Job Wanted

My days of unemployment are, hopefully, soon over.  After spending three months doing the Tropical Medicine course (the best course I’ve done since graduating) and then the past month vegetating and socialising, I’ve come to the point where my financial status is causing me anxiety.  Yes, Thabo would support me through my $0 balance but I’m uncomfortable with financial dependency.  It was a kick in the guts when I tried to withdraw money recently and the bank teller declined my request.  For a moment I hoped it was the Bulgarian mafia who were responsible for my lack of funds…but I knew the reality.

I’ve taken the plunge and applied for a job back at St Muffs.  I visited the old clinic and colleagues and it didn’t seem so bad afterall (oh, how quickly we forget).  I think being away for a few months has sufficiently wiped my memory of the badness I felt for the place {digression:  it wasn’t until I left last year that I realized how it was making me unhappy; it felt like a sudden weight being lifted off me and I felt good again}.  I’m hoping that with the time limit placed on me by my visa, if things turn to shit, then I’ll cope because I know there’s an end.

We have embryonic plans of moving to Singapore for up to a year in 2009.  It would be a secondment for Thabo from his Golden Circle firm ie big-player clients, salary in GBP but Singapore tax rates and a good transition before we return to Australia for good.  Maybe.  I dream of having attained my specialist qualifications and either working in a private clinic there or doing charity work among commercial sex workers anywhere in South-East Asia.  How differently Thabo and I approach work – we’re almost the complete opposite to each other, but somehow, and probably the reason why, it works for us.

One Day in History

Like every other day, woke up with less than enough sleep and the familiar heaviness of dread – another day at work. Not that work is the problem. My mental state is. The drudgery and the pointlessness of my current existence…well, life is a bit of a choir at the moment. I can’t actually, I can), I shouldn’t complain too much; my journey to work consists only of a 10 minute walk. No public transport and ungodly body odours.

Counting out the drum half-beat every 1st and 3rd of every eight beats, on the first play, then singling out Chad’s bass during the second, and finally, listening to the song as a whole, “Soul to Squeeze,” never fails to dominate walking-to-work airtime on the Ipod. I was somewhat annoyed when I arrived near work that security tape had cordoned off the area around the clinic and the tube station, necessitating the removal of my earphones to find out what was going on. A meeting was held at an emergency gathering point.

A van, containing gas cylinders which had overheated, was left abandoned next to our building last night. A 24-hour cooling down period was required along with evacuation of the area. Not a terrorist act, only a reminder of one with the eerie quietness of the abandoned tube station. The clinic is closed. Staff are to be deployed elsewhere or return home.

The clinic is closed.

Woo-hoo!! It’s turned out to be a great day.

Friday Afternoon Shit Fan

Nightmare. Absolute nightmare of an afternoon at work. At 4.30pm, all other staff members had pissed off leaving just myself and one of the nurses, Mirabelle, to continue a full clinic. One of the them (let’s call her Kimberley) wasn’t even professional enough to hand over a patient who required further management – just left without letting anyone know. After closing time, the patient was still sitting at reception wondering whether or not we were going to provide a service which the clinic proportedly provides. Besides creating an absolute cock-up for the patient, I felt even more furious at Kimberley. Her turfing of every other patient my way was one of the reasons why the clinic was running behind; I helped with every one she sent across and I expected the same courtesy of her. Obviously, that expectation was too great.

Poor Mirabelle. Ordinarily timid and quiet, her feathers were ruffled at the inconsideration and disrespect shown to her by her nursing colleagues (unfortunately, she sometimes bears the brunt of my wrath when shit is hitting the fan, as well). I’ve not seen her voice an opinion so emotionally and so forcefully. No one offers to remain and help at the end of the week. Management are aware and have apparently resolved the situation. She’s the only one who stays behind to close clinic well after other staff members have left because someone has to and no one else will.

I said, “Mirabelle, you have to say something about this.”

Her response, “We’re all adults. We’re professionals. I shouldn’t have to say anything. They should know that when it’s busy they should help. But they just think, ‘It’s just Mirabelle, she’s so quiet, she won’t say anything.’”

And she’s right. Instead of hiding in the lab avoiding work or killing time as some do, or racing off after the last of their own patient has been seen, it should be a matter of teamwork. A couple of people extra can make a world’s difference compared to one person doing the job of three.

I think I’m going to have to champion her cause and be her voice. And try to not offend anyone in the process. It could easily turn into a case of “because of her, we all have to stay back.” Well, too fucking right! We’re all paid to work the same hours, not some of us work late and the rest piss off at 3pm.

Modern Day Contraception

Me: “When did you last have sex?”
She: “Three days ago.”
“And before that?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Did you use condoms?”
“No.”
“Are you on any form of contraception?”
“No.”
“So you’re trying to fall pregnant?”
“Oh, no!”
“Does he come inside of you?”
“Yes.”
“Uh, so you have sex without condoms, you’re not on the Pill, he comes inside but you’re not trying to get pregnant?”
“Huh?”
“Does he want you to be pregnant?”
“God, no! He’d be terrified!”

One month later…

She: “I’d like a pregnancy test; My periods are two weeks late.”
Me: “When did you last have sex?”

A Q&A session proceeds along the same lines as above.

The pregnancy test comes back positive.

“You’re pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant?” in disbelief. Now crying, “How can I be pregnant?”

Polished Sadness

I don’t even really know her. A girl from work with a doll-face and Bambi eyes, seemingly vulnerable and wild at the same time. But for some reason (maybe it was my nosiness and annoying pestering) she shared with me, the details of her personal webpage. Her name is Frankie.

Poor sweet Frankie,

I cried over, “a friend indeed.” Not out of sympathy for you but with complete empathy and a selfish joy knowing that I was not alone in my isolation and misery. You should not mistaken the banalities of daily work conversation to be reflective of the individual (well, perhaps some…maybe, many). Our work environment is not conducive to more than gossip and small talk, and with the overabundance of self-importance, it’s hardly surprising that there is little reciprocity in meaningful conversation. It’s taken six months for my self-perceived obtrusiveness to resolve and I still don’t give of myself readily. You may be familiar with feeling that you have much to offer but that which is special about you won’t be or isn’t valued. For me, it’s like having a secret that is precious and fragile; I don’t wish to give it away and have it laughed at or worse still find that what I thought was so precious isn’t even worthy of acknowledgement by others.

Maybe we’re all too consumed by the grudge of our daily lives, too self-absorbed, too introspective to reach out or realize we’re all united by our collective misery.

You are intelligent, talented, beautiful, interesting and interested.

Anderes.