One month (and change).

30+ nights ago, I was sleeping in a blue, well-worn Mountain Hardwear sleeping bag on the floor of a bare bedroom, listening to the wind howl through a crack in the window caulking and the distant crackle of fireworks bringing in the new year.

Now, I still sleep on the floor, but a large air mattress, layers of blankets, and some sheets of green styrofoam separate me from the floor.

The styrofoam warrants its own tangential spot in this post.
It's seafoam green, with the Lowe's hardware store logo emblazoned across it in royal blue just under 2.5 times (I'm assuming "we's" has something to do with the store, and not a grammatical oversight). I knew I wanted something to lift my mattress off the cold wood floor, so that heat transfer by convection wouldn't continue to rob my minimal body heat to disperse it to the inanimate wooden flooring panels. I knew styrofoam would probably work. But I knew that I don't know a lot of things when it comes to Lowe's/we's, so I inquired of some employees whether my plan was sound. 

Enter Bob the Builder.

Bob is a very enthusiastic, newly hired employee of Lowe's. He is eager to serve and assist. He is also very eager to encourage you and congratulate you on moving to his town and start a job within the healthcare profession. But for all of Bob's enthusiasm, he is most eager to share his health story. Bob the Builder picked dandelion greens from his backyard and drank them in smoothies for weeks. And while Jessica the physical therapist finds this engaging, she doesn't find it 45-minutes entertaining when she has not yet supped and the last sustenance she has partaken is more than six hours prior. And thus, Jessica the physical therapist has a sheet of seafoam styrofoam that is likely the most time-intensive sheet o' foam eastern Wisconsin has e'er known.

Ahem...
Now, I still sleep on the floor, but on a better insulated and much warmer air mattress.


My apartment is still a work-in-progress. I had angelic visitors a couple weekends ago who helped me break through the fog of who-knows-what-I-want into a vague idea of how to make a house a home, but time is the issue. Recovering chairs, hanging pictures, sewing seat covers, painting tables... I thought I would become bored with all my free evening time, but thus far, my evenings have been spent cramming, quickly leafing through all the information I've ever received regarding a specific diagnosis that I'm scheduled to see tomorrow, trying to ensure I can play the part well enough to convince myself I have an inkling of what I'm doing. After a month, I can say I'm a much better actor, though I'm still waiting for someone to come tap me on the shoulder and expose me as the know-none-at-all I often feel that I am.

I survived my 30-day review with my work supervisors, discussing what's going well, what's going poorly, and what's just going. My streak of honesty overrode my better judgment to play the professional and to keep acting like all was fine, allowing my feelings of inadequacy and insecurity to gush forward in a jumbled flotsam of disjointed words that conveyed far less meaning than the expression accompanying them. My embarrassed flush and heat-stricken face in the chill of that back room was met by smiles accentuated by eye crinkles and understanding nods. "I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing for at least the first year I was practicing!" said Supervisor P. My attempt at a polite chuckle escaped as a relieved giggle.

I'm acting, but it's ok.

I don't know all the answers, but I know some.

I'm seeing patients, and by the grace of God, I'm seeing some of them get better.

Hallelujah.