Saturday Six

This week was LONG and STRESSFUL. My job finally met the recession bully in the back alley. The recession won. Despite my pending job loss, I’m thankful beyond my customary Friday Five. This is my Saturday Six: Holly, Sonia, Mary Ann, Aubrey, Chris (Christina) and Tara.  After I tell you this story, you will understand why these six co-workers, friends rather, made my list.

Two years ago I underwent a simple outpatient surgery in order determine if I needed major surgery. When I woke up, I had severe vertigo. Holly was my post surgery caregiver. She brought me home, watched me sleep, and had the dubious honor of cleaning up the soup my stomach rejected. My mom came up from Texas when it became clear I was experiencing a complication.

A few days later my mom left, but my vertigo remained. In fact, it was worse. Not only could I not eat, I could not walk straight, sit up, or lie flat. If I rolled onto my left side, I was convinced I was falling. Despite the horrible symptoms, I asked Mary Ann to take me to work on Monday. I went into a dark observation room to conduct a parent training session. The room spun around me and the sensation I was falling stripped my reality. Tara, my supervisee at the time, finished the session. Afterwards she rubbed my back and handed me tissues as I accepted the cold reality: I was unable to work. Tara drove me home. After work, Holly went to the grocery store for me and Mary Ann brought me homemade soup.

The next day Aubrey (my male supervisor) took me to the doctor who performed the surgery. Oh, I should mention the doctor was an OBGYN and her office was 15 miles away. Aubrey and I left two hours later without answers.

Mary Ann pulled some strings and got me an appointment with her ENT. The day after I saw him, I lost hearing in my right ear. Chris took me back to the OBGYN when my vision became blurry. During the visit the nurse noted my typical 110/70 blood pressure was through the roof.  Everyone was convinced I was having a stroke, so Chris rushed me to the hospital. Well, she tried to rush. I told her I was hungry and begged her to take me to Sonic. In my mind I was not having a stroke. I was, however, entertaining the idea of brain cancer and told Chris, “If my brain was going to be useless it should have happened before I got my Ph.D.” (Everyone still laughs about my Sonic request and brain cancer comment.)

We arrived at the ER with my Sonic Wacky Pack meal in tow. (I never ate it.) One by one my co-workers showed up (Chris had called them). They all crowded the room and hung on the doctor’s every word. The diagnosis? Vertigo and dehydration. Tara took me home and while I slept she talked with the others. They decided who would take me to my MRI appointment the next day.

For two weeks they rushed me to doctor appointments, did my shopping, spent time with me at lunch or in the evenings. I laughed everyday. The vertigo did not remit. My mom finally came up from Dallas and took me to see specialists in Texas. When I depleted my sick leave my co-workers donated three months of sick leave and were willing to donate more.

After two months of vestibular physical therapy, two rounds of steroids, a 15-pound weight loss, and countless doctor visits, I finally returned to work.

If you’re thinking, “Oh, this is because Tracy is so great,” stop. Each of us has faced trying times and we rallied around that person. It is not a Tracy factor. It is a human kindness factor.

When I accepted my job, I knew it was not a great professional fit. Yet, it was an opportunity that my gut would not let me refuse. I suspected my purpose for getting this job was beyond a paycheck and hours for licensure. Boy was I right. I met six AMAZING people.

My sadness this week is not about the job. My sadness is trained on one fact: in a few months we will be heading in different directions. The only emotion tempering my sadness is HOPE. I hope that our friendship, love, and respect for one another will keep us connected. I hope . . .  

Distance is nothing.

Time is nothing.

Friendship is everything.