, placed a fierce indentation mark, circled a bullet, and finally handed the document back to me with an instruction to ferry it back. I felt privy to more anger at Betty than was strictly appropriate for the doctor to display, and was embarrassed--I consider us the briefest of acquaintances, so the lack of formality was unsettling--like watching a couple argue in public. January 18, 2006 - 11am Dead to the world. Couldn't get to sleep last night. I'm so tired I hurt all over. I don't know how I'm going to teach for 2 hours tonight. At least teaching lessons is very different from my job at the hospital. Once I arrive at the pool, I switch gears. The role is also very different. I'm more confident there. I know I'm going to be adept at handling at anything that comes up--a challenging student who requires a different approach, a saucy back-talker wasting time, a near-drowning--I'm ready for any of it. It's very interesting how energizing confidence is. (Confidence, and a bag of peanut M & M's eaten on the way). I must start getting to bed earlier. The last time I got only 5 or 6 hours of sleep per night for a month--thanks to a needy college boyfriend--I contracted pneumonia. Cause and effect wasn't lost on me. I've never forgotten that one. It makes me wonder about the role of sleep deprivation and chronic disease.
It turns out I've not forgotten anything. My instructor was pleased, although she hasn't seen me in three months and kept calling me by a name very much like mine (yet not mine). Hee. Maybe I need to be more independent--to muster my courage and start choreographing a routine, rather than pestering someone else to come up with the things I don't know yet. There's plenty I don't know, but there's much I could be assembling; yielding something larger than the sum. Greener dancers have stood before me on a stage. These are the things I am thinking of while I avoid falling asleep at my desk.
I don't mind making liberal use of the bottled water down the hall; I am the only woman on this floor strong enough to willingly change the bottle. Hnnnng. Made 3 new friends over lunch, down on the first floor mezzanine: Armand, Ali, and Christopher. They heard me laughing at them around my sandwich and asked me to join them. Christopher and Armand wear scrubs; Ali wears a shirt and tie and does something administrative.
An amusing morning at the hospital. The doctor left me a message at 7:30am, a half hour before I was due. Luckily, I was somehow the soul of punctuality and called her back promptly at 8:00am, my coat still on. "I'm working from home and will have a conference call at 10," she said. "Oh."
I swear I was going to tear my own head off and eat it if her password was under "C" for computer. But I hurriedly scribbled down the suggested keywords. "Did you already try the usual password?" I said, flipping frantically through the rolodex. "Yes. Try looking under 'M' for Mac." There was an embarassing 5 minutes during which she sat waiting and I sat thumbing through ridiculous pieces of paper written in several different hands, waiting for something to jump off the page, and panicking over the fact that I could easily have pinched 2 rolodex cards together. I actually found a number of different passwords, to which an impatient "no" was applied each time. I hummed painfully while I searched, to indicate diiligence and basic consciousness, since I'd developed the distinct impression that she thought I was staring into space with my thumb up my butt.
*click* I exhausted the rolodex and turned to the computer. It seemed like a distinctly silly place to store a password, at least in a way that it could be searched for by a total stranger like myself. I kept searching. Suddenly, the doctor called again, sooner than projected. "Any luck?" she said brightly. "Not yet," I said. "Well, keep trying!" she chirped. "I know it's there. My previous admin stored it in her computer right in front of me. It might be in this file--" "Okay," I said, scribbling. "And see if you can find contact information for Dr. Ulysses Wiggles. W-i-g-g-l-e-s. Maybe you can do that." *click*
I make a practice of formally, quietly noticing each of her tiny salvos as a way of making sure none of the nasty little comments are absorbed into my brain without consideration. I think the natural human inclination is to believe what one is told; about the world, about oneself...although I don't think this is demeaning or stupid. I think humans evolved to cooperate, to tell the truth most of the time--about the edible berries and the fishing hole and the cave of dangerous bears. I think that when we found people whom we could believe most of the time, we kept them around and improved our lot together. But I digress. I must be careful. The doctor has a sharp tongue (and is indeed, very much like a cave of dangerous bears, actually).
"No matches for name 'Wiggles', " spat the online directory, "you idiot." I resumed searching for the password. Finally, in a fit of desperation, I sought all records created in the six weeks prior to my hire, and started going through the likely candidates sequentially. It was in this way that I finally found the password...which turned out to be her everyday password, the one I'd asked her about trying in the first place. I called the doctor. "I found your password," I said. "It's your usual. Have you had caps lock on?"
"It worked!" "Any luck on Wiggles?"
And thus my wild goose chases ended abruptly, and oddly enough, I had nothing to do until lunch. After lunch, I had...nothing to do, either. Worse things have happened. I am recognizing a pattern, to whit: "Here, do this [crazy thing]! I will call it by the wrong name, but do not let this--or the fact that I could have asked for it hours or days ago-- reflect negatively on its vital importance to me! [thinly veiled insult] [sudden departure].
It's a truly beautiful day outside my wonderful and slightly dirty window; the 2nd or 3rd dry day after almost a month of record rain. It would seem that a foggy morning bodes well...it always burns off, a dramatic unveiling. I don't even have the fluorescent light on this morning, just the natural light. An inquisitive seagull stopped by this morning for about 5 minutes, & stared at me, hoping for an offering. He was a large and handsome bird. I tried not to think of his species' inclination towards cannibalism, which I have witnessed once or twice of a seacoast trip. I thought of offering the cannibal the redemption and crust of my faux salami sandwich (with tomato, peppercini, mustard and pepperjack cheese) but I don't wish to encourage him without knowing how persistent he might become. He was pretty, though. And finding himself ignored, he let go a splendid gull gry before flying away, perchance to panhandle on another floor. I'll bet he squawks to all the girls.
I wish it didn't please me to be praised by her, but I do respect the doctor quite a bit, even as I don't precisely like her, and I believe this forces me to care.
During the rest of the hour I wrote grocery lists and and lists of Things to Do, which almost look as though I am paying attention, and drawing faces, which probably does not. There was one unexpected bit of involuntary excitement, however, when I spied "Discuss previous admin's replacement" on the agenda--something I didn't expect them to discuss in front of me unless I were concerned. I've been led to believe that this job was temporary--by both the agency, and my brief orientation on the first day. All the blood drained from my face, and I spent 20 minutes unable to sketch even one Arrow Shirt man, in terror that I would be asked to stay. "What will I say if they ask me?" I thought. "Shall I be somewhat honest but humorously tactful, and say that the commute is simply too long? ...Shall I say 'Well, this is sudden. I shall have to think about it'? Should I flat out refuse and just say I have other plans? Should I accept? ...No, no. That would be mad." Then I started thinking about bird flu and how I don't want to be working here when it hits. Luckily, they skipped right over the matter when they got to it. But I don't think there's any danger of my having to refuse. I think they want someone with gran.t-writing experience.
And yet, it can't be good for one to wish that time would pass quickly. Every bit of time is life. Every moment is new potential. I must not get used to hurrying my life.
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