10 years in those halls

Today I walked the hallways that I’ve been cruising down for the last 10 years. It was just like any ol’ day.  But not really. Today was different because it was the last day that I would walk down most of these specific  hallways.

The only hours I have left to work at the hospital are on Thursday night and I won’t be seeing any patients so I won’t need to walk anywhere outside of my little office.

This has been my home away from home for the last 10 years.  Less so since I went part time after Hugh was born.... But still-this is the place that I put my blood, sweat and tears into day in and day out.  This job that I did mattered to myself and to many others: patients and coworkers.  I helped a zillion people and did not connect with many others (something that I shed many tears over).  The people I worked with matter to me, maybe even more than I am even letting myself admit.

I need to close my doors to this place.  But it’s hard.  I took down 3 pictures from my desk bulletin board early this morning.  I left the other 10 up until the end of the day.  Small steps.

When I got there at 6:15 I set my alarm to remember to use my name badge to punch in at 6:30.  When the alarm went off I picked up my lunch bag, a letter to bring to the mail box and my name badge (to punch in).  I brought my lunch to the break room and remembered while I walked to the mailbox that I forgot to punch in.  I quick checked the time-shoot! I was going to have to punch in late on my 2^nd to last day.  Oh well, I can’t get disciplinary action on my second to last day. Right?  So I emailed my boss and asked if she could punch me in, that I had arrived on time and that I was sorry I forgot.  An hour later she emailed me back:  Raina – Kronos says you punched in at 6:25 today.  I think you have the “this is my second to last day” distractions going on.  J

Ha. I guess I really did punch in and everything was just a blur.  And I’m just distracted. Or emotional. Or dealing with change.  

But those hallways.  So much has happened in those hallways.  I've walked and talked with many.  I have crashed a few wheel chairs.  Passed co-workers who were having a good or a rough day.  Made eye contact and said hello but forgot a lot of names.  I've heard my share of medical stories that made my eyes go wide.  I have ran those halls to get here or there faster.  I also took my time when I had it-which was rare. I have probably sworn a few times.  Carried heavy bags of Ensure and mixed up many fortified shakes.  Got his soup order wrong and asked too many patients when their last bowel movement was. Smiled thinking of how I had just connected with someone. Gotten lost or took the wrong turn.  I've shed many tears and prayed in those hallways.  So many silent prayers for those patients.  Checked my pager too many times and tripped just a few. Spilling popcorn is the worst in those hallways.  You have to pick it up and what dietitian wants to be caught sloppily scarfing popcorn?  10 years.  

These coworkers of mine took me under their wing when I was floundering as a new clinical dietitian, 10 years later I still look up to so many of them. These are the ladies who took a patient from my workload when I was overwhelmed on a busy day.  Cheers to the ladies who waited 5 extra minutes to walk out to our cars together in the bitter, winter cold.  Everyone knows -10 degrees is better together after a rough 8+ hour day.   These are the ladies who helped me crack some pretty crazy and intense nutrition cases.  These are the ladies who saw me get married, the ones who cheered me on through my first and second pregnancy-telling me I looked cute when I did  not, gifting Andy and I our wooden highchair that our babies took their first bites in.  These are the women who made Andy and I dinner every night when Eli was in the intensive care unit.    They laughed when they heard I carried a patients pool cue case down the hallway. Who put their hand on my shoulder when a nurse made me cry.  Who paged me to get out of the room with the most talkative patients.  The ones who listened to me talk about my favorite patient/s  and who blubbered on about their own favorite patients. Who showed me pictures of their kids.  These are the ladies who shared candy and gluten free treats after my diagnosis. These are the people who made this decision so hard.  To change means to let go of the day-to-day with them.  

so many of them could not make it in the picture above....

So thank you to the dietitian who saw me cry when I saw my Celiac disease lab panel.  And that same dietitian reminds me weekly that these patients each have a story and it's ok to really let yourself care about them.  Thank you to the DTR with the red candy dish on your desk.  Lifting the cover of that thing was the highlight of my inpatient days.  Thank you to the RD who was a mother figure to me through those first few, very challenging years, trying to hook me up with her son if only Andy wasn't the perfect one for me.  Thank you to the dietitian/s who covered my maternity leave.  Thank you to the dietitian who was my first preceptor, teaching me that sometimes--you just hunker down and help that old lady help her put on her mesh underwear. Thank you to the dietitians who laughed with me during meetings-I was blessed to become part of that council. Cheers for all those glasses of wine we shared (after work of course).  Special thanks to the one who sent me pages asking what was for lunch and signed messages with BUN (which really means bun in the oven but is also a lab value we assess). Thanks to the dietitian who sat next to me for the last couple years.  Thank you for showing me how to really talk to a patient.  And thanks for answering all my questions, being the "doctor" sitting next to me, covering for me and giving me advice (personal and professional).  I hope the candy jar is full for you-meaning no crazies!

I have many people cheering me on.  And deep down I wonder if many of them are questioning my decision. Wondering what is all behind my decision to finally leap, take a chance, make a change.  It's not Raina-ish.  But it's happening.  I cleaned the paperclips, random peanut, open salt packet and old thank you notes out of my desk drawer today.  And I walked those hallways and took deep breaths.  And saw my last patient.

The days were long but the years went fast.  And I can’t believe they passed.  This place that I need a break from, this place I am making a change from-will always be very special to me.