Читать книгу No Magic Helicopter - Carol PhD Masheter - Страница 9

My only close living relative, my younger sister, Linda, seemed to hate my climbing. Perhaps she found me embarrassingly unconventional. As a shy nerdy teen, I did not wear makeup, obsess about clothes, or date boys. As a young adult I became a scientist instead of getting married and working at a more lady-like occupation. Now I climbed big mountains. Perhaps she became upset, because she worried about me and blamed me for making her worry. These were my best guesses, as we did not talk about it. I did not like upsetting my sister, but I wanted to be all I could be.

I did not look forward to telling Linda about Everest. It would be easier to not tell her or to email or write her a letter, but that seemed cowardly. I phoned her in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she lives. When she picked up the phone, I babbled inanely about how happy I was to be accepted as a member of the Adventure Consultants Everest 2008 Expedition. I added that if I died during the climb, she would be set for life with what she would inherit from me, and if I did not die, then there would be nothing to worry about. Stupid things to say, I scolded myself, as I ran out of words. At first, Linda did not say anything. Then she replied stiffly, “You’re a grown woman, it’s up to you.” Her response was chilly, but at least it was not explosive anger or a guilt trip. I was relieved and grateful.

Two months before I was to leave for the Everest climb, two colleagues requested a meeting with our boss and me. I expected a planning meeting for my ten-week absence. Instead it turned into a grievance session about my work. They claimed I was writing “unauthorized reports,” doing other people’s work, and had missed a deadline six months ago. At first, I was confused. I understood developing new reports to be part of my job. I apologized for inconvenience due to the missed deadline. My apology was bluntly rejected. Our boss seemed to be as stunned as I was. She did not side with my complaining colleagues, but she did not defend me.

I felt betrayed then angry. After the meeting, I could not stay in the building, or I would explode. I took a long walk along the nearby Jordan River. I did not want to go back to work. I did not want to have to see those people again ever. I imagined magically fast forwarding my life to being in Nepal and starting my Everest climb.

In the past, I had stayed too long in bad situations, both professional and personal. When I was denied tenure, I chose to work for the university another year, while they searched for my replacement. At the time that seemed to be my best option, a year to figure out my next career. However, it was hell working with people who had “voted me off the island.” I had also stayed too long in personal relationships, hoping the guy would eventually love me as much as I loved him. I never wanted to do that again to myself. Now, when I leave a relationship, whether it is personal or professional, it is for good.

As I walked, I struggled with my roiling emotions and tried to think clearly. Have I really been “voted off the island” this time, or was this something we could fix? I knew walking away from my current job would be unprofessional and could haunt the rest of my employed life. Even if I resigned today, I would need to work through my two-week notice and see those people every day. If I had to do that anyway, perhaps I should take a few more days to think this through. As furious as I was, I might feel differently in a few days.

I gritted my teeth and went back to work that day. My boss, Keely Cofrin Allen, very generously allowed me to take my time, even until after the Everest climb, to decide whether to leave or stay. I thanked her for her generosity and acknowledged that preparing for the Everest climb had probably been more stressful to me, as well as my colleagues, than I had realized. I had not always been at my best at work. I had been impatient and irritable, especially during long meetings, when I had so much work to do before I left for Everest. My colleagues’ complaints had stirred up some of my old demons about being denied tenure, and I had over-reacted. All in all, I would rather work with people who fight over who gets to do the work than with less dedicated colleagues. One of life’s tough lessons is learning when to stick with something through a difficult spell and when to walk away, whether it is a job, a relationship, or a big mountain.

The drama was not over. I was in the midst of my last and most difficult weeks of fitness training. One stormy morning on the way to work, I experienced considerable chest pain, which radiated into my jaws and down my left arm. My breath came in sharp little gasps. It’s probably nothing, I tried to reassure myself. However, these were classic symptoms of a heart attack. My father had died of his second heart attack at age 60, younger than I was. As a public health professional, I knew what I should do. I would feel like a fool if my symptoms were not serious, but I would be a bigger fool, if they really indicated a heart attack. I could see the headlines, “Utah Department of Health epidemiologist ignores heart attack symptoms and dies.”

I went to a nearby hospital and was admitted to the Emergency Department. Nurses started an IV and a nasal cannula for oxygen. I need to practice using supplemental oxygen anyway for the upper part of the Everest climb, but this drill is unexpected, I tried to humor myself.

Technicians took a blood sample to look for heart attack enzymes and performed an EKG. Then they left. I was instructed to wait in bed for the results. My low resting heart rate kept setting off an alarm. The first couple of times the technicians responded in emergency mode. Then they ignored the alarm. I fussed and fidgeted. I should be at work. I should be training. I should be doing one of the many tasks I need to do before leaving the country for ten weeks.

Time crawled by. I was bored. At least I could read the work-related materials in my book bag. I tried to reach my bag, which was on the floor, without getting out of the hospital bed or tangling my oxygen and IV lines. It was more challenging than I expected. One of the technicians found me twisted like a pretzel, snarled in my lines, trying to keep my bare behind covered with the inadequate hospital gown, feeling ridiculous. The technician and I chuckled, as he untangled me and got my book bag for me.

Several hours later, a doctor told me my tests showed no signs of a heart attack. I was relieved yet annoyed. Such a waste of time and money! Now I would receive a whopping big bill for tests that said I was fine. Trying to soothe my crankiness on my way to work, I told myself I did the right thing.