I didn't know it was supposed to snow. Then I got an alert on my phone warning me that I'd wake up to 1-3 inches. Panicked. Wrote my grocery list. Mutating from juvenile to old. I’ve become the very thing I used to laugh at, I thought as I grabbed the shopping cart sprayed with sanitizer. It was Thursday. The day after the most recent job interview and the day before the decision date. Doing my best to stay fresh. I had nothing to do except wait and get food.
The interview was on St. Patrick's Day. Over prepared and anxious. Professional and festive in a green and blue striped tie that showed my green but was not over-the-top for the morning Zoom with the 2 association directors. I was outfitted with personal stories and professional qualifications. Nervous about the noise. The apartment downstairs was being renovated all week. Muffled voices, music, hammering and drilling. I looked out the window and saw a worker entering with a hair dryer, like it was a secret weapon.
My hair looked perfect for the first question on the day that I used to drink Shamrock Shakes: "sell me on yourself, why are you right for this job?" He continued with a few more of the old fashioned standards that I hadn't heard for a while but still knew all the words:
How would your co-workers describe you?
How do plan your work day?
And the obligatory encore: What questions do you have for me?
I showed my full range as I embellished and improvised my way through the performance, I thought. This was another sales job. Strategically, more in line with the old days of the door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman they told me. Like the hairdryer I saw enter the doorway, this is technology I know and understand. Volume I can control. Results I can see. An obvious search engine. These are my analytics.
Like March Madness, we go 10 minutes into overtime. I know they have an 11:00am appointment as they offered me a choice of either hour. Perhaps a positive sign, I think. But, I also know what its like to be staring at the waiting end of this. We switch tempos and it comes an end. They tell me they’re making a decision quickly and I will hear from them in two days, Friday. St. Joseph’s Day.
Closed my laptop to avoid the strange vacuum of the post zoom face freeze-frame.
I had an hour and a half until the nurse from anesthesiology was to call and prep me for my glaucoma surgery coming up the following Wednesday, if I pass my drive-thru Covid test on Monday. Eating my turkey sandwich when the phone rings.
The standard greeting “is now still a good time?” every phone call seems to start this way.
“Yes”, I say through my sandwich into my phone.
We cover the usual.
Name, date of birth, where I live
Previous surgeries - this is glaucoma #3
Medications & allergies
Nothing to eat or drink after midnight on Tuesday
She continues to read my chart. "It says here you average 4 drinks a week?"
"Probably up that to 8" I advise. Its been a full year.
She laughs and agrees. I assure her I have a ride home. For some reason this is the most important part of the surgery. Maybe because it’s the technology we all understand. Cutting into my eyeball to create a drain to assure the fluid flows properly is not as clear as a car waiting in the parking garage. Glaucoma causes blindness but, you don't notice it while its happening. The fluid clogs and the pressure increases however, It’s quiet and sneaky. Like a thief. The opposite of the workers in the kitchen downstairs.
“Will I be knocked out?”, I ask. I knew the answer but it was comforting when she confirmed that I’ll be more sedated than conscious.
Good luck next week she says before ending the call, I make the bad joke about going to drink my 8 drinks and hang up. I’ve become the very thing I used to laugh at.
Walked to CVS. Got eyedrops. Artificial tears. I see fine. My eye doesn’t hurt. But its itchy.
Like a hairdryer got to it.
Walked home. Had a beer, it was still St. Patrick's Day. Wrote my post job interview thank you notes. Poured over every word as if they were going to be shared and published.
Braced for the wait.
When Thursday's threat of Friday's snow arrived, I jumped like a jerk. Broke my sunrise schedule and spent the mid-morning doing the groceries. Uneventful and forgettable and also relieved.
Friday, St. Joseph’s Day. I got up to a bright sun and no snow. The weather alert only wanted to be helpful but it was more of reminder that no one knows what is going on out there. It was a slow morning until CVS texted. More eye drops were ready. I wasn’t expecting the post-surgery anti-inflammatory drops but, I should have been. It’s the one with the pink cap. In style every surgery.
“This is a very expensive co-pay” the pharmacist warned after she dug the envelope containing eye drops out of the metal bins overflowing with medicine. Her eyes perked “but the good news is you’re closer to meeting your deductible!”. I applauded her professional enthusiasm, paid and went home to focus on my email inbox.
I had been praying for a success story bookended by the Saints but, Patrick and Joseph must be saving their power for another occasion. There it was surrounded by spam and junk, bold in my unread inbox. It was waiting for me. Subject: Thank you. Greeting: Dr. Mr Power:
It was unnecessary to read the rest of the formally fashioned and complimentary email informing me that “after a meticulous evaluation, another individual was selected”.
This is technology I understand.
And, like glaucoma it was originally diagnosed as juvenile but, now it’s just getting old.
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