This was originally written in the summer of 2014, not long after returning to a job I had had previously.
It is 9 p.m. on a Tuesday evening. My feet ache from being in high-heels all day. My back hurts, reminding me that I am not completely healed from the February 2014 back injury that I sustained at work. Tomorrow is a bit of a homecoming. I’ve been here before. I fell right into the preparation routine, after being out of it for more than two years. I spent time after hours copying the PowerPoint handouts that we will need tomorrow, copying the other handouts that go along with the presentation that I will give, putting the props on the table just like I did more than two years ago when I worked for this Company. Tomorrow will be the first time in over two years since I last taught this class, and tonight’s prep work felt so natural that I kept asking myself it had truly been two years since I was here.
Earlier in the day, when I introduced myself to my students who came to learn how our Company does business, I told them that I had been a licensed Respiratory Therapist for 16 years. I did not know I was old enough to be or have done ANYTHING for that long. In some ways I still feel like I am in my early 20s (except for the lingering effects of the back injury). I stood there in my high heels, asking myself incredulously, “Has it really been that long?” And the answer is yes. It has been a kaleidoscopic journey, one that, for some reason, I feel compelled to share.
I rarely discuss my work with anyone, because when people ask about my occupation, I receive looks of confusion or I am assumed to be a Physical Therapist or a nurse. I am neither. I am a credentialed Respiratory Therapist, currently licensed in three states. Here is how my journey began.
An Unlikely Occupation
It must have been sometime in early 1996, the year I graduated high school. I attended a small boarding academy in central Ohio, and I suspect my guidance counselor was concerned about my future. I was an average student, but I was too distracted by boyfriends and didn’t think much about the future. My guidance counselor talked to me one day about my plans after high school. Most of the kids in my class had already mapped out their college or university plans. I don’t remember doing much college planning with my parents.
This may explain why my guidance counselor had this little talk with me – perhaps she feared that I would fall through the cracks and never get anywhere. She told me about a college in southwest Ohio, with programs in Nursing, Radiology Technology and Respiratory Therapy. “You have asthma,” she reasoned with me. “You could relate really well with the patients. It’s a two-year degree so you can start working fairly quickly.” Those weren’t her exact words, but I remembered almost mindlessly agreeing, “Okay, that sounds good.” That summer after graduation, I prepared myself for a new life as a college student, not sure at all what to expect. I remember being worried, because I had always seen myself as an artistic person and as I looked at the requirements for the Respiratory program, with its science and biology prerequisites, I began to think maybe this was not a good idea after all. Later that summer, I discovered that my best friend from high school was also going to this college, also in the Respiratory Therapy program. Somehow that put me at ease; she was much more outgoing than I, and her presence would help me make friends easier. My unlikely journey to college began that August in 1996.