Hello again. I'm back. I'm back from the sludge. Picture me emerging from a pit of tar, a pool of hot lava, a lake of black seaweed and dead anemones. Because that's where I've been for the past almost-week.
I've been, if you will, drowning in a sea of panic and stress-induced pimples. It's a stinky sea--smells like pickle juice and ointment. On Friday, I had my first ambulance ride-along, which as you can imagine made me a walking, breathing, poo-ing, bundle of nerves on Thursday night. I cried about my nervousness to my Dad while sitting in Dagwood's (the deli my family owns) after closing. There's a table that he always sits at, a little two-seater just inside the back door, across from the deli case (the hulking, gorgeous refrigerator that houses the meats and cheeses), next to some shelves where the phone and my Dad's extra packs of cigarettes sit.
He tapped his stubby fingers on the worn plastic plaid tablecloth and said: "You're making yourself cry right now aren't you? You're just working yourself up! You're having a fit!"
I gave him a mean look, then got up and gathered my things. I headed toward the door. I didn't need this right now. I just wanted to weep.
He said: "You're just afraid you're not going to fit in, that you're going to embarrass yourself? Think of it this way: it's 12 hours out of your life! That's nothing in the grand scheme of things!"
Glumly, I said: "Yeah Dad...yeah..." And I pushed the door open, stepping into the cold, wet evening...and I wept.
I'm sure you're wondering how the ride-along went, aren't you? You're dying to know, aren't you?
Well...you're just going to have to wait because finals are coming and I don't have time to do the story justice. But it will come, oh yes. It will. Til then I suggest curling into the fetal position and cursing God. That's what I always do when things don't go my way.
That's what I did last Thursday night before my ride along, the soft murmur of "Survivor: Tocantins" buzzing in the background. I clutched my sheets and groaned, anguished, as nightmarish images of me accidentally allowing a gurney (with a patient on it) to roll across the parking lot into oncoming parking-lot traffic raced through my brain.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
To Be Continued
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2 comments:
I empathize Liz; I had nightmares about screwing up the first incest case that I inherited while working in the public defender’s office (I represented the victim child as guardian ad litem). I imagined a generation of flipper kids being produced during my watch because I was going to screw up.
At some point I realized that hundreds, if not thousands, of people had tried to get to where I was now; probably not in the public defender’s office but at least practicing law. Far more people had failed to get to where I was than those that had succeeded. That gave me the confidence boost that I needed to do my job. I learned to use that nervousness as a means of motivation for preparing for the next day. If you begin focusing on how something could go wrong then ask yourself what you will do to fix it.
You don’t give yourself enough credit Liz. You’ve made it this far and you know more about helping a person in need than 99% of the population.
EB, you are the best! Thanks for your words of encouragement:) It really means a lot to me. And, I know you're right. Even though I get nervous (constantly), I still try to push through my fears because I know that situations I've been nervous about in the past have always turned out to be the most interesting and best experiences of my life.
You are already an amazing lawyer. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their corner--as their legal consult or as their friend. Maybe both? I will probably commit a crime someday. And you can be my lawyer! AND my friend. What? That's happening.
But seriously, thanks:) You are the greatest.
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