This evening I'm standing on the helipad of the new hospital with others from work. It's the perfect temperature, a slight coolness in the air and a refreshing breeze. The city of Gainesville is all around me -- the stadium lit up like Christmas day, towers of two dorm buildings looming close by. We watch a helicopter land on the helipad atop the north tower, the deafening roar momentarily breaking the calm silence. Cars fly by silently below me. The sky looks huge from the 11th story. I look around at the proud, happy faces around me. We're proud of what we accomplished as a team, proud of what this building means. Proud to say we're part of it.
And personally, I'm in awe. I will never, ever forget this experience. I've given tours of the building for several events this week, and each time I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that a week from Sunday, opening day, the quiet halls will be filled with the hustle and bustle of hospital life, doctors and nurses going about the day-to-day of saving some lives. You know, the usual.
I think of all the times I have and will point out the ED rooms 18 inches larger than code (large enough for two beds if needed), or the 4 trauma rooms conveniently located next to radiology, or the windows, GOOD GOD THE WINDOWS, providing lots of natural light, bringing the inside out. One hundred ninety rooms, 500,000 square feet. Twelve ORs, each 650 sq feet. Look how nicely decorated the rooms are! Spacious! Convenient! Lovely!
It's a lot of marketing terms, buzzwords, lingo, but this is what I'm familiar with. I don't do clinical. I'm a words person, but I'm so proud to show this building off because it's not just all these great features I can talk about -- it's the men and women who work hard to save lives IN the building.
In one week, a helicopter will land on that helipad with a critically injured patient that will live to see another day because of the trauma rooms. A grandfather will have surgery for prostate cancer in that OR that will allow him to see his next grandchild born. A mother will recover from breast cancer treatment in that very nicely decorated room and it may give her the hope she needs to fight on.
After months of seemingly endless edits and meetings and days where me and the whole department were so busy we didn't have time to think, the brunt of it is over. We have lived through to see another day, but when our job ends, the real miracles begin.
My first my was at a newspaper selling ads to people who didn't need them.
My second job was selling websites to companies who didn't need them.
Third time is a charm, you guys, because this time I'm selling hope, and can't we all use some of that?
2 comments:
That's great that you love your job.
Amazing to find that satisfaction in your j.o.b.
I'll get there some day!
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