Krisitis. It’s contagious.

27 11 2015

If you don’t already know this mundane fact about me, I work as an MOA (medical office assistant) in a local doctor’s office. I work with a fantastic bunch of peeps, including a nurse Paula, who has quickly become a very sweet and dear friend of mine. She’s lovely, kind, supportive and lots of fun to work with.

The other day, she had a requisition to fax up to the hospital for a patient. As I was busy on the phone, she faxed it and then went to answer the other line when it started ringing.

As I chatted with the patient on the phone, I could hear my fax machine stop ringing and a voice say “Good morning, Kootenay Medical Center. This is Paula. Hello? Hello??” I leaned over and clicked the cancel fax button, as I realized Paula had faxed our office number and then answered her own fax.

I tried my best and failed miserably to not giggle uncontrollably while finishing up my own phone call, when she came back out to my desk, we both looked at each other and collapsed in a fit of guffaws.

After we both caught our breath, I told her she had caught a severe case of Krisitis and as a life-long sufferer, I advised her there was no known cure and she just had to deal with it.

Good times indeed.

 

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Fulfillment in unexpected places.

16 11 2013

I haven’t always been happy and fulfilled in my life. I have admittedly spent a good amount of time being bitter, judgmental, self-pitying and often miserable. I sometimes chose to despise things, to hate people, to expect the worse. But as personal growth happens, fortunately I received the lovely gifts of acceptance and joy, compassion and understanding. It’s been a long and bumpy road my friends, met with angry resistance on my part as I was unwilling to admit that 99.999999% of my shit was me and my own crap being mirrored and manifested upon my life. And believe me I still have epically shitty days where I wallow in self-pity, whining about meaningless crap. I get overly mad at my kids, I find myself yelling at that stupid asshole who doesn’t know how to drive, and don’t even get me started when that goddamn recycling box never ever gets emptied…..

Ultimately we all need some sort of fulfillment in our lives to connect to our worth. I mean, at least I do. I have received that by volunteering in my past, but haven’t done that since my kids left elementary school.

These days I find fulfillment in my job. I can honestly say there hasn’t been a day yet that I have dragged my feet to work. I really love what I do for work.

I’m a simple MOA (medical office assistant)… and my job entails multi-tasking on epic levels some days. The clinic I work in is family practice as well as a pain and addictions clinic.

This is what I love:

I love helping patients make sure they see their doctor.

I love facilitating care between other doctors.

I love that (most of) the patients love me. (Oh, there are some patients who probably don’t like me at all… go ahead and ask how many fucks I give… go ahead… Answer: ZERO. Because you know what? Some people are jerks.)

I love my co-worker and the doctors I have been privileged to get to know.

I love protecting my docs and making their day as easy as it can be. Yup… they’re MY docs… and I protect them every way I can.

I love that I have had my eyes opened to addiction and the real, loving and kind people who struggle with it every day.

I love the fact that I use my “Mom Voice” at work with authority if crap is about to hit that fan.

I love the fun we can have in our office. Oh, the stories I could tell!! 🙂

I love that I can be a patient’s advocate.

I love mostly that sometimes there are heart-wrenching moments of when a sweet patient gets a horrendous diagnosis and we are the ones she comes to for support. These are the days where I wish I wore water-proof mascara. And these are the days that weigh heavily on me when I come home, my heart aching and my silence respectful. I cannot ever, nor would I ever dream to share what these people go through, but the stories I hear, witness and see are each so deeply meaningful and rich and full and tragic and rife with truth, my mind whirls sometimes. I love that I take their pain home and can reflect on life and I love that it gives me clarity.

I love that I care, so very much.