It was my background in software deployment and troubleshooting OS issues that made me the perfect pick for this new position. The guy I report to now is just as good as the one I reported to when I was working out of the Edmonton office. In fact, I've known this guy for a lot longer. And he's in my WoW guild on Bronzebeard :) But still, there are so many things to get past...
I haven't come home and cried since Monday, which may be a positive thing depending on who you ask. I also haven't been to the 5th floor of the Active Treatment Center. Or the 4th floor of the Women's Center, another place that would trigger the tears too (Labour and Delivery ward). But today was just as depressing.
Since the batch of systems I was to image appeared to all have bad network cards in them, I was kind of stuck in the morning with not a lot to keep me busy. So that's when my team leader thought it would be a good idea for me to shadow that geek again, and deploy a few systems in some department (I can't remember what he called it, all he warned me of was that I was going to have to put on scrubs to be there). So off I went again, following the cart-pushing dork to the bowels of the hospital.
Little to my knowledge before hand, there's a whole set of underground cooridors benieth the 3 buildings to this place. A winding maze of concrete walls, sloped floors and insulated pipes. It's the easiest way to bring equipment between the buildings, and I'm guessing perfect in the winter when you don't feel like freezing your ass off to go from one building to another. But still, it feels dismal. Artifical light, no windows, the temprature changing drastically from one cooridor to the next, and the smell stale. And then we get to this huge room with secured access. The first thing I had to do upon entering was put on a hospital scrub gown overtop of my outfit, and one of those big, baggy blue hair nets on my head. The room started off as a series of rows of large metal box carts, each being filled with gear necessary for the care of patients in the hospital. Sterile water humidification attachments for oxygen masks, bed pans, bandage changing equipment, etc. Rows and rows of this stuff. In another section, huge spray booths for disenfecting carts which carried used equipment. Further down, huge industrial sized washing machine type units with big spin wheel closures, looking more like a missle launcher in a submarine than a washing machine. Another part was hand sterilization of smaller equipment, such as forceps and those nasty duck billed doohickies all women know and loathe cause they pinch and are way too bloody cold. And then, the section I stood by for the longest period of time while hooking up one of the systems. Rows and rows of huge baker's racks with labled bins of plastic and paper sealed equipment. In there I found countless things I've never seen. This weird looking thing that was about 2 feet long and looked like a drill chuck attached to the end of a stiff plastic cord. This odd type of circular net attached to a 1 foot pole, with what looked to be a handle that would allow for the closure of the top of the net at the other end. And then there was the stuff I did reconize. Intubator tubes for neonatal machine assistat breathing. The teeny tiny little circle patch things they use for premies to read their vitals. Packaged lengths of IV tubing. The list goes on.
Wasn't nice. But a little less connected to the sadness than my expierences on Monday. Those were just items, items LIKE the ones they used, but not the exact ones. Still, and maybe it's just me, but looking at that stuff I can't help but think that for the most part, this place was equipped to assist in the horrible parts of people's lives. Not a whole ton of people go to the hospital with a smile on their face. Most go in because of an accident, a problem, pain, whatnot. And while the goal is to fix things before they leave, it's that time inbetween that they're preairing for.
Negative spin, I know. That's just how I see this stuff. And to me, the RAH is home to some of the most horrible events I have ever had the misfortune of living through. Menerva Jr.'s life was the only joy amongst all that pain and sorrow, and yet, all I can do is associate the negative portions of it all to that place. The joy of seeing her face, watching her move, feeling her heartbeat steady when I held her... All of those things I can remember without linking them to that place. I can link them to me and her. But everything else just festers in that place.
After my Dad passed away, my Mom went to college to become a Nurse. I have to give her credit - I could never do her job. However, her teachers were horrible. During the latter half of her course, they were to spend a number of days a week on site at a hospital, doing the rounds of a regular nurse, with the assistance and guidance of the nurses on staff. The teachers of her course had already driven out a number of students from the course via their predjudice of some, and trying their best to find the akilie's heel of the others. And one of the teachers thought she found my Mom's. While every other student went on 3 week rounds of different departments, my Mom was stuck on 4 months straight of working on the 4th floor of the Laurentian Hospital - the palative care unit. Where my Dad passed away, not even a year ago. And to make it even more horrible, this same teacher ensured my Mom was only paired up with patients that had soon-to-be fatal problems.
She made it. I still remember her coming home and doing just what I did last Monday. And who can blame her? But she made it because she was not going to break, not in front of the bitch who was trying her damndest to get her to. Although no one's forcing me to be there, I kind of feel the same way... Like I've got no choice. It's either that or quit, and let's face it. If I could afford to do so, dontcha think I would have?
*Sigh* I am a strong woman. Just like my Mom. If not stronger in some areas (just ask her, she'll agree). But damn, it's trying right now.
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3 comments:
You know, I know the method the nurses your mom worked with was harsh - but who would you rather have care for you? A woman who would break down if she was called into that ward to work, or a nurse who had faced one of the hardest places on the planet for her, and could now do her job without breaking down? It's tough, but I understand why they would do that.
Your current job obviously doesn't call for you to have developed a tolerance to that hospital - but I'm wondering if learning to be there, without breaking down, will help you move on in healing from the loss of Menerva Jr.? I know you can't ever truly be over her death - but to be able to disassocaite the pain of her loss with being in that building has to be progress.
You are very strong and I know you can make it through this, I just wish you didn't have to go thorugh it. Thinking of you.
hugs.
Tracy, I would agree with you normally. But considering my Mom's nursing profession (Practical Nursing), it's scope in comparison to Registered Nursing, and the fact that PN's are needed in a lot more areas than just hospitals, my Mom's education was one sided coming out of college and not geared at all to what she's doing now - which is caring for geriatric people in a retirement home.
But also, like my Mom, I had to associate the pain with something else. I had to put it somewhere. And for me, like her, was the hospital in which it happened. The joy that I did experience there, I could take with me and not associate with that place. But everything else, I tried to leave there. Sure, it could potentially be seen as me growing past the loss of Menerva Jr. to be able to be in that building without any ill affects to my emotional health. However, I don't think its time just yet. I could walk through the 4th floor of the Laurentian Hospital now, where my Dad spent his last few days, and be fine. I think my Mom could too at this point. But the RAH? It's still too fresh.
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