Out of Work and Out of Bed: Now What?

EMT drop-out

2010-05-02T17:43:00.001-07:00

In the middle of February, my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer, and she died on the last day of March. When she was diagnosed, I made the decision to drop out of my EMT program, knowing I would miss more than the two days allowed. I was, in fact, out of town for four out of six weeks during this time period, and maintaining my presence in the class, even for auditing, would have been impossible.

I don't regret the decision, and in fact know that it was the only reasonable decision to make, but it is a loss nonetheless. I thought of my class, my instructor, and my classmates frequently. I was also grateful for the education I'd already gotten in the class, as abbreviated as it was. I understood more about my mother's condition, felt more comfortable and confident discussing various issues with medical personnel, and in general was not fearful asking questions and receiving answers. It is awful watching a loved one die, no matter what the circumstances, but for me, even with just the limited medical background I had, I felt more prepared, less panicked, by the deterioration of my mother's health. And because I was less panicked, I was much better able to be a comfort to my mother, to be of some use to her as well as to the nursing staff we had hired to care for her at home.

Since I've been back in Michigan (my mother died at her home in Massachusetts), I have been in contact with several of my EMT classmates on Facebook. They are taking their exams, their practicals and written, and finishing up their clinicals. I am seething with jealousy. I am so very proud of them, but wish I were one of them.

Everything happens for a reason. My family and I are relocating to the West Coast in less than two months, where I will begin a new journey. Perhaps that will be the subject for a whole new blog.

Oh, the Pressure

2010-01-21T17:10:00.000-08:00

Today we learned how to take blood pressure readings. What does it say about me that I found it incredibly fun? Clearly, I need to get out more. But I can't begin to count the number of times I've had my blood pressure taken, and all those times I never understood the numbers, the equipment, the results. I now own a stethoscope and a cuff and a sphygmomanometer. In purple. And I know how to use them. Well, okay, I need a lot more practice. After all, I'm not sure a patient on the verge of cardiac arrest is going to appreciate how long it takes me to line up the cuff over the brachial pulse, inflate, reposition my ear pieces, deflate slowly, inflate again just to be sure I heard the pulse, deflate again even more slowly so as to get the diastolic number correct, etc.

But lab today was fun. There were four of us sitting around, taking turns with one another's pulses, radial and brachial and systolic and diastolic, pulsated and auscultated, and laughing because I was convinced my partner was one of the undead, and then, poor guy, I left the cuff fully inflated around his arm as I asked someone else a question, so he calmly reached over and released the air for himself. I still chuckle just thinking about it, but maybe it's one of those circumstances where you had to be there.

And that's the point: I am so glad I am there. It's intense. There is a ton of information being thrown at you, there's constant assessing going on, constant preparing for the next quiz, next exam, but also preparing for the real world of emergency medical services. And you're in a room with 31 other people, people who were complete strangers two weeks ago. Two weeks! I've only seen these people four times in my life, but they are familiar to me now, I know things about them I never thought I'd know about anyone in such a short period of time. It's not like joining the military or even like being a kid at summer camp, where every waking moment is shared with your cohorts so you bond in no time. But we are all in that room, sharing a common purpose, which is to pass our tests, both written and practicals, and learn all the skills we need to know in order to be effective emergency medical personnel. None of us could do it in a vacuum. Yeah, there are some jerks in the class who think they're the best of the best already, who came in with a cocky attitude and act like the world owes them something. There are people like that everywhere. The majority of the other students, however, are supportive and encouraging and really want to be good at what they do. They want to offer help and accept help. They want to have fun and learn everything.

Yup, learning and having fun. I'm not sure it gets much better than that.

Chair lifts and quizzes and line-ups, oh my!

2010-01-16T15:08:00.000-08:00

I may have been right-on when I worried about demoralization and humiliation. I guess I'm not done with the "what was I thinking?" train of thought.

Thursday, I was exhausted. And that was at the beginning of class. Our instructor gives us 10 minutes of break time for every hour of lecture time, which is fabulous. It's also incredibly smart on her part. It keeps mid-class interruptions to a minimum (such as people getting up to go to the bathroom) and allows the room full of young men (and a few women) to move around and expend some of their energy. And it allows old, tired people like me to try to wake up and re-focus.

It was still a great lecture. It was about taking care of yourself as an EMT. It was about the physical and emotional demands that are placed on you. It's a stressful profession, on your body and on your mind. Our instructor talked about how hard it is to lose patients who are infants or kids, and about how hard it is to deal with a victim who might have things in common with you because it's almost impossible not to put yourself in the victim's place. She talked about how important it is not to put yourself at risk, but also how hard it is not to, sometimes. Being in this profession can take a toll on personal relationships because who else can really understand what you're going through, other than another EMT? It's intense, all the way around.

I don't know what I will do the first time I see a dead body. I don't know what it will be like to see someone who's bleeding profusely, who's hysterical, who's just lost a limb. I hope I'll be able to stay calm and be helpful, and if I'm going to freak out, do it away from the patient. But I don't know. Sometimes I flinch just seeing something on TV, although I've tried to control that in the past few months.

But there's a chance I won't even get to that point. We had our first day of "lifts" on Thursday, and I am not nearly as strong as I thought I was. I have pretty good endurance, but actual strength, enough to lift a real person, I don't know. I stumbled a couple of times, and my self-confidence plummeted. I almost dropped someone. I wasn't prepared for how heavy people are, and how important technique is. I never ask for help when I'm carrying big bags of dog food out to the car, and it's only recently that my boys have gotten too heavy for me to carry them upstairs while they're sleeping, so I didn't think I'd have so much trouble sharing the weight of a human being with someone else. (Don't worry--it's not like I thought this job would be centered around people asking me to carry bags of pet food to their car.)

Why did I stop going to the gym?

On Thursday, I was doing it all wrong. I was lifting with my arms and back, not with my legs. When I tried to lift with my legs, I lost my balance. I was also so self-conscious about my own weight that I didn't allow myself to be the "victim" in any of the carrying scenarios, because I didn't want the guys who'd be lifting me to feel how heavy I am.

This is not for the faint-of-heart. This is not for people who are worried about other people's impressions of them. I do not know what I am doing. But I don't want to quit. I can't tell you how much I don't want to quit. And it's not because of pride, at least not entirely. It's because I am still loving it. I have met some great people. I am crazy about the instructor. I am crazy about this field. It is exciting and fascinating and unlike anything I have ever done before.

On Thursday, when I was struggling, and feeling bad, the other students and the instructors were great. They did not make me feel bad. My main instructor was supportive and helpful. The instructor who was the person showing my group how to use chair lifts to get patients down the stairs was downright saintly. It was our last rotation, and I was terrified. We were on an actual flight of stairs, there was a real person in the chair, and when it was my turn to try to get the person down, I said to the instructor, "I don't want to do this. I am really afraid I will drop him." The instructor smiled and said, "No, you won't. I won't let you. I'll be with you all the way."

I'm 5'5", a good 20 pounds overweight, and in my mid-40s. How could this gentleman be so confident? How could he know he wouldn't let me f--- this up?

He knew. He helped me, he showed me what to do, and he wouldn't let me get out of it just because I was scared. He was gentle and kind. Could I have done it without his help? Not in a million years. But he said to me, "Out in the field, you can always ask for help. Don't ever be afraid to ask for help."

I want to do this. Professionally, I've never wanted anything more. I have a college degree, I have a master's degree. I have far more education and life experience than any other student in the class. But I am behind. My education and life experience, at least as far as the physical aspect of this job is concerned, are meaningless. I am at a disadvantage. I can live with that. Sometimes I feel guilty that I may have taken the spot in this program that someone more qualified might have had, someone who has a much better chance of being an excellent EMT, so I am committed to doing the best I can.

Time to do some squats.

Whole New World

2010-01-12T15:40:00.000-08:00

What an amazing day. I am exhausted and energized and excited and euphoric. I woke up nervous and unsure, grumpy and defensive. When I went to the campus bookstore yesterday to purchase goggles and a uniform sweatshirt, I stood in line behind 2 EMS students who were young and knowledgeable, having obviously been through the basic program already. They seemed confident and sure of themselves, and appeared to be buddies in the program. They were also young enough that I could easily have been their mother. I also determined that their combined body weight would probably come in somewhere around my single weight. I suddenly felt all my enthusiasm and motivation pour out of me. What was I doing? What was I thinking? What in God's name made me think I could do this, would enjoy it, would find it anything but humiliating and demoralizing?

So I woke up out of sorts, not sure what I was getting into, and telling myself I could just do my work, keep my head down, get what I could from the program, and move on. It didn't help that I couldn't figure out where to park, or even how to get into the building once I did park--the campus is labyrinthine, and basically hell for someone like me who has absolutely no sense of direction.

But on my way in, I ended up walking in with a young woman who was also on her way to the class. She knew exactly where she (and therefore I) was supposed to go, and we went together. I had another moment of panic when we walked into the classroom at 8:50 for a 9:00 class and the room was already filled with students. Before I could stop myself, I gasped to her, "Oh my God, are we late?" (Being late is an even more serious rule violation than messing up the uniform.) But she replied, "No, we're not late."

We found seats toward the back, though I'd told myself I'd want to sit near the front in order to help my focus, and not have to worry about seeing the board or the screen. We were soon joined by a young woman who could only be described as perky; her hair was pulled back in a long red ponytail, her round face was adorably freckled, and she was not completely in uniform. She sat right down, introduced herself, and we began to chat. (I know you will think I am making it up when I say it turns out that she is a cheerleading coach.)

Then it started. The information, the rules, the guidelines. I looked around surreptitiously and noticed several people not in full uniform. We were told there'd be a "line-up" every day, starting today, during which our uniforms would be looked over. Interestingly, it never happened, but we've been told it will for sure on Thursday. I imagine there were quite a few relieved students in that room. And I didn't care that other students "got away with" not having their uniforms when I made sure I had mine because it was well worth it for me not to spend the whole day dreading the moment of the line-up.

Our instructor is a woman, which is not what I expected but which is comforting and inspiring. (There are 32 students in the class, and 6 of us are female.) She is also my age or a little older, but she's been in the business for a couple of decades at least, and I am by far the oldest student. Well, there's one man who might be my age, or it could just be that he hasn't aged well and looks older than he is.

We have assigned seats: a little disappointing because the two women and I were enjoying sitting near one another. I ended up sitting at the end of a row, which is nice, and closer to the front, which is also nice, but next to a man who didn't read the rule about avoiding too much cologne. I thought about starting a conversation with him because his last name is a name we came very close to calling our first son, but thought I might not want to start harping on the fact that I'm old enough to have kids, at least not this early in the semester.

There will be quizzes every day (classes are twice a week) and homework assigned every day, as well. Fridays are free lab days which means anyone can come in and practice lab skills. We're also allowed to bring equipment home, including mannequins, in order to practice, as long as they get brought back the following Monday. (I'm thinking that could have proved amusing over the Halloween weekend.)

I'm nervous about the quizzes and the exams, the practicals and the clinicals. What I think I may be most nervous about are the things over which I have no control--such as arriving late one day because one of the boys is sick, or having to miss a day of class because I am sick or because my husband has to be out of town and something requires that I be home. I don't want to miss anything, and I don't want to be late; I don't want any "blue slips" or "green slips."

But I loved my first day. I enjoyed the other students with whom I got to interact, I was fascinated by the anecdotes the instructor offered, I liked being challenged by bagging and giving compressions to a plastic dummy (which I need help with--had it been a real patient, he'd be long dead by now, thanks to me). I loved the morbid jokes that go flying around, that are not just tolerated but embraced by the experienced staff who explained that it's a great way to handle the stress of working with death and injuries day in and day out.

I can't wait until Thursday.

In For a Penny...

2010-01-08T05:51:00.000-08:00

Today is Friday. On Tuesday, four days from now, I will don the world's least flattering outfit and head to my first class for EMT training. There are ways in which I have had a gestation period with the whole experience: last month I attended a generic orientation for the community college, and used my trip out to the campus as an excuse to pick up the uniform shirts we have to be wearing on Day One. I paid for my classes a day or two later. I had my physical for the program a few days ago, which included the first in a series of Hepatitis B vaccines as well as a drug screening. Yesterday my husband picked up my required books for me while I went to an army-navy store to purchase the rest of the uniform (navy blue pants, cargo-style; black belt; smooth-toed boots). Actually, the boots have to be sent from a near-by store because they didn't have my size, so today I will get the boots, as well as pick up the health form that will have the results of my drug screen.

But each day it gets a little more real. I flipped through a couple of the books yesterday, one of which is the workbook that needs to be filled out for clinical runs, the other of which is the book that explains vehicle extrication. They involve rules--rules like you must address everyone as Mr. or Ms., that you can't argue about whether or not your attire is acceptable, don't wear jewelry or perfume, the cargo uniform pants are actually not acceptable for the clinical runs (you must wear navy plain-front pants instead), if it's cold outside you can wear the school-approved EMS outerwear shirt, your socks must be black.

I used to be a pseudo-boho. The woman who would turn out to be my best friend in college (and with whom I am still extremely close) admitted that the first time she saw me she thought I was a drug dealer. I love tie-dye anything. I love dream catchers. But these rules don't faze me. There are ways in which public service, such as police work, being a member of a fire department, being an EMT, is much like the military. There just isn't room for mistakes or inconsistency, there isn't time to ponder or debate when timing is everything. I suppose it's like many things in life: you have to learn the rules of grammar, or art, or music, before you can play with them or introduce any kind of finesse. I know there is an art to being a great--well, a great anything. But the rules have to come first.

That's something I could not have swallowed, let alone embraced, years ago. I was anti-establishment all the way. I questioned everything. Maybe I've gotten more conservative as I've gotten older, or maybe I just understand the world differently. Maybe, I hope, I actually understand the world more fully. I would not send my own children to a school where they had to wear a uniform, because I don't believe that that's what childhood or education is about. Uniforms are to make the teachers' and administrators' lives simpler; I do not believe they teach the children a damn thing. And that means that particular place of education is putting convenience before the needs of the children.

But childhood is supposed to be a time of questioning, of trying to make sense of the world while at the same time discovering oneself. If a child comes to school dressed inappropriately, that is a teachable moment. It takes time--someone will have to have a conversation with that child about why his or her choice of attire is inappropriate, and there will be a give-and-take. But that teaches the child so many things in that one interaction: that he or she is worth engaging in conversation, that his or her viewpoint matters, that he or she is being heard. And then he or she must listen, respect an other's viewpoint, and take the time to digest the reasons for not being allowed to dress that way, even if he or she doesn't agree.

But I am not getting trained as an EMT so I can have conversations with my superiors about how having to wear navy blue is not allowing me to express my individuality. I am getting trained as an EMT because I want to learn how to help people in an emergency. The best way to train people to do that is to make rules that must be followed, and spend precious time on things that matter. If what I wear matters to me, I should pick a different option. After all, as I said to the young woman from whom I am buying a pair of the world's ugliest boots for $100, I clearly am not going into this profession for the fashion.

Well, this topic was a digression. Because even more than the rules that at one time would have seemed arbitrary and ridiculous, I was struck by the scope of an EMT's experience, even just an EMT Basic. The two words that come to mind most frequently when I think about this particular journey are excited and terrified. I might get to hold a little girl's hand all the way to the hospital to reassure her and help her feel less frightened; I might see someone bleed to death. I might get to assist in childbirth; I might have to support a woman who's just been told her husband is dead. I might have to help fold back the hood of a car in order to get someone out of the driver's seat. I might have to hear that I did something wrong or something stupid. I might spend a 12-hour shift sitting in the seat of an ambulance reading a book or watching the rain fall.

And it all starts Tuesday.

Facebook Rage

2009-11-17T05:18:00.000-08:00

I enjoy Facebook as much as the next person. Okay, maybe not quite as much as the next person, but it amuses me and has allowed me to get or stay in touch with people I enjoy being in touch with. I probably should have left it at that--I probably should have kept my list of "friends" to distant people, not people I used to work with. For a long time, I "ignored" requests from coworkers, back when I was employed: the boundaries between personal and professional are already too murky where I used to work, and were made worse by the fact that my husband works there, and my kids go to school there.

But when I lost my job, I granted friend requests, figuring it might be a source of support, or could even serve as very casual networking. Big mistake.

I have "hidden" several people, people I enjoy, even people I am related to, because of the Facebook Drivel Syndrome: the people who write about what they had for dinner, how quickly they mowed the lawn, whether or not they're tired. These comments don't create Facebook Rage in me, they just make me cringe--and hit the "hide" button, so I can go back to imagining that these people aren't as pathetic in real life as they clearly make themselves out to be in cyberspace.

No, Facebook Rage is, for me, a relatively recent phenomenon. It's what comes over me when people I once thought of as tolerant, sensitive, intelligent human beings show their utter lack of compassion and understanding, instead choosing to use Facebook as a way to express their flippancy or, worse, their heretofore hidden prejudices.

The first time a "friend" did this was when she posted on her wall for all to see that she was "disappointed in the city of Detroit." Okay, never mind that this is a pretty narcissistic ploy--someone was going to write in, "Oh no! What happened?" and sure enough, someone did. (Someone else even wrote in, "Are you okay?!" Of course she's okay, you idiot, she's logged on to Facebook.) So she provided the details, explaining that the city police hadn't even come to the crime scene, and that she now has to drive back down to Detroit from the suburb she lives in in order to fill out a report.

Frustrating and maddening? Absolutely. Did she deserve sympathy? Without a doubt. Was it okay for her to blame the entire city of Detroit for this one incident? Not on your life.

So I pointed out to her that perhaps taking to task an entire city for the actions of a small number of people was somewhat akin to what many republican politicians she so despises do when they try to generalize about an entire group of people based on very little truth.

Oops. She didn't like that. She retorted that she thought she had the right to express disappointment with the police officers who refused even to come to the crime scene.

Yup, she has that right. But that's not what she posted. Her exact words were, "I am so disappointed in the city of Detroit."

I am not a native Detroiter. I am not even a native to the Midwest. But when someone who is a native Michigander throws out a very public statement that, at the very least, is overgeneralizing, and, at the very worst, could be seen as racist, I get pissed. This city is in big trouble. And my heart breaks for the people who have spent their lives here, or who came here looking for a better life than the one they used to have, and have ended up jobless, homeless, and being blamed for some thoughtless person's disappointment that her car was broken into. My guess is, those police officers who didn't come to the scene of the crime probably had more important things going on. Just a hunch.

I should have "hidden" this person then and there. I did, at least, let the matter drop. Yay me.

But yesterday, in response to a story in CNN's Money, this same person posted that her job was in the top 10 of "stressful jobs that pay badly." Huh. Never mind that she must be considering her job to be "fund raiser," which is a stretch, given that her actual position does not involve cold-calling people and asking them for money. In fact, her job, which is at a private school, involves dealing with people who have already pledged money. Okay, I need to get over that. Her job also allows her to get a major break on her kids' tuition at the school.

But what I can't get over is her utter insensitivity to the people who might see her wall who don't, in fact, have jobs at all. I wanted so desperately to write in response, "Try to imagine the stress of not having a job."

And there is my conclusion: regular use of Facebook brings out the worst in people. I don't want to see people without their social clothes on. I don't want to know these people in all their uncensored glory. Their foibles are too much for me: please leave me in ignorance. And then I will have the luxury, and grace, not to write back in my fury and my self-righteousness, which have absolutely increased in response to the loss of my job.

Being unemployed when you don't want to be sucks.

The Insanity Defense

2009-10-07T05:32:00.000-07:00

I haven't told anyone I know, except my husband and children, that I am thinking seriously about becoming an EMT. Anyone else I know will think I am insane. That's not the only reason I haven't mentioned it to anyone else--I'm not that fazed by being thought insane. What I don't want is for people to know about it and then for me not to follow through.

That's what happened when I started library school. I told everyone who would listen, and I was excited about it, and then let it drop. Now when people see me, they ask if I've graduated yet. It's icky. I dropped it because I realized I didn't feel particularly enthusiastic about the job options that would be available to me once I got my degree, but also because I was not at all enthusiastic about the people I was working with, both students and professors (and administrators, for that matter).

When I enrolled in library school, I was at a place in my life where I felt like I needed to be away from people, where I could be more autonomous, where I could choose, to some extent, my levels of interactions with others, both coworkers and customers. What I didn't recognize until later was just how influenced I was by the situation I was in at the time. I loved my job and my students, and I loved the time in the classroom. What I couldn't stomach was when I had to be with my colleagues.

So I was looking for ways to get out, and library school seemed like a very safe alternative. Books, information, working with people (maybe even kids), educating. It felt comfortable because it was a life I understood. I spend hours in libraries, I'd be lost without them. They are havens, sanctuaries. They are safe. And safe is comfortable. Safe is also necessary when parts of your life don't feel safe, and at the time, my work life didn't feel safe to me at all.

But I am safe now. I no longer second-guess every word out of my mouth, I no longer feel bad about what I know and don't know, and about who my children are and who my husband is. So that's baggage that doesn't have to factor in to what I think about doing with the rest of my life.

And that means maybe I no longer have to "play it safe" when it comes to changing careers. I don't have to be in a school for the rest of my life. I don't have to work solely with children. My next job doesn't have to be almost entirely cerebral. It could have some visceral thrown in there, too.

Which leads me to my follow-up on my last post in which I described being convinced that all other people interested in being an EMT would essentially be Baywatch babes. I am thrilled to announce I was wrong. So wrong.

Not that it was a room full of misfits. (As opposed to classes in library school, at least the library school I was attending--I have been trained not to be judgmental and even my mind was boggled by how many social misfits could all be in one graduate program at once.) There seemed to be just the requisite number of misfits--no more, no less.

And no one, I am happy to say, looked like they would be handed a modeling contract any time in the next week or two. (Except for maybe the instructor's colleague, who bore a disturbing resemblance to Brad Pitt...)

So it was a room full of average people. Yay. I love average. It is completely underrated.

And it was a fascinating hour, it really was. I loved it. I loved the confidence with which the instructor talked about our finding employment as soon as we completed our certification. I loved his straightforwardness and his total lack of badass attitude. He wasn't there to try to weed us out, he was there to encourage us and give us valuable information at the same time. At one point he even said, "This is a job that requires you to be a people person. If you are not a people person"--shouldn't this be the place where he says, "Then this is not the job for you"? But instead he continued, "Then you will need to work on that."

That very evening, back at home, when I was trying to slice some bread for dinner, I cut my finger. Deeply. It bled and bled and bled. It was still bleeding more than an hour later. So we went to an urgent care center, where I got my first stitch. Then yesterday, when I had to have some blood work done in order to be a volunteer in the hospital parenting program, I watched the nurse stick the needle into my arm. I have never watched it before.

Not only that, but it turns out that the nurse, Linda, used to be an ER tech, so I learned all about what she did, what she does now (having had serious back issues and then a massive heart attack, even though she's not yet 55), and what she plans to do in her future (occupational health is not for her--she misses the rush of the ER). So Linda and I gabbed for a good 20 minutes, at which point she encouraged me to let her know if she could help me in any way with my new career path, and she gave me her contact information. The best time I've ever had having blood drawn...

So am I insane? Sure, maybe. And maybe rushing to the site of gunfire or a car crash isn't for me--I don't know yet. But I think doors are opening, possibilities are appearing, and that has to be good.

Contemplating my future at Starbucks

2009-10-04T09:13:00.000-07:00

I’m at Starbucks, trying desperately to get comfortable. Not working.

How can any one place do this much business in less than an hour? What did we do before we had Starbucks? Where did we congregate? What kind of coffee did we drink? Starbucks has been every bit as influential as McDonald’s, if you ask me. What a perfect storm—yuppies, more disposable income, networking, technology, global trade. Just incredible. And terrifying. So why are there still so many people who are willing to drink piss-coffee when they’re not at Starbucks? Why is all other coffee watered-down and nasty? It’s just not that hard to make decent coffee.

Soon I’ll be leaving to try to find my way to the local community college EMS training orientation. I have no idea what to expect. Here’s what I think will happen: I will be much older and fatter than everyone else there. They will be hip and cool and model-gorgeous like they just walked off a TV set, and I will look ridiculous. That’s what I think.

Ooh, an ambulance has just pulled into a parking space just outside of Starbucks here. Let’s see what they look like. Good to know that there is time to get a cup of coffee when out on a run. Okay, I like the rain jacket the EMS guy is wearing. He does look my age or a bit older, but also in much better shape—he’s pretty tall and looks like he could pull someone out of a car if he needed to.

That’s why I’m dressed for the Y—after I leave this orientation session that will be filled with 20-somethings who look like they’re just training for a gig on "One Tree Hill," I will go and work out.

Uh oh, the EMS guy left without getting coffee. I bet he just needed to use the bathroom. Oh, maybe not—the ambulance is leaving with its lights on and siren going.

So what am I doing? I’m not so great with blood, I don’t have the calmest reactions in an emergency. I like to scream as much as the next person. I’m not a badass. I am good at driving fast and aggressively as well as defensively—maybe I could be just an ambulance driver? I don’t like the thought of seeing dead people, or people as they die. Tendons and muscles out in plain view, guts and innards not really a strong point for me.

I guess we’ll see what happens.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

2009-09-30T08:42:00.000-07:00

Every day, I check craigslist and the local paper; sometimes I branch out to monster.com and the unemployment agency. I have one private tutoring client, I have an interview tomorrow at a tutoring agency, I attended a training last week for substitute teachers, and Friday I'll attend an orientation for an EMS program. I've applied for a few jobs at local hospitals, one of which allows me to log in and check the status of my application any time I want--I'm trying to cut back from my current 4-5 times a day.

All of this allows me to feel as if I am Doing Something. I can't be accused of allowing opportunities to pass me by, right? I am out there, I am racking up points, I am following every lead, examining every option.

Of course, thousands of other people are doing this, too. The unemployment rate in the city of Detroit is currently 29%. Yes, twenty-nine, as in one percentage point less than 30%. As in, almost one out of every three people is without a job. Nationally, the media informs me, there are 6 unemployed people for every job opening. That doesn't mean there are 6 applicants for every job opening, no no no. That means there are 6 times more unemployed people than there are jobs for them.

And people are downloading their resumes and hitting send to almost any opening, paying little attention to requirements or instructions. People are applying for jobs for which they are underqualified, overqualified, or simply not qualified at all. And why not? It doesn't cost anything. And you never know--maybe you'll slip past, get an interview, and wow them to the point where they overlook that you have neither the experience nor the education they're looking for.

I'm guilty of it, too. I've applied for many more jobs than I would have if I'd had to print out a resume and a cover letter and put them in an envelope and mail it. Social work jobs I'm applying for want applicants who are licensed, which I am not; I don't even know if I could get licensed because I haven't been an actual social worker in many years. Meanwhile, I have been a teacher for a long time, but don't apply for those jobs because I am not certified, and getting certified would take two years and thousands of dollars. Gotta love those hoops created by No Child Left Behind.

Meanwhile, I'm reading Po Bronson's What Should I Do With My Life? and Flow, wondering if I'm somehow spending too much time doing and not enough time being. Am I avoiding something? What would happen if I simply cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, organized for a while, and didn't even look for a job? Is a person's worth really what he or she does for a living, or is it more than that? And if it is more than that, as I suspect it is, what is it and what does it look like and how do we express it or describe it? And do we need to? I've heard that the question one gets asked when meeting someone new, "What do you do?", is purely American, that in other countries and other cultures, no one thinks to ask that question, let alone have it be an ice breaker.

I don't know what this all means. Someone I trust completely told me she thinks I will get a job when my house is in order. (No, this trusted person is not my mother.) So why am I not spending every waking moment doing just that? Ah, that's the real question, I guess.

Smorgasbord

2009-09-14T17:27:00.000-07:00

I am looking for work, and I feel like I am a starving person at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I'm having trouble narrowing down the options, of limiting myself to any particular area. I took those personality and career tests, was disappointed to learn that I've been successfully pigeon-holed as a caregiver/educator/soother-type, and since then have been wandering into the dangerous territories of veterinary assistant and EMT.

I can't help feeling like I didn't "do it right" way back when, just out of college. I took pretty safe paths--nothing too risky. (Well, it felt risky moving from the East Coast to Birmingham, Alabama, where I didn't know a soul--had never even been, except for my first interview. But it wasn't really occupationally risky.) I never really branched out. My dad was an English teacher, I majored in English, didn't know what to do when it was time to make weekly visits to my college's career center, so registered with a couple of teacher-placement agencies. Felt relief when I was offered a job (actually, two jobs--I had to make a choice).

Meanwhile, one of my closest friends went to law school and is now a partner in an immigration law firm in California. Another close friend got her PhD in marine biology and after doing most of her research on Catalina Island, is now a full professor at the University of Florida. My high school boyfriend who was always more passionate about his guitar than he ever was about me now spends his life writing and playing music and making a living at it. One of my brief high school flings is head of anesthesiology at the University of Chicago hospitals. My best friend in junior high is a respected, successful Hollywood writer and director (ever seen Family Stone?...)

So I'm left wondering if my dreams passed me by--or, more likely and more to the point, did I pass them by? I've mellowed somewhat. I recognize what motherhood and having a happy family mean to me, and I would absolutely choose them over winning the Nobel Prize in literature or being the recipient of an Oscar for screenwriting or inventing a vaccine for AIDS. If what matters to me is shaping the future, having an impact on the world after I'm gone, I know that's precisely what I'm doing by being the best mother I know how to be.

And while I'm doing that, I will continue to keep my options open, I won't try to limit myself to teaching or social working or caregiving. But I will also try to be realistic. I will try not to over-romanticize things like helping defenseless animals or rushing to the scene of an accident in the back of a speeding ambulance. And there may even be days when I allow myself to live in the here and now and not place myself in some future. I'll work on that tomorrow.

Hurry Up and Wait

2009-09-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

Things seem to be moving more slowly than they did when I was employed. Perhaps that is not a shocking observation. And maybe it's even a good thing. Maybe I will learn to be more patient, to be less hurried and frantic. Perhaps I will learn to breathe more deeply, be more appreciative, focus more intently on the here and now.

What I'd really like to do right now is take a nap. I am tired, the house is quiet, I refuse to let myself watch TV, and I don't have any deadlines that need meeting right now. I've already tried calling my best friend to see if she can chat, but had to leave a message. I am dressed, I ran some errands, and now I want to sleep.

But I won't. One day, I will be back at work, and if I spent my time while unemployed napping, I will regret it. I will berate myself for it. I will be harried one day, wish I had more time, and I will think, How in God's name did I allow myself to nap when I could have been reading/writing/cleaning out the basement/preparing meals for the coming week/color-coordinating every closet in the house/becoming the next Martha Stewart/jogging/tearing up the pee-covered carpet/repairing rain gutters/finding a bale of hay for my child to use with his new bow-and-arrow/learning how to sew/solving the mystery of why the refrigerator smells rancid/wiping down the ceiling fans so my older son can't write obscene messages in the dust? How could I have slept when there were so many other valuable ways to use my time?

It's hard when waiting seems to be the most active part of each day. I wait for the phone to ring or an email to arrive, notifying me that I have been granted an interview, or have even been scheduled for some volunteer work. After all, it has been three weeks since I notified two places of my interest in volunteer opportunities, and neither one has contacted me personally yet (I have received automated email messages from both places).

I wait to hear how my husband's day was, how my boys are doing at school. I wait to let the dogs outside, and then to let them in again. I wait for the mail to arrive. I wait for the clothes to be ready to be put in the dryer, then I wait until they're dry and can be folded and put away.

Mostly I wait to see if I'm going to be motivated or inspired to do anything today. Is this the day I will pack up bags and boxes for the Salvation Army? Is this the day I will write really, really compelling cover letters to accompany my resume for a variety of jobs ranging from being a family therapist to being a veterinary assistant to writing articles for an online poker company? Is this the day I will fix the two-sided bird feeder so that each side can attract a different type of bird in order to fulfill my cat's entertainment needs? Is this the day I will start my Wii Fit and EA Sports Active programs over from the beginning?

I don't know. Could be. I'll let you know after I wake up.

Gone fishin'

2009-08-21T07:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I placed a call to my friendly neighborhood unemployment office to change from having federal taxes withheld from my payments, to not having them withheld, since it turns out that part of the "stimulus package" is to allow $2400 as untaxed income. I was on hold for 20 minutes, which is really not that bad, if you ask me. In the state with the highest unemployment rate in the country, I wouldn't have been surprised if the wait had been twice that long.

What did surprise me was some of the monotonous, taped drivel someone on hold has to listen to for all that time. By all means, encourage people to hang up and go online instead; remind people that after filing, it may take 6 weeks to get a response; encourage people to call some other number for such-and-such. But suggest that people "go fishin'"? Really?

Yes, one of the taped messages is provided by the state's organization for leisure activities, and that's fine. But the voice is "old-timey," like the voice used for Country Time Lemonade (which is basically poison, by the way--but perhaps I'll save that for another posting), recalling a past in which local merchants would put a sign on the door on perfect summer afternoons that said "Gone Fishin'." Uh huh.

Those of us on hold for 20 minutes, waiting to speak to someone about unemployment benefits, don't really need to hear about vacation opportunities in the area. I'm not saying we should all be working day and night to find a new job, exhausting ourselves and wallowing in despair (though I'm sure there are plenty doing that, too). I'm just wondering who the makers of the message think their audience is at that point.

I'm not even pretending to be one of the worst-off, because I absolutely am not. In fact, I'm flat-out amazed at how much money I'm going to end up getting, but I am not a single parent, nor am I the only wage-earner for my family. For me, it doesn't mean selling my house or giving my pets back to an animal shelter, or trying to find a buyer for my car. It doesn't mean living on tuna fish and macaroni and cheese. It doesnt even mean I have to sell my engagement ring or take my kids out of private school, which is the only school they've ever known.

But I'm not exactly planning vacations, either. I'm trying to work out a balance of applying for new work, spending time with my family, taking care of household chores, and figuring out exactly what I want to do with my life so maybe my next job will be longer-lasting and even more fulfilling.

Besides, I am morally opposed to fishing. Even if you throw the fish back in, it's terrifying and painful for the poor thing. So, when we are more solidly back on our feet and planning our next in-state vacation, the sign on our door will read "Gone...somewhere."

Tried and testes

2009-08-17T16:37:00.000-07:00

Almost 20 years ago, when my husband and I were on our honeymoon in Portugal, we found a magazine printed in English, but put out by Portuguese speakers. Our favorite typo was when something that was being praised (a restaurant? a local sight?) was described as being "tried and testes."

In the last several hours, I have entertained myself by taking several career "testes." I don't know what I was expecting or hoping. I guess I had this fantasy that something would reveal itself to be a career I had never considered, but which would be identified as being just the thing for me. Maybe it would turn out that I belonged in Cirque de Soleil (which, given my lack of coordination and fear of being on a stage, would be quite a surprise, indeed) or doing voice over work for children's television. Or maybe my results would indicate a predilection for working for Homeland Security or being a plumber.

But no.

Except for one somewhat bizarre set of results that suggested dental hygienics (I am, actually, deathly afraid of dentists) along with rabbi, chaplain, minister or preacher (right up there with my fear of dentists is my distrust of organized religion), it turns out I've been looking for jobs in all the right places: working with kids, being a teacher, being a social worker/counselor/therapist, being a writer or editor. Nothing particularly glamorous or sexy or death-defying or likely to be turned into a hit TV series. (I remember, years ago, some network attempted to make a TV show about a social worker--maybe with Mary Stuart Masterson?-- and it sucked, just out-and-out sucked. I was so pissed.)

It's okay, actually. I'm not all that surprised. I thought maybe, now that I'm middle-aged and have kids, that it would turn out there's some secret part of me, just waiting to jump out, to be set free. But, for now, anyway, it's just the same old me.

Showered and dressed and nowhere to go

2009-08-16T15:45:00.000-07:00

Today, the day immediately following my filing for unemployment, I not only got dressed, I also showered. That's more than I would have done on a normal, employed Sunday, so I'm feeling pretty proud.

I also sent my name and identifying characteristics to two different volunteer opportunities, one of which is a food bank-type place, the other a hospital. It was a little disheartening to check off that I am available any day of the week, any time of day. To preserve a shred of self-pride, I didn't check Saturday and Sunday nights: I'm living in hope that there will be times that my husband and I might actually have plans some Saturday nights; and Sunday nights in our household are just plain hell, and while I would love to use my volunteer work as an excuse to escape our whiny, exhausted, homework-laden children, to say nothing of all the forms that always need to be signed for upcoming field trips, blah blah blah, I adore my husband too much to leave him to fend for himself while I go off to load canned foods into boxes.

Last night, I read myself to sleep with a truly amazing book: The Nonprofit Career Guide: How to Land a Job that Makes a Difference. In fact, I didn't read myself to sleep with it, I kept myself keyed up, motivated, and inspired by it. I checked it out of the library, but I'm going to have to buy it because there are many things I want to highlight, and there are portions I know I will return to again and again.

Most of my adult professional life has been in the nonprofit sector, so it's not like this is an all-new concept. I am a knee-jerk liberal, born and bred. My children, who are 8 and 10, are more anti-W than I am and laugh derisively every time Caribou Barbie opens her mouth.

I have loved my jobs, every one of them. I have worked with children in public schools and private schools. I have had the honor and privilege of learning from them, as well as from others who work with them. It's not like I have spent my life making money by trying to convince people to buy cars they don't need or to turn a blind eye to investments that actually hurt other human beings.

But I think there might be even more out there for me. I might well have happily, successfully lived out the rest of my working years at the school from which I have been laid off. It's a wonderful school, a school that does so many more things right than any other school I have seen. But now I am presented with an opportunity to try something different, maybe to make a difference in a different way, through a different venue.

I'm showered and dressed--time for a drink.

Unemployment virgin

2009-08-15T15:14:00.000-07:00

Today I filed for unemployment because I am unemployed. Between jobs. Out of work. On the dole. Career-challenged. I filed online, and it took about 30 or 40 minutes. Mostly stress-free, with pretty clear explanations. I have to post my resume in order to qualify and prove that I'm looking for work, but that seems a small favor to ask in return for having money deposited into my checking account. It won't be a lot of money, mind you--I worked part-time at a private school where my annual salary was less than the cost of tuition for one child for one year. But still, I appreciate the efforts the state is making on my behalf.

The facts are these: I am 44, have been married for 19 years, have two kids, a bachelor's degree in English and a master's degree in social work. Since the age of 14, the only times I have been unemployed were when I wanted to be unemployed, not because I was laid off. But the private school where I worked is experiencing a decline in enrollment, and can't afford my salary, such as it was. I have already grieved the loss of my job (not that that's a linear experience--grief might well rear its ugly head again at any time), so am trying to move on, trying to keep fear at bay, trying to keep an open mind about options without rushing into anything just for the sake of having a job. I am lucky; this is a luxury. People around me are losing their jobs, their homes, their well-being. I am in Michigan, the state with the highest rate of unemployment in the country, but we still have our house, my husband is employed, and my children are healthy. (I am knocking on wood as I write this, by the way, just in case superstititions have any basis in fact...)

I will attempt, in good faith, to keep whining to a minimum, because at an intellectual level, I am well aware of how lucky I am. On the other hand, I am also aware of how judgmental, opinionated and just plain bitchy I am. I will have resentment that there are people who clearly aren't as deserving as I am, and I will have bitterness that my kids' friends' mothers all have hired help and go on exotic vacations, but I will try to remind myself, just as I tell my sons when they ask if we are rich, that we are, indeed, rich, because that is what I call it when we have everything we truly need, and a lot of things we really want.

My goal for the coming week: to get dressed 5 out of the next 7 days. (Hey, it's important to experience success early on in the process--and believe me, this will take effort on my part.)