loyalty rewarded (or not)

About a week ago, at an evening dinner/staff meeting, at which we were all a bit surprised to see our grand kahuna (the Director of Surgical services for the North Okanagan) I received a special presentation. It turns out the reason she had come, was to present me with my TEN YEAR SERVICE PIN! I, like most of the other people there, was speechless, not by the amazing thoughtfulness of Interior Health for presenting me with this genuine sterling silver lapel pin with its telling IH swoosh (which has some deep significance that I have forgotten), rather, by the fact that it was a TEN YEAR Pin. What the....?I have been working at the same hospital, according to my calculations, for 22 years, since March 1986, when I selfishly uprooted my family, and made them move some 400 miles to the east, so I could take a job as Critical Care float at the Vernon Jubilee Hospital. I was tickled to be here and they were lucky to have me(they were terribly short of CC nurses back then, not like now(haha)). It was a win-win situation. Nine short months later, my part time job as a float became a full time one in the ER, something I stuck with for 12 years, finally burning out as a result of substandard staffing levels, and an increasing feeling of impending doom, if I didn't get the heck out of Dodge. So, in 1998 after having spent a fair bit of my own money and time taking palliative care courses by correspondence, I applied for and won a casual position in the community(Home Care as it was then called) In order to do that I had to leave my full time job, so I converted my status, ie I did not quit, to casual, at the hospital as well, to allow me an opportunity to spread my wings and get back to a career that I loved. Moreover, by now, everything: the hospital, the community and whatever else there is , was all blanketed by the grand quilt known as the Interior Health Authority. Bad enough that by changing to casual status, my accumulated sick time(some 750 hrs) and vacation time was deleted from the records, never to find its rightful way back to me, even three years later when I returned to a regular Part time position in PAR (due to health reasons which interfered with my driving abilities, and a need for benefits)
Now here it is 2008 and on IH's records, they have me listed as having a start date of June 4th 1998, which was approximately when I started with home care. So somewhere in the vast wasteland that is the records of the entire Interior Health Region, my first 12 years of work at VJH, has slipped into oblivion. So, any wonder that I was less than thrilled to get that service pin??? As it was I think I was pretty darn polite and put on a pretty little, appropriately grateful fake smile, for it was not this lady's fault, she only arrived on the scene in 2000. And she later told me that she gets these pins in bulk in a big brown envelope with instructions to distribute them tastefully.
So what did I do, you may wonder. I wrote a mostly polite but obviously irrate letter to the Chief Human Resources Officer for Interior Health in Kelowna enclosing the said pin so it can be regifted to someone withonly 10 yrs of service. I also sent copies to my boss, the administrator (or whatever the modern title is now) of the hospital, and the director of Employee and Labor relations, as well as my union steward. Now it is a waiting game.
Why the big deal? First of all, being denied appropriate credit for years served, affects my severance pay at retirement, which in case you, dear reader, need reminding, takes place in 9 short days. Secondly it feels like a sharp kick in the head, to have twelve years of my working life negated, or made to be non existent. I really don't want to end my working relationship with IH on a negative note, and then carry that bitterness with me into retirement. I have seen that happen to a former coworker, and it is not pretty. So I am staying positive with hope that the records will be corrected without me having to resort to a grievance, which I have managed to avoid until this point.
Are you bored beyond belief? Well it's not like you didn't have warning that this would be a rant, Re-read the title of this blog, honey. Another day, I will amuse you with my wit and candor, but today is a rant day.

Thoughts on getting older

Another birthday under my belt. Wow, fifty seven years old. To be honest I feel like an imposter. A young perhaps a bit immature, liberal minded thirty something woman in a 57yr old(hence forth to be known a FSYOs)body. FSYOs should be fairly sure of the way they feel about life, be wise with all their experience, and know definitely whether they believe in life after death. They shouldn't be waffling between about complete surety one day, and total skepticism the next. Also FSYOs, in my view, shouldn't relish gobbling down candy with as much relish as the little girl in me enjoys doing. And I still can't knit. Shouldn't a woman my age be knitting themselves silly, preparing entire layettes for grandchildren, present or future? At present, it appears I'll never have any of those so there's no sense even learning to knit, probably biting my lower lip needlessly in the attempt. Perhaps it's all my fault, this grandchildlessness. The great Planner doesn't see me as being a mature enough FSYO to be the grandmother to any child...Ah well, so be it. I won't need to worry about him/her attending a crystal meth/ecstacy party when he/she is thirteen either. Something to be said for freedom from that worry when I am seventy.
Yesterday, with a couple of friends, I attended the Superwalk for Parkinson's at Polson Park. There were about 50 of us there, a somewhat sad showing for a common disease. I guess it just isn't as trendy as, say, breast cancer, or any cancer for that matter. Most people(although not all) with Parkinsons are elderly and get hidden away in nursing homes or other sorts of facilities. The young(of whom I now know three (including MJF)) who get it are however are severely impacted in their lives and because it isn't such a trendy ailment, it is not as socially acceptable as the aforementioned conditions.
After the walk we went to brunch out at Friesens. While there, I saw a man, a very young man, perhaps 22 or so, who had a facial deformity that I have only ever seen on TV. His face was grossly enlarged and contorted, with nodules protruding from every surface, some type of tumor I would assume(neuroblastoma?) It appeared that he couldn't speak normally, and even eating appeared to be somewhat of a challenge. He was with a friend and the most amazing thing about it was that he appeared like he wasn't aware that he was any different that anyone else! I wanted so badly to study him, go up to him and ask him what it felt like to be so different yet appear not to care. To ask him from whence he obtained his confidence or was it just plain courage??? But studying him would be perceived as rudely staring, and compassionate interest would be interpreted as morbid curiosity. Sheesh, and here I am continually being self conscious about some part of me, well, mainly my larger than average rear end, and I often imagine that people speaking are rudely or laughing about me. Really, is that mature??? Is that what other FSYOs do? I doubt it, but like I always say , i yam whadiyam! Perhaps some day I will get to that stage in my life where I am totally confident and content about who and what I am. I keep getting that poetic email from people, that implies that I should be there by now. Am somedays I feel totally like that, not giving a shit about what people think of me, physically or otherwise, and then those other days... I can't even blame it on hormones anymore as i am clean out of those. So perhaps I am destined to remain permanently (although sporadically) immature and unsure of who and why I am...In the meantime, I will go day by day, keep my chin up, as it makes the 2nd and 3rd ones less conspicuous. Often I find if I focus more on others, rather than myself, I am much happier, and generally if I spend to much time thinking about myself and my shortcomings, I get grumpier and more depressed. So I work at it, and especially now on the threshold of retirement, it will be a challenge for me to utilize my time in a creative and productive manner, and to stay out of that rut of self deprecation.

Addicted

Okay I confess: I am an addict. I cannot control myself. I had to have it. Even as I spoke firmly to myself, and said, Anna my dear, you don't need it and it is not good for you, I bought it anyway. And I bought it somewhat hastily, so no one I knew would see me, and the minute I got in the car, I checked all around to see no one was looking, and then I USED... And it was GOOD!
Approximately 20 pieces of dutch licorice(aka zoute droppies) later, nausea set in and I distinctly remembered the acute attack of vertigo I had the last time I imbibed. I scrunched the top of the little paper baggie up tight and hid it in the bottom of the grocery bag from whence it came. I tried to tell myself, oh you didn't have that many, and at least it wasn't zwart wit (which translates to blackwhite) a little pill shaped candy consisting of a half tablet of light brown salt, glued to another tablet of ivory colored salt. It is very good and vaguely tastes like sweet very salty licorice. Hmmm my mouth waters even as we speak...Anyhow as I was saying, at least I had NONE of those little blood pressure pills(The kind that increase it) I did however have the ones called Krijt (white ones that resemble chalk, hence the name) Whoever thought up the idea of making a candy resembling something that you write with, on a blackboard no less. And I also had the little black salty fish covered in sugar, to tittilate all of the taste buds at once. And the little soft chewy brown cubes, also covered in sugar, not quite as salty but yummy none the less. When we were young in Lethbridge, Mr Schalk came around to the door on Saturday mornings with baked goods, especially Dutch imports, and we, my sister and I , were mostly interested in the "droppies"( named so because eventually they WILL make you drop dead of a stroke) Back then I especially like the big diamond shaped extra salty (Dubbel zout) slabs(they were about 4 inches long) that you could just lick and lick, til they got thin, and then you shoved the whole thing in your mouth and chewed your little heart out. DELICIOUS... And our parents supported this habit, that is they actually paid for this "candy"
People it seems, that is the non-Dutch , are either programmed to either love the stuff or hate it. I have a theory that it is a genetic trait, this love for insanely salty lumps of black stuff. One of my daughters likes it, and the other hates it... Their father of course frowns dreadfully whenever I bring it anywhere close to the house which was the reason for my hiding it, and subsequently discreetly throwing the remainders in the garbage and burying it deep amongst wet stinky other stuff (so I wouldn't be tempted to dig it out later) He remembers helping me to the bathroom when the room was spinning so badly I couldn't walk, the night after a day of gorging on the stuff. I think today I only used enough to make my craving subside, and so far I feel no untoward effects. The size of the bags under my eyes in the morning will be a true indicator of just how much of a droppie-pig I was.
So no, its not crack cocaine, or crystal meth, or heroin, but it is white(salt, that is), and it does temporarily make me lose all reason, with regards to my health. Luckily it isn't too expensive so it doesn't affect the family budget and drive us to bankruptcy, and really, today is the first time in about two years that I have given in to this craving and then only because I happened to be in a store with a BULK BIN OF DROPPIES, which I truly feel should be against the law... And really, I don't HAVE to have it. I can quit any time... its not like I NEED it...
Bob has gone to bed, I wonder whether he took the garbage out...