Master Yoda was right.
“Fear is the path to the dark side.
Fear leads to anger.
Anger leads to hate.
Hate leads to suffering.”
Well, give me my red lightsaber now.
I’ve feared for the past year since I went on medical leave (on June 10, 2016) that this day would come. That my recovery wouldn’t happen fast enough for the almighty powers that be and that my position would be posted, which occurred February 22, 2017. Which means that a day from now, a week from now, a month from now, I’ll get fired. As soon as they extend an offer to some new graduate who doesn’t know jack, I’m finished.
I’m full of anger because of this. It’s not like I didn’t know this was a likely possibility. But being told by your own department that they’ve given up on you, after so many false platitudes of “Get better soon!” “We miss you!” “You’re irreplaceable!” is enough to make me want to put my fist through a concrete wall. Or through someone’s face like I’ve wanted to for years. Or do other damaging things that I used to engage in that I have almost lost the will to fight against not doing. Oops…I slipped. Rats.
Now I’ve fully progressed to hate. I hate that institution and everything it stands for. I hate the hypocrisy of the administration and of my own department. I hate what they’ve turned my profession in to. We’re not practicing pharmacy, we’re changing every way we practice to keep accreditation boards happy, which are actually a bunch of people who have probably never practiced medicine in their lives.
What do you do when 13 years of literal blood, sweat and tears, of you giving your all, of you busting your butt for the sake of sick children and trying to save their lives…is taken away from you because of your own declining health that no one cares to recognize? That subpar health that one of the country’s “best” healthcare institutions can’t fix is going to let me go for?
“Patients first,” of course. But if that patient is an employee, nail ’em to the wall.
“Every life deserves world class care,” unless you’re an employee who happens to be chronically ill. Then we’ll just get rid of you.
It plays in my head, over and over…
“You are not adequate. You are different in a bad way. All that you are and all that you are able to do is not enough for the people you love and the society you live in.”
And hate, as we know…leads to suffering…
What do I do now? I have no reason to live anymore. My purpose is gone. All because of the stupid enigma known as POTS. My hopes and dreams for my future. For being able to provide for our future kids and pay for this house. Maybe this means kids aren’t in the cards for us anymore after all.
The existence I’d wished for is mine no longer. If you need me I’ll be at the bottom of my depression hole. But bring a ladder. The first step’s a doozy.