Me, Abandoned by Martians

It's been several months since the space-time continuum was indelibly altered by Noo's critical illness and my decision to leave Gimbels. Whereas previously I was a bit of a chatterbox on this blog, I have to acknowledge a certain surly silence which has take the damn thing over ever since. I've never been good at change, and there's been nothing BUT change since July, and all I could do was surrender myself to it and see where it would take me. Most of the time I feel like one of those ordinary citizens in the movies who, through no fault of their own, wake up at the center of a David Lynch movie, apparently plunked there by Martians. A video montage of this movie might include scenes such as:

• Me, erupting into tears of rage the first week I worked at Macy's when one of the urologists tried to take my head off because of a perceived oversight on the part of one of the other hospitalists.
• Me, writing vengeful notes in a patient's chart, implicating the urologist for his failures of communication, personality and common decency. 
• Me, packing bags for a week at Nordstrom, including critically important home decor items to compensate for the dismal apartment Xpress Hospitalists has rented for us up in Extra Rural County.
• My late sweet cat on one of her better days after the neuropathy was diagnosed, raising her moist black nose to the last of the autumnal sun.
• Me, exploding into tears of frustration the second week I worked at Macy's, because all the doctors there are bitter and jaded and don't do the job they are capable of doing. Not that unsafe things are taking place at Macy's, but there is a general absence of excellence, the kind of Santell standard of professionalism I used to believe was the unwritten code of honor among doctors. And this depresses me.
• Me--too lazy to hang my new blackout curtains--deciding to drape a dark-green flannel fitted sheet over my old curtains instead. This effectively creates a darkroom effect in the guest bedroom where I sleep all day prior to night shift at Macy's.
• ICU Horror Night #1 at Macy's. Don't ask.
• The daily grey gloom of Pacific Northwest winter skies, against a savage rural coastline.
• Me, dissolving into tears of pure grief the third week I worked at Macy's, because I miss the people at Gimbels and I HATE THIS NEW JOB!
• Noo, jumping six feet in the air when I emerge from what has affectionately become known as "The Cave" every mid-afternoon when I'm scheduled at Macy's. With the sleep mask pushed up onto my forehead and trapped hair sticking straight up, I'm not a pretty sight.
• Me, inreasingly anxious every time I have to go up to Extra Rural to work at Nordstrom's, now packing FIVE BAGS: one for food items, one for clothing, one for bedding (the Xpress apartment has the worst pillows I've ever encountered), one for electronics (thank goodness for video iPods, that's all I have to say), and one for books because THERE IS NO BOOKSTORE IN EXTRA RURAL!
• ICU Horror Night #2 at Nordstrom's. One of these days I might write about this night, but I'm probably going to need several years of therapy first.
• Me, becoming resigned to the job at Macy's because at least I get to stay at home after work, instead of shacking up in the ugliest apartment in Extra Rural county.
• Me, succumbing to tears of despair the fourth week I worked at Macy's, because both my new jobs suck. This was also the week I stopped bawling in the bathroom and started crying in front of all the ER staff instead. I figured I might as well write orders if I was having a nervous breakdown.
• ICU Horror Night #3 at Macy's. One of the biggest scares I've ever had, a roller-coaster of emotions, a big save in the OR--and a good outcome. More therapy and several large cocktails are in order.
• Topsy-turvy me on my days off, either waking up at three in the afternoon ("Wha' happened?") or at two in the morning. On the latter occasion, I was so wide awake and ready to perform that I started roasting soup bones for stock before the rooster crowed. Poor Noo thought the house was on fire, and my cats--my remaining cats--were mystified.
• Smurf, my Extra-Rural colleague and roommate in the ugly apartment, putting up with my morning grump every day we're on the job.
• ICU Horror Night #4 at Nordstrom's. Another big scare, another OK outcome.

Which brings us almost up to date on the Adventures of Theresa Chan, Itinerant Rural Hospitalist. Wow.

Comments

[dragonfly]

Hugs.

[IcedLatte]

Consider a job at Starbucks. Life is too short.

[Momstinfoilhat.wordpress.com]

I was thinking that you weren't posting much because of the stress of the job(s) change.

I am sorry it has been so difficult.

I hope it gets better, and there is significantly less crying for you.

[rlbates]

{{{hugs}}}

[chrysalis]

hang in there. i do believe we are where we are meant to be in the moments of our lives. even when we aren't at all happy with the spot we find ourselves in.

please forgive the lower case type. i am having some medical issues of my own, and it hurts to try to use the keyboard two handed.

hang on.

[Scanman]

Hey!! It sounds like you've finally crested the wave. Get back on twitter stat. You're sorely missed! :(

[Jamie]

Always nice to see a post from you. Can you post a Noo update sometime?