Monday, June 20, 2005

Moving On

Anybody still here?
It’s been an interesting week here on lake Woe-Be-Gone. A few things have occurred since my latest rant and pity-party.
Unfortunately, this is going to take a little explanation. Some unnamed (although we know who it is) administrator has decided that it would be a good idea for the support departments to "flex" their hours up and down (it only means down) with the number of patients in the building. What this means for my department is that we are being asked, from pay period to pay period, to take time off from work. This time off can either be supplemented by one’s vacation pay, or taken without pay. The net effect is that I no longer have a full-time job. Combine that with the fact that the average pay "raise" is running at 2 percent, it represents a net (there’s that word again) loss for all of us. To this lovely recipe for morale, add the realization that none of our "sister" hospital support depts are "flexing", and you have one motivated bunch of mofos. Since we are all taking time off, that means we get to work the other shifts to accommodate our swing and graveyard (funny, they don’t call it that at the hospital) shifts, too. So I have a part-time job with variable shifts. Let’s move on.
About a month or so ago, my Director announced that some of us might be able to "flex" our hours over to the Biomed department - - do some work for them, and get paid out of their cost center. A few weeks went by where we’d already met our quota, but then there was a period looming with a huge deficit. So I put in for a week in Biomed. That was last week.
I also was given an opportunity to apply for a job. My haphazard attempts at resume-writing were assisted by a friend, and off it went. Hold that thought. . .
Last week was alright. I happily emptied out storerooms. Ironically, the stuff I was throwing into the dumpster was the very equipment I’d been hired to repair in 1986. Karma, anyone? I got to repair some equipment, and even troubleshot and fixed a few things. I delivered and picked up devices, and saw places in the building I hadn’t seen in several years. I swapped out a defibrillator in the Labor and Delivery recovery room, the room where Vicky got the news that Emma has Down Syndrome in, as she came out of the anesthesia. They’d wrapped her in a multi-colored blanket and given her a special cap. It’s a moment in time that is, shall we say, burned into my memory. Bittersweet. I inspected and tagged equipment, helped do a pre-inspection sweep in the lab, and saw the new surgical suite across the street.
I returned to the shop on Tuesday to find a phone message from my prospective employer. Thinking that returning the call would be a matter of setting up an appointment for an interview, I dialed away. It turned out to be a 20 minute Human Resources phone pre-interview, in full earshot of my shop-mates. She told me I’d hear something in a couple of days. It’ll be a week, tomorrow. Que Serah, Serah. Let’s move on.
My Dad had unscheduled gall bladder surgery on Friday. He’s fine; it was just a little bit unsettling for all of us.
It was the last week of school. Sam’s now a third grader, and we’ve got some grainy, hand-held video of Emma’s kindergarten graduation ceremonies. I’m proud of both of my kids.
So it was a good week. I came home from work on Monday, and Vicky asked "how did your day go?" "Pretty good." "Really?" It’s nice to surprise her every now and again. . .