Tomorrow I get on a plane to Toronto where I will later board a train for 34 hour ride back to Winnipeg. Upon arrival I will coordinate multiple media interviews and then host a fitness boot camp event outside at Portage and Main with a Canadian sweetheart famous for receiving a set of pulmonary fibrosis damage-free lungs.
What does one pack for all that?
Thursday will be a big, busy and crazy day and I couldn't pull it off without my support team. My mom will drive me to the airport on Tuesday. My dad is my production assistant/courier/audio guy. My co-workers are being good sports and will come out for the event and at the end of the day I will find my way back to Stephen's big open arms for a welcome home/I missed you/congrats on a successful event hug.
It will be over before I know it.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Monday, November 04, 2013
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sign here
Today we launched Manitoba's online intent to donate organs and tissue registry. It feels amazing.
On Friday when I was driving home from work I saw a billboard promoting the site. It caught my breath and I felt a punch to my stomach, a good punch, a good moment of breathlessness. On March 10 last year I was called to a meeting on my third day in my new job and I was told that I needed to create a launch promo plan for the registry we were going to build. I was out of my mind. And over the last few months I never really got away from that oh my goodness, how am I going to pull this off panic, not totally, but on Friday it all came to life and the nervousness and fear in the pit of my stomach left. My work, my slogan was up in the sky for all to see. How cool is that?
Today, with the help of Kristin sharing her amazing story of her journey from waitlist to transplant, we launched the site and at this time we have over 1,100 people signed up for organ and tissue donation. It's a drop in the bucket for a city of nearly 700,000 and a province of just over a million people, but it's a strong start, and I can work with that.
On Friday when I was driving home from work I saw a billboard promoting the site. It caught my breath and I felt a punch to my stomach, a good punch, a good moment of breathlessness. On March 10 last year I was called to a meeting on my third day in my new job and I was told that I needed to create a launch promo plan for the registry we were going to build. I was out of my mind. And over the last few months I never really got away from that oh my goodness, how am I going to pull this off panic, not totally, but on Friday it all came to life and the nervousness and fear in the pit of my stomach left. My work, my slogan was up in the sky for all to see. How cool is that?
 |
| A big step up from hanging my work on the refrigerator! |
 | |
| Kristin speaking at today's launch |
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Wherever you go, there you are
I wrote this post weeks ago, meant to go back and do a proof-reading/edit, never did. Today, I have some time, so instead of going for a run I am dedicating an hour to my craft.
Wednesday night was my last class for Level 1 Interior Decorating. Our instructor handed back our final projects and sat down with each of us to explain our marks. I was last to get mine back.
The assignment had a few components: develop a furniture layout for a given floor plan, draw four elevations for the living room and dining room and one elevation for the bedroom, do a furniture and accessory collage for those rooms and write a profile of the imaginary client, demonstrating how the plan met the client's needs.
I was disappointed with my mark on my last assignment, a 71, given that I knew I'd put a lot of time an effort into it. My weakness is in my drawing. Everything must be measured and to scale. I take my time to measure no less than twice before committing my pencil to the paper and I line things up on graph paper to avoid lines with an undesired angle. Still, accuracy eludes me.
I didn't look at my mark when I got it back this week. I still haven't. My instructor pointed out to me where I'd missed details, how my dining room chairs were not consistent in size and my end tables in the drawings did not match the photos I'd selected. With every error she pointed out I grew more frustrated and more certain that this was not the class for me.
"You just need to take some more time and care with your drawings," she said.
More time? I spent all my free time, every weekend, for four weeks, working on the project. I don't have any more time or energy to give to this.
"But your client profile is the best profile I have ever seen. Absolutely. You have a great deal of potential," she told me. "Your furniture and accessory selection went along so well with how you described the client and her needs. You achieved a very sophisticated look that you don't see in any of the other students' projects. I really hope that you do take some time with practicing your drawing and continue on in level two. I think you have a very fun and modern design style."
I was touched by the praise and encouragement. Even in writing it can be hard to get someone to see the potential or merits of a work in progress.
"I don't know if I can give that much time to working on my drawing," I confessed. "I did spend a great deal of time on them, it wasn't like I left it to the last weekend."
"How long did you spend on your client profile?" she asked.
"Fifteen minutes," I said.
My instructor blinked. "Wow. You should be in marketing!"
When I told Lisa this story she laughed and said, "so you basically confirmed that you chose the right career path from the start."
I took the class because I got spooked in 2010 when I found myself miserable in my job and feeling like I had no out until something better opened up. I decided to try taking up something new that I could flip over to if I ever needed to make a quick exit to save my sanity. There is no easy path. Even when you put yourself on the path that you have a natural sense of direction for, you will stumble. You will meet great challenges. Trying to minimize the frustration of those challenges by finding other paths will open you up to finding more road blocks. There is no easy path. And really, how much fun is a never ending stretch of easy street anyway?
Wednesday night was my last class for Level 1 Interior Decorating. Our instructor handed back our final projects and sat down with each of us to explain our marks. I was last to get mine back.
The assignment had a few components: develop a furniture layout for a given floor plan, draw four elevations for the living room and dining room and one elevation for the bedroom, do a furniture and accessory collage for those rooms and write a profile of the imaginary client, demonstrating how the plan met the client's needs.
I was disappointed with my mark on my last assignment, a 71, given that I knew I'd put a lot of time an effort into it. My weakness is in my drawing. Everything must be measured and to scale. I take my time to measure no less than twice before committing my pencil to the paper and I line things up on graph paper to avoid lines with an undesired angle. Still, accuracy eludes me.
I didn't look at my mark when I got it back this week. I still haven't. My instructor pointed out to me where I'd missed details, how my dining room chairs were not consistent in size and my end tables in the drawings did not match the photos I'd selected. With every error she pointed out I grew more frustrated and more certain that this was not the class for me.
 | |
| Floor plan, left. Furniture and accessory collage, right. |
 |
| Furniture and accessory collage, left. Fabric and materials collage, right. |
"You just need to take some more time and care with your drawings," she said.
More time? I spent all my free time, every weekend, for four weeks, working on the project. I don't have any more time or energy to give to this.
"But your client profile is the best profile I have ever seen. Absolutely. You have a great deal of potential," she told me. "Your furniture and accessory selection went along so well with how you described the client and her needs. You achieved a very sophisticated look that you don't see in any of the other students' projects. I really hope that you do take some time with practicing your drawing and continue on in level two. I think you have a very fun and modern design style."
I was touched by the praise and encouragement. Even in writing it can be hard to get someone to see the potential or merits of a work in progress.
"I don't know if I can give that much time to working on my drawing," I confessed. "I did spend a great deal of time on them, it wasn't like I left it to the last weekend."
"How long did you spend on your client profile?" she asked.
"Fifteen minutes," I said.
My instructor blinked. "Wow. You should be in marketing!"
When I told Lisa this story she laughed and said, "so you basically confirmed that you chose the right career path from the start."
I took the class because I got spooked in 2010 when I found myself miserable in my job and feeling like I had no out until something better opened up. I decided to try taking up something new that I could flip over to if I ever needed to make a quick exit to save my sanity. There is no easy path. Even when you put yourself on the path that you have a natural sense of direction for, you will stumble. You will meet great challenges. Trying to minimize the frustration of those challenges by finding other paths will open you up to finding more road blocks. There is no easy path. And really, how much fun is a never ending stretch of easy street anyway?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Spinning Wheels
"At least they're blue," I said. "Why do they all have to be so ugly?" I fixed my eyes on the funny looking shoe in my hands, trying to find something about it that I could love. Velcro? Ick. Synthetic materials? Ick. On sale? Redeeming quality. Then I noticed an inscription etched into the shiny black plastic sole: Step Into The Future. Was this my future? Am I really going to do this? Is this love at first shoe?
I put the very technical and practical shoes back into their dilapidated box and with a shrug said to my mom, "well, if I change my mind I can always sell them on Kijiji."
I handed the box to the sales guy to put on the counter for me.
"Great," he said. "Now let's get you on a bike."
Finally free of homework assignments from my interior decorating class, I have weekends to myself again. For this one I went looking at new wheels. No, I am not putting Truck out to pasture. I'm looking at buying a road bike.
I don't know anything about bikes except that they have two wheels, handle bars, pedals, breaks and options in gears. I suppose that is pretty much everything to a bike, but for all of those components of course there are variables in materials, which essentially dictate the numbers on the price tag. That's what I learned this weekend.
Joe, one of my volunteers is an avid long-distance cyclist. I found out that there is a team cycling across Canada this summer in the name of organ donation awareness. When I shared this news with Joe I suggested to him that it would be neat if we met up with the team when they got to Winnipeg and rode with them out of the city. Some how Joe thinks that I said we should meet them at the eastern edge of Manitoba and ride with them to Saskatchewan. On Monday he came into my office with a Sportchek flyer and a grin that probably reached down into his transplanted kidney.
"Jillian, I am going to go check out this bike for you," Joe informed me. "It's just as good as one you would find in a bike shop but about a hundred dollars cheaper," he said.
I met Joe on Saturday afternoon to look at the bike he'd found. It was white with blue accents. This is what I noticed right away. Joe pointed out to me the gear components and brand. I looked at another bike that appeared pretty much identical to me, except for a lower price tag, and Joe explained the differences in the components and total weight of the bike.
"One pound can make a difference of a minute on every kilometre," Joe said. "Which adds up when you're doing a hundred kilometres."
I am amused that Joe seems to think I have a 100 kilometre bike ride in me. But hey, he's a senior guy living on a spare kidney and he rides probably 50 kilometres every day once the snow is gone.
At a real bike shop, one of the bike experts tried to explain to me the difference in frame construction and materials and how they work to make for a better ride. I tried to understand it all, really, but the guy may as well have been giving me a restaurant review in French for all the information that I actually comprehended. I trusted that the bike he was chatting me up about was a good bike, but all I saw was an eight hundred and forty dollar price tag for a red and black frame.
"Does it come in blue?" I asked.
"No, they use a different colour each year. For this year it was red. Is there something wrong with red?"
I like red shoes. I like red Lifesavers. But I am also a girl who would only buy an orange truck because she knew that that was what she wanted. I don't want a red bike. Nothing about a red bike says "Jilly Bee".
At the bike shop I visited on Sunday they had white bikes with aqua, pink or grey accents. They looked much more like something I would sport, although I recognized that I had no idea if the brand, gears, or frame were worth the pretty paint job.
After I had picked out the shoes, Josh the sales guy grabbed one of the bikes we'd been looking at, adjusted the bike seat to my height, pumped up the tires and handed it to me. This was to be my first venture on a real road bike.
"Do you want a helmet?"
"Okay," I said. Clearly he had me figured out because he came back with a cute pink one. Josh sized the helmet for me and then I wheeled the bike out into the spring sunshine. I put my feet to the pedals and zipped around the parking lot. The bike was fast.
"How did it feel?" Josh asked when I brought the bike back into the store.
"Like a bike," I said.
I walked out of the store with my fancy ugly shoes and no new wheels. Today my mom emailed me one of those group discount deals for a cycling tour in Italy.
"Hey Jill: This will get you wanting to take up cycling!"
I do have a desire to see Italy and a desire not to come back 20 pounds heavier due to eating pizza and drinking wine all day, every day. Maybe this would be a good plan.
"Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace"
Human Wheels -- John Mellencamp
I put the very technical and practical shoes back into their dilapidated box and with a shrug said to my mom, "well, if I change my mind I can always sell them on Kijiji."
I handed the box to the sales guy to put on the counter for me.
"Great," he said. "Now let's get you on a bike."
Finally free of homework assignments from my interior decorating class, I have weekends to myself again. For this one I went looking at new wheels. No, I am not putting Truck out to pasture. I'm looking at buying a road bike.
I don't know anything about bikes except that they have two wheels, handle bars, pedals, breaks and options in gears. I suppose that is pretty much everything to a bike, but for all of those components of course there are variables in materials, which essentially dictate the numbers on the price tag. That's what I learned this weekend.
Joe, one of my volunteers is an avid long-distance cyclist. I found out that there is a team cycling across Canada this summer in the name of organ donation awareness. When I shared this news with Joe I suggested to him that it would be neat if we met up with the team when they got to Winnipeg and rode with them out of the city. Some how Joe thinks that I said we should meet them at the eastern edge of Manitoba and ride with them to Saskatchewan. On Monday he came into my office with a Sportchek flyer and a grin that probably reached down into his transplanted kidney.
"Jillian, I am going to go check out this bike for you," Joe informed me. "It's just as good as one you would find in a bike shop but about a hundred dollars cheaper," he said.
I met Joe on Saturday afternoon to look at the bike he'd found. It was white with blue accents. This is what I noticed right away. Joe pointed out to me the gear components and brand. I looked at another bike that appeared pretty much identical to me, except for a lower price tag, and Joe explained the differences in the components and total weight of the bike.
"One pound can make a difference of a minute on every kilometre," Joe said. "Which adds up when you're doing a hundred kilometres."
I am amused that Joe seems to think I have a 100 kilometre bike ride in me. But hey, he's a senior guy living on a spare kidney and he rides probably 50 kilometres every day once the snow is gone.
At a real bike shop, one of the bike experts tried to explain to me the difference in frame construction and materials and how they work to make for a better ride. I tried to understand it all, really, but the guy may as well have been giving me a restaurant review in French for all the information that I actually comprehended. I trusted that the bike he was chatting me up about was a good bike, but all I saw was an eight hundred and forty dollar price tag for a red and black frame.
"Does it come in blue?" I asked.
"No, they use a different colour each year. For this year it was red. Is there something wrong with red?"
I like red shoes. I like red Lifesavers. But I am also a girl who would only buy an orange truck because she knew that that was what she wanted. I don't want a red bike. Nothing about a red bike says "Jilly Bee".
At the bike shop I visited on Sunday they had white bikes with aqua, pink or grey accents. They looked much more like something I would sport, although I recognized that I had no idea if the brand, gears, or frame were worth the pretty paint job.
After I had picked out the shoes, Josh the sales guy grabbed one of the bikes we'd been looking at, adjusted the bike seat to my height, pumped up the tires and handed it to me. This was to be my first venture on a real road bike.
"Do you want a helmet?"
"Okay," I said. Clearly he had me figured out because he came back with a cute pink one. Josh sized the helmet for me and then I wheeled the bike out into the spring sunshine. I put my feet to the pedals and zipped around the parking lot. The bike was fast.
"How did it feel?" Josh asked when I brought the bike back into the store.
"Like a bike," I said.
I walked out of the store with my fancy ugly shoes and no new wheels. Today my mom emailed me one of those group discount deals for a cycling tour in Italy.
"Hey Jill: This will get you wanting to take up cycling!"
I do have a desire to see Italy and a desire not to come back 20 pounds heavier due to eating pizza and drinking wine all day, every day. Maybe this would be a good plan.
"Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace"
Human Wheels -- John Mellencamp
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Miracles will happen as we trip
I was supposed to go to the gym tonight but I am blogging instead. And I washed Truck, which probably burned, like, five calories, so I can go ahead and enjoy that stick of gum or glass of Crystal Light now. Woo.
Betchya didn't think you'd see me back here, huh?
I hung up the phone this afternoon at my desk, shook my head and asked whoever would answer me (there were two possible persons beside myself), "is it a full moon today?" It was the only explanation I had for the odd conversation I'd just had.
I recalled to my mind's eye the vision of the very round, very bright white orb in the sky at seven o'clock this morning, while thinking to myself, it's going to be a crazy one today.
In the window from which I was observing the lunar awesomeness I have hung a snowflake mobile, of sorts. It was on sale in January at Hallmark for some ridiculously low price (six bucks comes to mind).
It's solar powered, so it lights up blue when the sun goes down. Or rather, it is supposed to light up. I tested it in the store by covering the solar sensor with my hand, and it worked. But when I hung it in my window and waited for nightfall, it did not glow. I thought that perhaps this was due to a bright street light or the background light of the kitchen and decided I'd reposition it later.
I decided today that the mobile is not faulty or hyper photo-sensitive, but enchanted, which is my more optimistic way of saying, haunted. Not long after I put it up I caught it moving on its own, although I can't totally rule out that the passing by of a large truck didn't transfer some vibrations. More recently I would notice it light up at random moments for short periods of time, as it did this morning. I went to the closet to grab my coat, notice the full moon and the thing was dim. I went to the table to pick up my keys and the thing was lit. I turned away and then looked back and it was off again. No vibrations, no knocking it with my klutziness, no change in light. Just enchanting, really. (I'm really focusing on that word at the moment because something just fell off the counter in my kitchen and made me jump out of my skin.)
Today on the way back from coffee break I noticed a book left in one of the free newspaper stands. The title made it irresistible for me to pick up: The Ghost In Love.
The book looked well loved, so I first worried that it belonged to some poor student or patient who dropped it accidentally. But there is no bookmark in it, so I think it was just rejected. I'm sure it is a stinker, but the description on the back cover still has me curious.
Crazy.
A man decides after seventy years
That what he goes there for, is to unlock the door
While those around him criticize and sleep
And through a fractal on a breaking wall
I see you my friend, and touch your face again
Miracles will happen as we trip
But we're never gonna survive, unless
We get a little crazy
No we're never gonna survive, unless
We are a little crazy
--Crazy by Seal
Betchya didn't think you'd see me back here, huh?
I hung up the phone this afternoon at my desk, shook my head and asked whoever would answer me (there were two possible persons beside myself), "is it a full moon today?" It was the only explanation I had for the odd conversation I'd just had.
I recalled to my mind's eye the vision of the very round, very bright white orb in the sky at seven o'clock this morning, while thinking to myself, it's going to be a crazy one today.
In the window from which I was observing the lunar awesomeness I have hung a snowflake mobile, of sorts. It was on sale in January at Hallmark for some ridiculously low price (six bucks comes to mind).
 |
| No lights |
I decided today that the mobile is not faulty or hyper photo-sensitive, but enchanted, which is my more optimistic way of saying, haunted. Not long after I put it up I caught it moving on its own, although I can't totally rule out that the passing by of a large truck didn't transfer some vibrations. More recently I would notice it light up at random moments for short periods of time, as it did this morning. I went to the closet to grab my coat, notice the full moon and the thing was dim. I went to the table to pick up my keys and the thing was lit. I turned away and then looked back and it was off again. No vibrations, no knocking it with my klutziness, no change in light. Just enchanting, really. (I'm really focusing on that word at the moment because something just fell off the counter in my kitchen and made me jump out of my skin.)
 |
| Lit up, with the lights off |
The book looked well loved, so I first worried that it belonged to some poor student or patient who dropped it accidentally. But there is no bookmark in it, so I think it was just rejected. I'm sure it is a stinker, but the description on the back cover still has me curious.
Welcome to the luminous and marvelously inventive world of The Ghost in Love. A man falls in the snow, hits his head on a curb, and dies. But something strange occurs: the man doesn’t die, and the ghost that’s been sent to take his soul to the afterlife is flabbergasted. Going immediately to its boss, the ghost asks, what should I do now? The boss says, we don’t know how this happened but we’re working on it. We want you to stay with this man to help us figure out what’s going on.
The ghost agrees unhappily; it is a ghost, not a nursemaid. But a funny thing happens—the ghost falls madly in love with the man’s girlfriend, and things naturally get complicated. Soon afterward, the man discovers he did not die when he was “supposed” to because for the first time in their history, human beings have decided to take their fates back from the gods. It’s a wonderful change, but one that comes at a price.
The Ghost in Love is about what happens to us when we discover that we have become the masters of our own fate. No excuses, no outside forces or gods to blame—the responsibility is all our own. It’s also about love, ghosts that happen to be gourmet cooks, talking dogs, and picnicking in the rain with yourself at twenty different ages.
A man decides after seventy years
That what he goes there for, is to unlock the door
While those around him criticize and sleep
And through a fractal on a breaking wall
I see you my friend, and touch your face again
Miracles will happen as we trip
But we're never gonna survive, unless
We get a little crazy
No we're never gonna survive, unless
We are a little crazy
--Crazy by Seal
Friday, January 06, 2012
It Starts Sometime Around Midnight
Last night my phone rang just after midnight. I was in bed and figured the call had to be a wrong number, totally not worth getting up and stumbling to my purse for. I kind of wish now that I'd had a little birdie tell me to run, not walk to pick up the phone.
Before I went to sleep last night I was writing in my journal trying to express how happy I was feeling. I thought about all the good things I have going for me and how I just keep on putting checks beside things on my dream list. Happiness isn't something you can keep in a jar and look at on the shelf whenever you happen to think of it.
Remember the day
Cause this is what dreams should always be
I just want to stay
I just want to keep this dream in me
--Losing Your Memory, Ryan Star
I'm not about to take you off a cliff with me. This isn't that kind of story. This is actually one of those stories where things get even better than I knew my world had room for at the moment. See, this morning at 6:30 while I was waiting for my oatmeal to finish cooking in the microwave, I picked up my Blackberry and checked my missed calls and a text message. They were from Kristin, not a wrong number. She had called me to tell me that she got the call from Ottawa. She was getting her heart.
Kristin has said that sometimes she would forget that she was waiting. Truthfully, I had forgotten too, even though just last week I was at her place to help her celebrate her second anniversary with her LVAD--the pump that was doing the work of her left ventricle. I've only ever know her as this girl who was the best, most inspirational example of how to wait for something big.
In November we were driving out of town for a school presentation and she told me about this guy she had started seeing. I was all giddy for her because like any twenty-eight year old she'd gone through her share and more of bad dates, mismatches and disappointments.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" I said with glee and then started gushing about ice skating dates, mistletoe and hot cocoa by the fire.
"Stop it! You're such a Charlotte!" She said, referencing the classic and romantic character of Sex and the City fame. I protested this because I fancy myself much more of a Carrie, and like Carrie, I saw the cute story unfurling in all of this. First she was getting her romance heart and then the physical heart would follow, I was certain of it.
When Kristin and I go out and do talks to high school students she tells the story about the time she got a call to go to Ottawa only to have to turn around and go home because the heart ended up not being good. Kristin says that when she got the call she started phoning everyone she knew. "I think I phoned my grade two teacher," she would always say. When I got the news today I felt the same way. I just wanted everyone to know that something really, really wonderful happened today. And yes, she does have a tough road to full recovery ahead, but this is a strong girl with a lot of love around her. And for now, we're just all so happy that the long wait is over.
Before I went to sleep last night I was writing in my journal trying to express how happy I was feeling. I thought about all the good things I have going for me and how I just keep on putting checks beside things on my dream list. Happiness isn't something you can keep in a jar and look at on the shelf whenever you happen to think of it.
Remember the day
Cause this is what dreams should always be
I just want to stay
I just want to keep this dream in me
--Losing Your Memory, Ryan Star
I'm not about to take you off a cliff with me. This isn't that kind of story. This is actually one of those stories where things get even better than I knew my world had room for at the moment. See, this morning at 6:30 while I was waiting for my oatmeal to finish cooking in the microwave, I picked up my Blackberry and checked my missed calls and a text message. They were from Kristin, not a wrong number. She had called me to tell me that she got the call from Ottawa. She was getting her heart.
Kristin has said that sometimes she would forget that she was waiting. Truthfully, I had forgotten too, even though just last week I was at her place to help her celebrate her second anniversary with her LVAD--the pump that was doing the work of her left ventricle. I've only ever know her as this girl who was the best, most inspirational example of how to wait for something big.
In November we were driving out of town for a school presentation and she told me about this guy she had started seeing. I was all giddy for her because like any twenty-eight year old she'd gone through her share and more of bad dates, mismatches and disappointments.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" I said with glee and then started gushing about ice skating dates, mistletoe and hot cocoa by the fire.
"Stop it! You're such a Charlotte!" She said, referencing the classic and romantic character of Sex and the City fame. I protested this because I fancy myself much more of a Carrie, and like Carrie, I saw the cute story unfurling in all of this. First she was getting her romance heart and then the physical heart would follow, I was certain of it.
When Kristin and I go out and do talks to high school students she tells the story about the time she got a call to go to Ottawa only to have to turn around and go home because the heart ended up not being good. Kristin says that when she got the call she started phoning everyone she knew. "I think I phoned my grade two teacher," she would always say. When I got the news today I felt the same way. I just wanted everyone to know that something really, really wonderful happened today. And yes, she does have a tough road to full recovery ahead, but this is a strong girl with a lot of love around her. And for now, we're just all so happy that the long wait is over.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Baby Baby
Kristin sent me a text last week saying that she had been invited to do an interview on a local cable station. She asked me to contact one of my other volunteer speakers, a liver recipient, to join her. I did, but when this girl got back to me she said she was sorry but she couldn't make it as she couldn't line up a babysitter for her six month old son.
I quickly verified and found out that her baby would be welcomed on the set. "You can do the interview with him on your knee or I can hold him off camera but close by." I told her. This speaker is great, she had a great story and great chemistry with Kristin so I wanted to do everything I could to get her to come, even offer up my very limited babysitting talents.
The interview was yesterday afternoon. As it got closer I got nervous. Not about possibly being asked to join the interview panel, but about having to mind a small child, which I am not known for getting excited about. Also, this wasn't just any old baby, this one came from a young woman who is living on a donated liver and had to go off some of her meds in order to safely carry it.
Kristin and I arrived to the studio a few minutes behind due to me driving around the parking lot six times while having a bird about the lack of available spots. All flusteredness disappeared though when I saw The Baby. He had bright red hair, lots of smiles and even a dimple in his right cheek. The first thought that entered my head was, "oh good, he's cute. Really cute. This will make things much easier."
The two gals got mic'd up and positioned at the interview table. The Baby was relaxing in his stroller/carseat/carrier thingamajig. When the lights dimmed and the tape started rolling I wheeled The Baby over to give him a better view of his mama, which hopefully would lessen chances of panic and tears.
The Baby didn't seem to mind at all that Mom was not nearby though. He smiled and looked around a lot. I noticed he was looking squirmy though, so again, in the name of ensuring an interruption-free interview, I decided to attempt picking The Baby up.
I got him into my arms without too much difficulty and he immediately latched on to my necklace and poked at my collarbone with his itty-bitty fingers. It tickled. He drooled and spit up a bit on my dress, sucked on the sleeve too but I didn't mind. He was quiet and happy so I was happy.
I walked around the room with The Baby and pointed out anything that might be remotely interesting, since he didn't seem to have the need to keep his eye on Mom. Sometimes I rocked him side to side, sometimes we bounced. As I did this I found myself talking to him. My voice was hushed, but the words and tone were entirely unrecognizable to me. I think I was cooing.
Where was this stuff all coming from? I didn't think I had any of this in me. Should I be concerned? It's not going to get all up in my brain now, is it, this baby-liking stuff? I don't want to be on the clock. I've heard about those ticking maternal clocks and how they can make a woman mad for offspring. Please Lord, do not send me any dancing baby hallucinations. I've got stuff to do yet.
Half-way through the interview I could see that The Baby was getting ready for a cry, a big one by the look of pain on his face. I quickly checked to make sure I wasn't pinching him in my belt or pinning his arm in some awkward position. I wasn't. On came the tears and the wails. I wanted to cry myself.
The Baby was just hungry. Nothing I could do. I handed The Baby over to The Mom so she could give him a bottle, which quietened him immediately.
I thought about The Baby today. Remembered the fun we had, how soft his skin was, how big his green eyes were and how cute his little dimpled smile was. Good times.
I quickly verified and found out that her baby would be welcomed on the set. "You can do the interview with him on your knee or I can hold him off camera but close by." I told her. This speaker is great, she had a great story and great chemistry with Kristin so I wanted to do everything I could to get her to come, even offer up my very limited babysitting talents.
The interview was yesterday afternoon. As it got closer I got nervous. Not about possibly being asked to join the interview panel, but about having to mind a small child, which I am not known for getting excited about. Also, this wasn't just any old baby, this one came from a young woman who is living on a donated liver and had to go off some of her meds in order to safely carry it.
Kristin and I arrived to the studio a few minutes behind due to me driving around the parking lot six times while having a bird about the lack of available spots. All flusteredness disappeared though when I saw The Baby. He had bright red hair, lots of smiles and even a dimple in his right cheek. The first thought that entered my head was, "oh good, he's cute. Really cute. This will make things much easier."
The two gals got mic'd up and positioned at the interview table. The Baby was relaxing in his stroller/carseat/carrier thingamajig. When the lights dimmed and the tape started rolling I wheeled The Baby over to give him a better view of his mama, which hopefully would lessen chances of panic and tears.
The Baby didn't seem to mind at all that Mom was not nearby though. He smiled and looked around a lot. I noticed he was looking squirmy though, so again, in the name of ensuring an interruption-free interview, I decided to attempt picking The Baby up.
I got him into my arms without too much difficulty and he immediately latched on to my necklace and poked at my collarbone with his itty-bitty fingers. It tickled. He drooled and spit up a bit on my dress, sucked on the sleeve too but I didn't mind. He was quiet and happy so I was happy.
I walked around the room with The Baby and pointed out anything that might be remotely interesting, since he didn't seem to have the need to keep his eye on Mom. Sometimes I rocked him side to side, sometimes we bounced. As I did this I found myself talking to him. My voice was hushed, but the words and tone were entirely unrecognizable to me. I think I was cooing.
Where was this stuff all coming from? I didn't think I had any of this in me. Should I be concerned? It's not going to get all up in my brain now, is it, this baby-liking stuff? I don't want to be on the clock. I've heard about those ticking maternal clocks and how they can make a woman mad for offspring. Please Lord, do not send me any dancing baby hallucinations. I've got stuff to do yet.
Half-way through the interview I could see that The Baby was getting ready for a cry, a big one by the look of pain on his face. I quickly checked to make sure I wasn't pinching him in my belt or pinning his arm in some awkward position. I wasn't. On came the tears and the wails. I wanted to cry myself.
The Baby was just hungry. Nothing I could do. I handed The Baby over to The Mom so she could give him a bottle, which quietened him immediately.
I thought about The Baby today. Remembered the fun we had, how soft his skin was, how big his green eyes were and how cute his little dimpled smile was. Good times.
Monday, November 14, 2011
My body tells me no, but I won't quit
My day started at three a.m. when I woke up in a sweat with Young the Giant's "My Body" stuck on repeat in my head, among other things.
I had a full day of presentations with classes of grade 11 biology students ahead of me. This day is going to be brought to you by Starbucks, I moaned when it was time to get out of bed.
After nearly leaving the house without my laptop I found my way to pick up one of my speakers--of the people variety, not the audio kind. (My head is still foggy and I couldn't figure out how to make that differentiation in a simpler manner than that.) The Creme Brule latte was helping.
I had three speakers talk today about their experience with organ donation. All of them have amazing, inspiring stories that I love hearing over and over, like a favourite TV episode (which is good when you have to make the same presentation with them five times in a row in one day).
I came home with a heavy heart though because one of my speakers, a kidney recipient, is facing kidney failure again a year and a half after transplant. He is 72 and would be the first to tell you that he has lived a full, good life and that dialysis and transplant gave him time to enjoy retirement from his career as a school principal and spend time with his grandchildren. But the odds of him getting a second transplant are not great and dialysis is not fun. In the next few months he will have to decide if he wants to go back on dialysis or let the kidney failure take its course.
This guy has so much life experience and wisdom in him and I have seen only a small part of it. He has a cute sense of humour that gets the students from high school to med school laughing along with him. I don't let my mind think about my 28-year-old friend Kristin not getting her heart transplant because she has so much life to live, but I also can't imagine the lights going out for this gentleman who continues to inspire, teach and affect people. His transplant only gave him 18 months or so free from dialysis. Was it worth it? Absolutely. If it had only given him an extra week it would have been worth it. I am so grateful it lasted long enough for me to get to know him.
I love this job but I know it is going to break my heart.
My body tells me no
But I won't quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more
My body tells me no
But I wont quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more
It rides out of town
Oh, it's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
And it's my war
It's my war
It's my war
It's my war
His eyes are open
His eyes are open
--Young the Giant, My Body Tells Me No
I had a full day of presentations with classes of grade 11 biology students ahead of me. This day is going to be brought to you by Starbucks, I moaned when it was time to get out of bed.
After nearly leaving the house without my laptop I found my way to pick up one of my speakers--of the people variety, not the audio kind. (My head is still foggy and I couldn't figure out how to make that differentiation in a simpler manner than that.) The Creme Brule latte was helping.
I had three speakers talk today about their experience with organ donation. All of them have amazing, inspiring stories that I love hearing over and over, like a favourite TV episode (which is good when you have to make the same presentation with them five times in a row in one day).
I came home with a heavy heart though because one of my speakers, a kidney recipient, is facing kidney failure again a year and a half after transplant. He is 72 and would be the first to tell you that he has lived a full, good life and that dialysis and transplant gave him time to enjoy retirement from his career as a school principal and spend time with his grandchildren. But the odds of him getting a second transplant are not great and dialysis is not fun. In the next few months he will have to decide if he wants to go back on dialysis or let the kidney failure take its course.
This guy has so much life experience and wisdom in him and I have seen only a small part of it. He has a cute sense of humour that gets the students from high school to med school laughing along with him. I don't let my mind think about my 28-year-old friend Kristin not getting her heart transplant because she has so much life to live, but I also can't imagine the lights going out for this gentleman who continues to inspire, teach and affect people. His transplant only gave him 18 months or so free from dialysis. Was it worth it? Absolutely. If it had only given him an extra week it would have been worth it. I am so grateful it lasted long enough for me to get to know him.
I love this job but I know it is going to break my heart.
My body tells me no
But I won't quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more
My body tells me no
But I wont quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more
It rides out of town
Oh, it's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
And it's my war
It's my war
It's my war
It's my war
His eyes are open
His eyes are open
--Young the Giant, My Body Tells Me No
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
You were always on my mind
I had a funny day on Monday where everyone seemed to have me on his or her mind. I got emails from people I hadn't heard from or seen in weeks and months. It felt like it was my birthday. One of the people who thought of me was my manager, who had some boots she needed to unload.
The boots had been purchased last year on sale at The Bay. She never wore the sweet things because when she put them on they felt too high. Shopper's regret. It happens.
I drooled. I swooned. For freakin real? I put them on and made one of my co-workers hold up her 4 x 6 desk mirror so I could steal a peek. I claimed them. They will be best friends with the Betseys when they get home.
How in the world am I going to begin to pay back the good Karma that came to me this week? Lemme put on my thinkin' boots and work on that.
Brazilian leather.
Halston Heritage.
$47
The boots had been purchased last year on sale at The Bay. She never wore the sweet things because when she put them on they felt too high. Shopper's regret. It happens.
I drooled. I swooned. For freakin real? I put them on and made one of my co-workers hold up her 4 x 6 desk mirror so I could steal a peek. I claimed them. They will be best friends with the Betseys when they get home.
How in the world am I going to begin to pay back the good Karma that came to me this week? Lemme put on my thinkin' boots and work on that.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Business Class
When I found out I got approval to go to Toronto for a meeting I was in my kitchen and got the email on my work-issued Blackberry. I jumped around the house like a girl who just got invited to prom by captain of the hockey team.
My first business trip ever. In my very first job, working for the agency, my two co-workers were always flying off to the Vancouver office or Toronto. That was back when flights were cheap and budget cuts had not yet made it to the travel line. Now many employers have put travel bans in place so the team in head office that you talk to more than your own family remains faceless. Or at least legless if you enjoy the luxury of video-conferencing. I did a job interview that way once. What a waste of a perfectly put together outfit.
So the excitement over this trip had nothing to do with the destination. I'd have been bouncing around if they were sending me to Saskatoon. It was about getting on a plane for business instead of pleasure, checking into a hotel room downtown instead of a Super Eight with a coupon, having a per diem to buy food with, taking a taxi instead of having a relative pick me up and getting to be Jill, who flew in from Winnipeg. So many new fun hats to try. Also, a good excuse to buy new shoes and a suit when I was in America the weekend prior.
My mom took me to the airport on Thursday morning.
My boss came on the trip and it was her first business trip too, so we were both excited. The flight down started us off on getting to know each other better outside of the hospital walls. We bonded over blistered feet and a quest for all things heart shaped.
At 9:30 we retired to our rooms. I launched myself backwards onto the king bed and was disappointed that it felt like landing on a sheet of plywood.
It felt kind of lonely sitting there in my room. I read all my emails, perused my usual news outlets, sent a few texts out and wondered how the football game I was missing was going back home. Missing. Something was missing.
I eventually gave in and slid myself into the left side of the bed. The pillows were weird. Too soft. I doubled up and my head sunk into the synthetic feather mound. In retrospect, I'd say this was where my trouble may have began.
I dreamed that night repeatedly of being smothered in that bed with the extra pillows by a woman and a man on either side of me. It was really creepy. Sleep that night came in fits. I got up at 7:30 with only shreds left of my excitement for the meeting that day. I felt like a wreck.
The meeting was great. We were done by four but my flight home didn't leave until eleven which left me me a lot of time to kill. My boss was meeting a friend for dinner so I was on my own. My feet protested, but I set out on a walk in search of some green space. I settled for a bench by a fountain where I pulled out my journal and let my soul flow through my pen. I play around with the various pieces of my life with a sense of determination like someone doing a Sudoku or crossword puzzle. On the one hand, life is chaos, but on the other, so many people and things have come into mine lately, just when I needed them, that I feel certain there is a melody and a chorus.
I closed my journal and put my puzzle away for a while to rest in my subconscious. I headed back toward the hotel and stopped in front of a $20 psychic reading place. My boss and I had noticed it the day before and decided we should try it for fun. The neon sign said OPEN but when I pulled on the door it was locked so I carried on down Dundas Street. I would try again later, but with the same results. Fate doesn't like cheaters. Or she wanted to save me 20 bucks.
I wandered in a circle, sometimes in the crowd sometimes out. I felt trapped and lost like a fish in a tank. Toronto is alright, but I don't think it's my city. But that could have been the blisters, exhaustion and dehydration talking.
My first business trip ever. In my very first job, working for the agency, my two co-workers were always flying off to the Vancouver office or Toronto. That was back when flights were cheap and budget cuts had not yet made it to the travel line. Now many employers have put travel bans in place so the team in head office that you talk to more than your own family remains faceless. Or at least legless if you enjoy the luxury of video-conferencing. I did a job interview that way once. What a waste of a perfectly put together outfit.
So the excitement over this trip had nothing to do with the destination. I'd have been bouncing around if they were sending me to Saskatoon. It was about getting on a plane for business instead of pleasure, checking into a hotel room downtown instead of a Super Eight with a coupon, having a per diem to buy food with, taking a taxi instead of having a relative pick me up and getting to be Jill, who flew in from Winnipeg. So many new fun hats to try. Also, a good excuse to buy new shoes and a suit when I was in America the weekend prior.
My mom took me to the airport on Thursday morning.
| ||
| From Toronto Trip 2011 |
| ||
| From Toronto Trip 2011 |
My boss came on the trip and it was her first business trip too, so we were both excited. The flight down started us off on getting to know each other better outside of the hospital walls. We bonded over blistered feet and a quest for all things heart shaped.
 |
| From A Heart for Kristin |
 |
| From Toronto Trip 2011 |
At 9:30 we retired to our rooms. I launched myself backwards onto the king bed and was disappointed that it felt like landing on a sheet of plywood.
 |
| From Toronto Trip 2011 |
It felt kind of lonely sitting there in my room. I read all my emails, perused my usual news outlets, sent a few texts out and wondered how the football game I was missing was going back home. Missing. Something was missing.
I eventually gave in and slid myself into the left side of the bed. The pillows were weird. Too soft. I doubled up and my head sunk into the synthetic feather mound. In retrospect, I'd say this was where my trouble may have began.
I dreamed that night repeatedly of being smothered in that bed with the extra pillows by a woman and a man on either side of me. It was really creepy. Sleep that night came in fits. I got up at 7:30 with only shreds left of my excitement for the meeting that day. I felt like a wreck.
| ||
| From Toronto Trip 2011 |
The meeting was great. We were done by four but my flight home didn't leave until eleven which left me me a lot of time to kill. My boss was meeting a friend for dinner so I was on my own. My feet protested, but I set out on a walk in search of some green space. I settled for a bench by a fountain where I pulled out my journal and let my soul flow through my pen. I play around with the various pieces of my life with a sense of determination like someone doing a Sudoku or crossword puzzle. On the one hand, life is chaos, but on the other, so many people and things have come into mine lately, just when I needed them, that I feel certain there is a melody and a chorus.
I closed my journal and put my puzzle away for a while to rest in my subconscious. I headed back toward the hotel and stopped in front of a $20 psychic reading place. My boss and I had noticed it the day before and decided we should try it for fun. The neon sign said OPEN but when I pulled on the door it was locked so I carried on down Dundas Street. I would try again later, but with the same results. Fate doesn't like cheaters. Or she wanted to save me 20 bucks.
I wandered in a circle, sometimes in the crowd sometimes out. I felt trapped and lost like a fish in a tank. Toronto is alright, but I don't think it's my city. But that could have been the blisters, exhaustion and dehydration talking.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Me Free Reiki
At work they have something called The Rainbow Room where staff can go and receive 20 minute, therapeutic treatments such as massage, hot stone massage, reiki and reflexology and more for free. I know, I work in a cool place. On a whim yesterday my coworker and I decided to check the place out, which was good because it happened to be the last day it was going to be open before shutting down for the summer.
The service being featured at the moment we arrived was reiki. Neither one of us had ever had a reiki session before. As the check in supervisor explained to us, it's a touch therapy whereby the practitioner lays her hands on you and "heals" you simply through her touch and the power of the energy she is pulling from the Universe. The touch is supposed to help unblock any trapped energy flows. (They don't call the place The Rainbow Room for nothin'.)
I looked over at the beds situated by open windows and separated by cool green curtains. That alone looked soul soothing.
I was instructed to lay down on the bed, face up. When my reiki therapist arrived she introduced herself and asked me if there were any trouble spots I'd like her to focus on. I wasn't feeling any aches or pains that day, but had been feeling generally anxious, so I asked her if there was anything she could do for that.
"Yes, many people carry their emotions in their stomachs," she said and explained that she would place her hands on my abdominals for that. I closed my eyes and waited for the experience to begin.
She started at my head. She covered my eyes, then my ears, and ended at the top of my head. At this point I did notice that it felt like someone was undoing a zipper from the crown of my head to the bridge of my nose. I wasn't sure if it was just the breeze blowing strands of my hair, but I was willing to believe that my chakras were opening up.
Most of the rest of the touch-therapy didn't seem to have much of a release, but I was feeling very relaxed. For the final touch point she moved to my feet. I don't know what feet have to do with anything emotional or anxiety related, but something there seemed to have an effect. For me it felt like a really deep, powerful meditation session. My whole body felt electrified. That must've been where my blocked chi was pooling!
Call it bunk, but afterward at least I did feel lighter and refreshed, like I'd just taken a good nap. Maybe I should go there before my next encounter with a needle.
Reiki Energy-What is it? How does it heal?
The service being featured at the moment we arrived was reiki. Neither one of us had ever had a reiki session before. As the check in supervisor explained to us, it's a touch therapy whereby the practitioner lays her hands on you and "heals" you simply through her touch and the power of the energy she is pulling from the Universe. The touch is supposed to help unblock any trapped energy flows. (They don't call the place The Rainbow Room for nothin'.)
I looked over at the beds situated by open windows and separated by cool green curtains. That alone looked soul soothing.
I was instructed to lay down on the bed, face up. When my reiki therapist arrived she introduced herself and asked me if there were any trouble spots I'd like her to focus on. I wasn't feeling any aches or pains that day, but had been feeling generally anxious, so I asked her if there was anything she could do for that.
"Yes, many people carry their emotions in their stomachs," she said and explained that she would place her hands on my abdominals for that. I closed my eyes and waited for the experience to begin.
She started at my head. She covered my eyes, then my ears, and ended at the top of my head. At this point I did notice that it felt like someone was undoing a zipper from the crown of my head to the bridge of my nose. I wasn't sure if it was just the breeze blowing strands of my hair, but I was willing to believe that my chakras were opening up.
Most of the rest of the touch-therapy didn't seem to have much of a release, but I was feeling very relaxed. For the final touch point she moved to my feet. I don't know what feet have to do with anything emotional or anxiety related, but something there seemed to have an effect. For me it felt like a really deep, powerful meditation session. My whole body felt electrified. That must've been where my blocked chi was pooling!
Call it bunk, but afterward at least I did feel lighter and refreshed, like I'd just taken a good nap. Maybe I should go there before my next encounter with a needle.
Reiki Energy-What is it? How does it heal?
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Gotta Wonder about that Woman
I got up early this morning because I wanted to be first in line at the lab for my blood work. As I pulled on my jeans I thought to myself, hmm, these are the same ones I was wearing the last time I passed out. I followed this thought with a shrug and went on to pick out my shoes. I was conscious that I had picked out wedge heels, not flats (the jeans are too long for flats) which could be risky in the event of a faint, but, feeling adventurous, I put them on anyway. They're red and always make me think of Wonder Woman, my favourite superhero. I channel her power through my feet.
I knew today that I was going to be facing another needle in my arm. This time, the needle would be in there longer as the lab tech would be taking numerous tubes of blood. I was nervous, but also told myself that I would be fine as this time the needle wasn't going to be a surprise and I could talk myself out of any anxiety.
When I arrived at the clinic I phoned my parents.
"Hi," I said. "I'm going in to get blood work done. In case anything happens, I'm at 123 Scurfield". My dad laughed and took note of the address. I went in, took a number and a seat. I flipped through a Men's Health magazine, reading about custom-made bikes and good-for-you carbs.
My number was called and I went in to the small room. I had considered telling the person that the last time I had a needle in my arm I passed out, but the guy wasn't very friendly and I was convinced I was invincible in my Wonder Woman shoes, so I said nothing and sat down.
The lab tech tied my left arm off with a rubber band. I looked away while he stuck the needle in. I heard a click and sensed each time he changed the tube out.
"Are you almost done?" I asked.
"Yeah, why, are you feeling faint?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
I breathed deeply and did my best to focus. The clinic had the radio piped in and Chad Kroeger was singing Hero.
I slowly sat up, then proceeded to low crouch, then fully upright. The lab tech handed me a bottle to go pee in. Perhaps he hadn't noticed that I'd already released most of my bladder on the floor, but I took the cup anyway, stepped over my puddle, walked out into the hall and then into the toilet to see what I could do for a sample.
"It happened again," I said to my mom on the phone from the privacy of the washroom.
"Oh no, really? Do you want us to come pick you up?"
"Yeah, and bring a towel," I said.
I had brought my pink zip up so I tied it around my waist and thought about that Always Maxi Pads commercial from the 90s where the girl lamented that she had to "leave the party with my sweater tied around my waist" because she had made the wrong choice in feminine protection. I'm seriously considering Depend undergarments for my flu shot appointment next winter. Is this what approaching 30 is all about? Going to the doctor on Thursday. Tests to follow. Yay.
Before today's episode I was thinking of blogging about work. I got to go to the legislature on Thursday night to support a bill that would officially recognize awareness week for my new pet cause. My department's medical director The Doc, gave a speech that I helped him with. It went very well and The Doc had good feedback from the ministers. I don't know what else to say about that except that it makes my heart sing.
I knew today that I was going to be facing another needle in my arm. This time, the needle would be in there longer as the lab tech would be taking numerous tubes of blood. I was nervous, but also told myself that I would be fine as this time the needle wasn't going to be a surprise and I could talk myself out of any anxiety.
When I arrived at the clinic I phoned my parents.
"Hi," I said. "I'm going in to get blood work done. In case anything happens, I'm at 123 Scurfield". My dad laughed and took note of the address. I went in, took a number and a seat. I flipped through a Men's Health magazine, reading about custom-made bikes and good-for-you carbs.
My number was called and I went in to the small room. I had considered telling the person that the last time I had a needle in my arm I passed out, but the guy wasn't very friendly and I was convinced I was invincible in my Wonder Woman shoes, so I said nothing and sat down.
The lab tech tied my left arm off with a rubber band. I looked away while he stuck the needle in. I heard a click and sensed each time he changed the tube out.
"Are you almost done?" I asked.
"Yeah, why, are you feeling faint?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
I breathed deeply and did my best to focus. The clinic had the radio piped in and Chad Kroeger was singing Hero.
I am so high. I can hear heavenThat's the last thing I remember before waking up, on the floor. Again, confused out of my mind because I didn't recognize the guy asking me if I was okay. I mentally asked myself my name and where I was. I felt confident in my answers. This time, knowing better how to save myself, I layed right down and waited for the light-headedness to pass. I lifted my legs to help with the blood flow back to my head and heart. A guy walked up and asked the lab tech something about when his turn would be. I knew what I looked like--just a girl who can't take a little sight or loss of blood. The tech asked me if I'd like to go lay down on a bed. I said no.
I am so high. I can hear heaven
Oh but heaven, no heaven don't hear me
I slowly sat up, then proceeded to low crouch, then fully upright. The lab tech handed me a bottle to go pee in. Perhaps he hadn't noticed that I'd already released most of my bladder on the floor, but I took the cup anyway, stepped over my puddle, walked out into the hall and then into the toilet to see what I could do for a sample.
"It happened again," I said to my mom on the phone from the privacy of the washroom.
"Oh no, really? Do you want us to come pick you up?"
"Yeah, and bring a towel," I said.
I had brought my pink zip up so I tied it around my waist and thought about that Always Maxi Pads commercial from the 90s where the girl lamented that she had to "leave the party with my sweater tied around my waist" because she had made the wrong choice in feminine protection. I'm seriously considering Depend undergarments for my flu shot appointment next winter. Is this what approaching 30 is all about? Going to the doctor on Thursday. Tests to follow. Yay.
***
Before today's episode I was thinking of blogging about work. I got to go to the legislature on Thursday night to support a bill that would officially recognize awareness week for my new pet cause. My department's medical director The Doc, gave a speech that I helped him with. It went very well and The Doc had good feedback from the ministers. I don't know what else to say about that except that it makes my heart sing.
Friday, May 06, 2011
And I thought I was lucky YESTERDAY
Note to self. When you think you have hit some kind of luck jackpot, do not blog it without the expectation that you will pay for it thrice when Luck's version of the taxman finds out what you scored.
Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.
"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.
"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.
She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.
"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.
She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."
At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.
"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.
She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.
The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.
"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"
I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.
The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.
A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.
"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."
I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."
Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.
"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.
I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.
The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.
"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.
"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.
"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.
I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.
"Did I pee myself?" I asked.
"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.
Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.
"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.
So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.
"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.
I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.
"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."
I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.
"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"
I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.
Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.
"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.
The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.
I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.
"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.
"No, what happened?"
So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.
After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.
Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.
Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.
Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.
Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.
NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.
NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.
Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.
Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!
My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.
"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."
I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER
I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.
"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."
"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?
"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"
"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."
"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"
They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.
So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.
Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.
"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.
"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.
She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.
"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.
She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."
At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.
"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.
She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.
The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.
"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"
I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.
The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.
A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.
"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."
I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."
Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.
"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.
I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.
The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.
"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.
"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.
"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.
I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.
"Did I pee myself?" I asked.
"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.
Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.
"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.
So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.
"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.
I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.
"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."
I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.
"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"
I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.
Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.
"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.
The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.
I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.
"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.
"No, what happened?"
So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.
After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.
Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.
Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.
Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.
Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.
NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.
NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.
Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.
Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!
My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.
"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."
I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER
I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.
"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."
"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?
"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"
"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."
"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"
They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.
So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Searching for Good Enough
I had been asked to give a short speech at a fundraiser on Friday night. The event was taking place at a downtown club after work and featured a Ukrainian buffet meal--pretty casual and therefore not anything to get nervous about.
I had had another busy week that was not helped by the fact that I had Easter Monday off. On Friday I was barely in the office, which meant that I was typing up my speech at four o'clock. I read it softly to myself while timing it with my watch. I was aiming for a good five or seven minutes but got to the end of the page at only two minutes and a half.
"Are you going to send me your notes from the meeting today?" The medical director popped his head around the corner to ask.
I glanced over from my computer screen. "When do you need them for?" Please don't say Monday a.m., please don't say Monday a.m.
"In the next couple of days or so," he said.
"Sure." I smiled. "Hey, I'm working on a speech right now that I have to give tonight at a fundraiser. I'm only at two and a half minutes though and they asked for ten. They even asked for my bio. How am I supposed to tell them I'm not that important."
"Whadya mean you're not important? You got some good quotes in the news last week," the doc said.
I grabbed from my bulletin board the copy of the Free Press article on women and their shoes that Amara and I were in six years ago. My new co-workers know about my thing for shoes so I had brought it in to share with them.
"This is the kind of quotes I'm used to giving," I said, and handed him the article. He read it and laughed.
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out," he said, and left.
I went back to my drafting and about half an hour later was reading and timing it again.
"For crying out loud it's only three minutes!" I dropped my head into the keyboard and heard laughter around the corner.
"You'll do fine," the doc said. Well, easy for him to say. Massive internal bleeding and trauma for regular work assignments have a way of making something like my short speech look like a scrape on a knee.
I went back to editing and, when both satisfied and completely out of time I asked my other co-worker if I could read it to her. She thought it was beautiful and said it would make a person cry. When I was done I noticed that her eyes were all red but I wasn't sure if that was from my speech or seasonal allergies. She's been sneezing a lot lately.
When I arrived at the event I spoke to a few organizers and family members before sitting down with my own parents who had come out to support me. I had grabbed a plate of food but didn't have anything to wash it down with.
I was suddenly aware that I was incredibly thirsty.
I spotted my dad's beer on the table and took a swig while he was away in the food line. Maybe it was the not-your-babcia's perogies and cabbage rolls food pairings, but the cold lager actually tasted good (I still don't really enjoy drinking beer). Dad came back just as I was stealing my second sip.
"Hic," I slapped a hand to my mouth and my eyes bulged out.
"What? I saw you take a sip of my beer," my dad said, obviously deaf to my uncontrolled, spastic release of air.
"No, I hiccuped," I said, still afraid there would be more to follow. I envisioned having to approach the event organizers and telling them I was "hic" sorry, but I "hic" wouldn't be able to "hic" speak that night for "hic" obvious reasons. How freakin mortifying. Thankfully, the muscle spasm did not settle in, and I was fine. Lesson learned.
I was on as soon as I finished eating. I had no podium to stand at so I had to juggle my notes with the microphone while remembering to breathe and read at a normal pace (I wished I had had time to practice the speech more so I didn't have to read it, I hate it when people do that). I looked around the room trying to find a sign that someone was hearing my message. I couldn't tell. I finished with a shy thank you and stepped to the side to hand off the microphone. Then I sat back down with my parents.
"That was really good," my mom said.
"You think so? I was reading too fast and my voice was soft," I said.
"I don't think so," my mom shook her head. "I thought you sounded fine."
The loud inner critic stopped chirping soon enough when the mother of the person the fundraiser was in honour of came up to thank me. After her, another woman came up and asked me if I would come and speak to her driver's ed classes in the summer. I can hardly wait to tell the doc on Monday.
At the end of my speech I asked, "how much do you think your signature is worth? Ask the people who've received an organ because someone signed their donor card and they'll tell you it's priceless." I don't need to win everyone over every time I go out, but if I can get one, two, maybe three people to really hear me out and then go do something with that, I've made an important difference, a priceless one. That's good enough.
I had had another busy week that was not helped by the fact that I had Easter Monday off. On Friday I was barely in the office, which meant that I was typing up my speech at four o'clock. I read it softly to myself while timing it with my watch. I was aiming for a good five or seven minutes but got to the end of the page at only two minutes and a half.
"Are you going to send me your notes from the meeting today?" The medical director popped his head around the corner to ask.
I glanced over from my computer screen. "When do you need them for?" Please don't say Monday a.m., please don't say Monday a.m.
"In the next couple of days or so," he said.
"Sure." I smiled. "Hey, I'm working on a speech right now that I have to give tonight at a fundraiser. I'm only at two and a half minutes though and they asked for ten. They even asked for my bio. How am I supposed to tell them I'm not that important."
"Whadya mean you're not important? You got some good quotes in the news last week," the doc said.
I grabbed from my bulletin board the copy of the Free Press article on women and their shoes that Amara and I were in six years ago. My new co-workers know about my thing for shoes so I had brought it in to share with them.
"This is the kind of quotes I'm used to giving," I said, and handed him the article. He read it and laughed.
"Don't worry, you'll figure it out," he said, and left.
I went back to my drafting and about half an hour later was reading and timing it again.
"For crying out loud it's only three minutes!" I dropped my head into the keyboard and heard laughter around the corner.
"You'll do fine," the doc said. Well, easy for him to say. Massive internal bleeding and trauma for regular work assignments have a way of making something like my short speech look like a scrape on a knee.
I went back to editing and, when both satisfied and completely out of time I asked my other co-worker if I could read it to her. She thought it was beautiful and said it would make a person cry. When I was done I noticed that her eyes were all red but I wasn't sure if that was from my speech or seasonal allergies. She's been sneezing a lot lately.
When I arrived at the event I spoke to a few organizers and family members before sitting down with my own parents who had come out to support me. I had grabbed a plate of food but didn't have anything to wash it down with.
I was suddenly aware that I was incredibly thirsty.
I spotted my dad's beer on the table and took a swig while he was away in the food line. Maybe it was the not-your-babcia's perogies and cabbage rolls food pairings, but the cold lager actually tasted good (I still don't really enjoy drinking beer). Dad came back just as I was stealing my second sip.
"Hic," I slapped a hand to my mouth and my eyes bulged out.
"What? I saw you take a sip of my beer," my dad said, obviously deaf to my uncontrolled, spastic release of air.
"No, I hiccuped," I said, still afraid there would be more to follow. I envisioned having to approach the event organizers and telling them I was "hic" sorry, but I "hic" wouldn't be able to "hic" speak that night for "hic" obvious reasons. How freakin mortifying. Thankfully, the muscle spasm did not settle in, and I was fine. Lesson learned.
I was on as soon as I finished eating. I had no podium to stand at so I had to juggle my notes with the microphone while remembering to breathe and read at a normal pace (I wished I had had time to practice the speech more so I didn't have to read it, I hate it when people do that). I looked around the room trying to find a sign that someone was hearing my message. I couldn't tell. I finished with a shy thank you and stepped to the side to hand off the microphone. Then I sat back down with my parents.
"That was really good," my mom said.
"You think so? I was reading too fast and my voice was soft," I said.
"I don't think so," my mom shook her head. "I thought you sounded fine."
The loud inner critic stopped chirping soon enough when the mother of the person the fundraiser was in honour of came up to thank me. After her, another woman came up and asked me if I would come and speak to her driver's ed classes in the summer. I can hardly wait to tell the doc on Monday.
At the end of my speech I asked, "how much do you think your signature is worth? Ask the people who've received an organ because someone signed their donor card and they'll tell you it's priceless." I don't need to win everyone over every time I go out, but if I can get one, two, maybe three people to really hear me out and then go do something with that, I've made an important difference, a priceless one. That's good enough.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
We are bliss
I couldn't help but break into a run this afternoon, hustling it from the parking lot a block or so from my office. Take it easy, you're fine, you'll make it in time, I told myself but my feet wouldn't listen. I had worn my runners into the office this morning and packed my heels in my bag. As a communications professional sometimes you have to know when to sacrifice the Nine West heels for the Nikes. Today, with a big announcement with the provincial government and an awareness booth event at another hospital, was one of those days.
I work in a hospital, so running to attend to something really doesn't look out of place on my campus. I got upstairs with minutes to spare before my spokesperson, a doctor, was to go on air for a radio interview. I spotted him in the hallway talking to someone on my way back to my desk.
"See you at four-thirty for the interview?" I said? I wasn't even out of breath, all that work at the gym these days is actually paying off, hot damn I'm so pleased.
"Four-thirty-six," he reminded me. The station was especially precise with the timing instructions.
My spokesperson is actually a trauma team doctor, who, thankfully, has been extremely cooperative and impressively available for interviews. While I was out he left me a voicemail to say, "uh, sorry Jill, can't do that 4:30 interview today, we just had a call that four stabbings are coming in." I actually didn't get that message until after he did the interview (His subsequent voicemail to me was, hey, those stabbing aren't showing up so I think I can do the interview after all).
Earlier today, just before the media conference, I was sitting at a cafeteria table having coffee with three brilliant doctors. They were talking about the latest research and developments, one was drawing me an org chart of the people I need to know. I don't know what it is about being the shoe maven writer girl amongst a group of guys talking about some kind of science--health, computers, cars--that makes me feel Zen, but it does. It's my sweet spot, my private sunbeam.
I think I am falling dangerously in love with my new job. I know it's a bad idea to love work too much, to love anything too much, but this is still the puppy-love stage for me. I figure that's good for another month or so at least. For now I don't care that it means that I sometimes work long days or that I haven't blogged much or that it is costing me a fortune in gas and parking. I do miss my friends though. (I do! Please do drop me a line if you miss me too.) Work and I will go through some rough times eventually and I know I'll need to turn to my blog and my friends for a break, but for now, we are bliss.
(Okay, one crappy thing did happen at work this week: I knocked over my fresh tank of Sea Monkeys. So very sad. I will have to start them over, AGAIN with a new package.)
I work in a hospital, so running to attend to something really doesn't look out of place on my campus. I got upstairs with minutes to spare before my spokesperson, a doctor, was to go on air for a radio interview. I spotted him in the hallway talking to someone on my way back to my desk.
"See you at four-thirty for the interview?" I said? I wasn't even out of breath, all that work at the gym these days is actually paying off, hot damn I'm so pleased.
"Four-thirty-six," he reminded me. The station was especially precise with the timing instructions.
My spokesperson is actually a trauma team doctor, who, thankfully, has been extremely cooperative and impressively available for interviews. While I was out he left me a voicemail to say, "uh, sorry Jill, can't do that 4:30 interview today, we just had a call that four stabbings are coming in." I actually didn't get that message until after he did the interview (His subsequent voicemail to me was, hey, those stabbing aren't showing up so I think I can do the interview after all).
Earlier today, just before the media conference, I was sitting at a cafeteria table having coffee with three brilliant doctors. They were talking about the latest research and developments, one was drawing me an org chart of the people I need to know. I don't know what it is about being the shoe maven writer girl amongst a group of guys talking about some kind of science--health, computers, cars--that makes me feel Zen, but it does. It's my sweet spot, my private sunbeam.
I think I am falling dangerously in love with my new job. I know it's a bad idea to love work too much, to love anything too much, but this is still the puppy-love stage for me. I figure that's good for another month or so at least. For now I don't care that it means that I sometimes work long days or that I haven't blogged much or that it is costing me a fortune in gas and parking. I do miss my friends though. (I do! Please do drop me a line if you miss me too.) Work and I will go through some rough times eventually and I know I'll need to turn to my blog and my friends for a break, but for now, we are bliss.
(Okay, one crappy thing did happen at work this week: I knocked over my fresh tank of Sea Monkeys. So very sad. I will have to start them over, AGAIN with a new package.)
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
#workmakesmehappybutboring
Cupcakes the size of toonies (a $20 stack of 'em) this afternoon for my coworkers' birthdays. I almost didn't go, tried to slip away from the party early because I was expecting an important phone call. But my office-mate noticed me hanging back and waved me in to grab a seat.
My boss told a story about how a psychic medium told her one day that she had mould in her house. She was adamant that that was not the case. It turned out that they had a leak in one of the pipes behind the kitchen cupboards though, and yes, some mould as a result.
Probably about ten years ago my mom and I went to some kind of spiritual wellness convention. They had free tarot card readings and the psychic there told me I would be working in health care. Ridiculous poppycock, I figured, for I was studying communications. Well duh, hospitals need communicators too. Perhaps putting a psychic or two on the payroll wouldn't be a bad pilot project.
In other news, I don't know how to tweet or use my Blackberry to its full potential. I feel like my parents when Internet came to town. (loveyouMomandDad) I need to make friends with a high school kid or something to get back in social media shape.
My boss told a story about how a psychic medium told her one day that she had mould in her house. She was adamant that that was not the case. It turned out that they had a leak in one of the pipes behind the kitchen cupboards though, and yes, some mould as a result.
Probably about ten years ago my mom and I went to some kind of spiritual wellness convention. They had free tarot card readings and the psychic there told me I would be working in health care. Ridiculous poppycock, I figured, for I was studying communications. Well duh, hospitals need communicators too. Perhaps putting a psychic or two on the payroll wouldn't be a bad pilot project.
In other news, I don't know how to tweet or use my Blackberry to its full potential. I feel like my parents when Internet came to town. (loveyouMomandDad) I need to make friends with a high school kid or something to get back in social media shape.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Stop! Thief!
Every morning my team and I go down for coffee together. I'm not a regular coffee drinker so I keep a stash of tea in my desk, pick out the flavour du jour, and take it down with me in my cup to fill up from the Hot Water carafe. A real tea drinker knows that her beverage should be steeped in water that came from a whistling kettle, not just steamy water from an over-sized Thermos or tap attached to a coffee machine. I make do.
Today I drained the carafe dry but did not fill my cup. I turned to the woman standing behind the counter of the coffee/pita/oatmeal establishment and asked for hot water. I waited for her to pick up my mug and take it to the hot water tap behind her, but instead she punched something on the till.
"Twenty-eight cents, please," she said.
"For just water?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Oh, no, no, I'm sorry. I didn't know, and I don't have any cash on me," I picked up my mug and walked away. I felt so embarrassed! For the last seven years I've had free hot and cold water at work. Hey, at the Cardboard Box Factory they even supplied the coffee, hot chocolate and iced tea mix. I didn't consider for a moment that someone would put a jug of hot water out on a counter and value it at 25 cents plus tax per unit. But then, as one of my colleagues pointed out when I relayed the story, who ever thought that we'd buy water out of a vending machine for a buck and a half a bottle?
So anyway, I've been thieving hot water from the Brodie Centre for almost a month now. I figure I've consumed $4.76 in un-paid-for water. Tomorrow I either pack dimes or a kettle.
Today I drained the carafe dry but did not fill my cup. I turned to the woman standing behind the counter of the coffee/pita/oatmeal establishment and asked for hot water. I waited for her to pick up my mug and take it to the hot water tap behind her, but instead she punched something on the till.
"Twenty-eight cents, please," she said.
"For just water?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Oh, no, no, I'm sorry. I didn't know, and I don't have any cash on me," I picked up my mug and walked away. I felt so embarrassed! For the last seven years I've had free hot and cold water at work. Hey, at the Cardboard Box Factory they even supplied the coffee, hot chocolate and iced tea mix. I didn't consider for a moment that someone would put a jug of hot water out on a counter and value it at 25 cents plus tax per unit. But then, as one of my colleagues pointed out when I relayed the story, who ever thought that we'd buy water out of a vending machine for a buck and a half a bottle?
So anyway, I've been thieving hot water from the Brodie Centre for almost a month now. I figure I've consumed $4.76 in un-paid-for water. Tomorrow I either pack dimes or a kettle.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
I get a Round
Round round get around
I get a round
Yeah
Get around round round I get around
The Beach Boys--I Get Around
Today I went to a talk on treatments for heart failure, including transplantation. This afternoon I went to a rounds meeting for my department. It was so cool! Rounds is like the status meetings I used to have at my old communications department jobs, but instead of everyone giving updates like this project is with the designer, this project is with client or that project is currently stalled until we can get some answers from so-and-so, the "projects" are patients and their statuses are where they are at in getting or giving an organ like a kidney. I was sitting at a table with four docs, a social worker, a project engineer and four transplant coordinator nurses. One of them asked me if I was going to be in the OR tomorrow (apparently someone is getting something). Not this time, but soon I hope!
I get a round
Yeah
Get around round round I get around
The Beach Boys--I Get Around
Today I went to a talk on treatments for heart failure, including transplantation. This afternoon I went to a rounds meeting for my department. It was so cool! Rounds is like the status meetings I used to have at my old communications department jobs, but instead of everyone giving updates like this project is with the designer, this project is with client or that project is currently stalled until we can get some answers from so-and-so, the "projects" are patients and their statuses are where they are at in getting or giving an organ like a kidney. I was sitting at a table with four docs, a social worker, a project engineer and four transplant coordinator nurses. One of them asked me if I was going to be in the OR tomorrow (apparently someone is getting something). Not this time, but soon I hope!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Day Five and Still Alive
Day Five and Still Alive was what I had written on my Hoops and Yoyo wipe-off board that I'd hung at my desk space (not really a cubicle, not at all an office, kind of like a section of a tiny loft). One of my co-workers got a chuckle out of it.
It had been quite the week. Day One I came home absolutely exhausted. Perhaps that was the start to my troubles for the rest of the week. On Day 2 I fretted over some important work papers I had misplaced. I tore my house apart that morning trying to find them. I even went so far as to check in the freezer since it was a place I had gone into. I relayed this to my parents in an email. My dad stopped by my house and found the papers not in the deep freezer, but on the shelf behind it. On day three I had forgotten my wallet. Day four I thought I'd misplaced my new office keys, but later found them at the bottom of my purse. Finally by Day 5 I managed to make it in with all my belongings.
Never mind the self-inflicted stress though, I had people calling me to book public appearances/speaking engagements for next month, a spring campaign to book media for and a special event to coordinate which was behind schedule by a month or so. On Day 4 I was taken to a meeting about something very important and asked to do a communications plan with budget for an amount a bit less than what I paid for my home.
On Day 5 I found myself talking to a vendor about this project in the most descriptive of vague terms I could manage since I had been instructed to maintain the project's confidential status.
"Let me give you my story," I told the vendor. "This is Day 5 for me."
The vendor laughed and I laughed, which was better than the exchange I had with the lady who was hoping to book me to do a talk.
I'm hoping that by Day 60 I'll be writing "Feeling Nifty". I also hope that I will have figured out how to work the voicemail on my phone by then.
The frazzled stress that comes from me losing/not being able to find things is draining, but the stress that comes with jumping in feet first to this new role is invigorating, like a good run.
It had been quite the week. Day One I came home absolutely exhausted. Perhaps that was the start to my troubles for the rest of the week. On Day 2 I fretted over some important work papers I had misplaced. I tore my house apart that morning trying to find them. I even went so far as to check in the freezer since it was a place I had gone into. I relayed this to my parents in an email. My dad stopped by my house and found the papers not in the deep freezer, but on the shelf behind it. On day three I had forgotten my wallet. Day four I thought I'd misplaced my new office keys, but later found them at the bottom of my purse. Finally by Day 5 I managed to make it in with all my belongings.
Never mind the self-inflicted stress though, I had people calling me to book public appearances/speaking engagements for next month, a spring campaign to book media for and a special event to coordinate which was behind schedule by a month or so. On Day 4 I was taken to a meeting about something very important and asked to do a communications plan with budget for an amount a bit less than what I paid for my home.
On Day 5 I found myself talking to a vendor about this project in the most descriptive of vague terms I could manage since I had been instructed to maintain the project's confidential status.
"Let me give you my story," I told the vendor. "This is Day 5 for me."
The vendor laughed and I laughed, which was better than the exchange I had with the lady who was hoping to book me to do a talk.
I'm hoping that by Day 60 I'll be writing "Feeling Nifty". I also hope that I will have figured out how to work the voicemail on my phone by then.
The frazzled stress that comes from me losing/not being able to find things is draining, but the stress that comes with jumping in feet first to this new role is invigorating, like a good run.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Another New Day
I wore a fuchsia, belted shift dress and black blazer for my first day at my new job. Because I was wearing my dress I also sported my black wool/polyester blend dress coat and dress gloves. My legs were bare except for nylons and my black boots that covered most of my calves. It was minus 26 Celsius, minus 31 with the windchill and I was bussing it. That was a high price I paid to look good.
My impressions so far:
I caved and bought a parking pass today. I don't like the concept of driving to work but I'm going to need a vehicle from time to time and it will be nice not having to fret about missing a bus home if I stay late to work on something.
My neighbour saw me today as I was leaving for the gym. I told him about my new job.
"You look so much happier," he said. "Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders." Yup, even in this craziness of being new and busy, I am much, much happier.
My impressions so far:
The world of transplant and organ donation is fascinating but I need to do some studying and research. There is so much to know.My head is swimming right now. One of the coordinators at coffee this morning told me she heard on the radio that CTV was doing a story on organ donation tonight so head's up, I could get media calls tomorrow. I have schools who want me to come out and do talks to grade eight classrooms. I have an event to organize for May 9 and a spring awareness campaign to do a media buy for.
My team is a group of passionate, hard-working and knowledgeable people. I'm so grateful that they are eager to take me in, teach and help me. I also love hearing their stories. A few of them have worked up north and in the ER. They've seen a lot of beautiful and ugly things.
Working in a hosptial is cool business. It really does feel like Grey's or ER.
I caved and bought a parking pass today. I don't like the concept of driving to work but I'm going to need a vehicle from time to time and it will be nice not having to fret about missing a bus home if I stay late to work on something.
My neighbour saw me today as I was leaving for the gym. I told him about my new job.
"You look so much happier," he said. "Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders." Yup, even in this craziness of being new and busy, I am much, much happier.
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