I got a cheque in the mail yesterday for some consulting I'd done with some lovely people at the UBC Faculty of Medicine. I was in the early stages of what promised to be some significant work, when the call came about my failing kidneys and I had to reluctantly call them and tell them I'd have to stop as I was going into hospital and I frankly didn't know what might happen next. I don't know why looking at this cheque makes me so sad - maybe because there is a part of me that wonders whether the formal part of my working life is over or whether I'll have the strength to go back to what I love. It also made me think about how oblivious I'd been to any warning signs that my health was in serious jeopardy and how all it took was a single phone call from my doctor and nothing would ever be the same. Dial back to early March and I was:
- pouring my heart into my contract with UBC's Faculty of Medicine and contemplating taking on more work with them
- debating when or if I should return to a "real job"...and if so, where?
- realizing that from the frequent advice I was asked to give I'd learned more at the Ministry of Health than I gave myself credit for
- thinking that consulting and the interminable paperwork that comes with owning your own wee business was not my passion. Loved the work, hated what went with it
- still processing why I'd left my job and absorbing the lessons I'd learned through all of the difficult times; how would I do things differently in my next venture?
- missing my work colleagues more than I thought possible
- wondering what the upcoming provincial election might mean and what changes might happen in my profession
- thinking I should really go and reconnect with my doctor, after all, it had been six years
Of course, acting on that last point led me to where I am now - no longer blissfully ignorant about what my internal organs are up to - and thinking about the future with endless question marks.