Work has been a little heavy on me this week. I survived that darn deposition on Wednesday morning. My heart was hammering away when I got there and when I got in my office. It didn’t help that when I had just walked in, through the break room, Tish was there, in her charming-but-slightly-overly-perky, fast, and loud voice: “What are you doing here on your day off?” She paused to hear my response. I just wanted a second alone. No, I wasn’t running late or frazzled because I’d been fasting or stuck in traffic. I’d allotted plenty of time. I had fully prepared for this. I just didn’t want small talk. And don’t get me wrong, Tish is a wonderful person – very kind, and a good worker. But it’s just too much sometimes. I told her in my unapologetically somber voice, without making eye contact, “I have a meeting.”

And I can’t remember if it was before Tish or after, but I hadn’t even been in the building 60 seconds when Mindy said, “Lisa’s in your office waiting for you.” Uhhh, the dread. The regional manager, who was filling in for the office manager. Supposed to be on my side. But she never called me back yesterday when I had reached out to try to get some information and advice on how to proceed for this important legal meeting in which I was a novice. The whole ordeal just reinforced that feeling of being alone in the ocean and my life raft is falling apart and I’m surrounded by sharks. Young and defenseless, starting to drown. My body’s heavy and I don’t know how much longer I can stay afloat. If you want to call it that. It feels like I’ve been drowning for years. Or racing (as opposed to just running) a half marathon where there’s no finish line. There is no respite.

I walk into the hallway and despite being still mid-way down the long stretch, Remi called to me from the lab desk: “Hey, I have a question.” Her partner Amir was eyeing me with those big Egyptian eyes. Again, they’re both lovely people. I’m just not here for this. “What’s up?”, I conjure up the strength to mutter, acting like the cordial co-worker I want to be. “You forgot to put the lab order in for a patient who was here yesterday.” Amir told me her last name. Oh yeah, I remembered. I’d been so busy. There was a lab order in previously and the patient had never come back for the labs. Uhhhh. Another one who doesn’t listen and doesn’t care. The 50-something-year-old lady on Adderall because she “can’t focus.” But she doesn’t work, so what is she focusing on? “I’ll take care of it,” I tell them. So I went into my office. Thankfully Lisa wasn’t there yet and I didn’t have to talk to anyone else in the short walk from the lab to my office. At least sunlight streamed in from the big windows. How I wished I were on the other side. I did see Lisa’s bag sitting in the spare chair and her cell phone on the table. She’ll be back any second. I signed in to the computer. I pulled up that patient’s chart from yesterday, the one whose lab order I forgot to print. No wonder I forgot to print it – my note indicated I was all over the place, trying to reign in six chronic medical conditions (attention deficit disorder, bipolar depression, osteoporosis, hypertension, hyperlipidemia, irritable bowel syndrome) and the more acute but ongoing unexplained weight loss. Oh yeah, and her hypokalemia (low blood potassium level), which reminded me that she was taking double the dose of the blood pressure medication she was supposed to be taking. The mayhem. Reminded me of the adage I once read in Reader’s Digest, one of the greatest tidbits of wisdom I’ve ever come across: “If you chase two rabbits, you’ll lose them both.” I’m constantly chasing 12 rabbits. I printed the lab order for my colleagues.

 Lisa came in. We exchanged some brief greetings, like two awkward strangers alone together in a long elevator ride. “He’s here,” she told me. “It’s just one of them.” I feel a little reassured by that. “If you’re ready, I’ll bring him in.” “Yeah, I’m just finishing a note from yesterday.” I finished the present task. A minute later a guy in a suit and a tie, probably early 50s, with strawberry blond hair, came in. He extended a hand. “I’m Mike Christie.” I shook his hand and told him my name. He said, “There’s two more coming.” My heart quickened. Lisa grabbed extra chairs. The sharks gathered round. I nestled close to my desk as the others funneled in to the small square office. A few hands were shaken. Introductions were terse. I was surrounded by two other women and one man. My escape was blocked. Everyone in professional attire. I was glad I took the time to look presentable myself – black blazer, navy slacks, a pink blouse, black loafers. I had blow dried my hair and worn it down. Mr. Christie, the defendant’s attorney, and main man in the group, asked if I was given the persons’ name that the case was regarding. That struck me as odd. That would seem like a huge inconsideration – to not provide the interrogated with the case file. How would the person have prepared? I answered in the affirmative. As we got started, the stenographer asked briefly for me to raise my right hand and asked if I’d tell the truth. “Yes,” I replied.

Mr. Christie went to town. His almond-colored eyes looked at mine and he began the interrogation: “State your name and your title. Tell us about your educational background. What do you do on a daily basis for your job? Can you explain what a history is in the context of patient care? What type of pain medication is the one documented in your note from February 2017? Look at this document – is this part of the medical record? … Moving on to your note from September 2018…. Please read the text in this note.” He held a stack of medical records. My heart relaxed a little as we settled in. I can read things, I thought. I had him clarify a few questions, as I’d read that that’s important.

When he was finished, the plaintiff’s attorney followed up with some questions. She seemed to take longer in organizing herself. Maybe she didn’t want to be there. I did appreciate that Mr. Christie was to the point. He, or maybe it was the experience itself, in a surreptitious way, made me question my own competence. My gremlins started sneering as well. I tried to suppress them. There was a long pause in the whole ordeal when Mrs. Lowe, the plaintiff’s counsel, was questioning me. I wonder what everyone in the group was thinking as we all sat in silence and waited. The stenographer’s little audio device sat near me. Could it hear me breathing? I avoided eye contact with anyone and gave up looking in the direction of Mrs. Lowe. I took a moment to look out the long glass window. How pretty it was outside. Mrs. Lowe asked a few questions. She wasn’t as intimidating as Mr. Christie.

Finally, the thing wrapped up. “This will be submitted into evidence,” said Mr. Christie, as he handed the stenographer a paper. He asked me at the end, in some convoluted legal language, if I wanted a copy of the stenographer’s report. “I’m sorry, can you explain that a little further please,” I asked. He did. I told him I’d wave the right to review the report. Finally, the whole thing was over. Mr. Christie matter-of-factly thanked me for my time. He seemed to get a lot more out of the experience than the plaintiff’s counsel. Lisa said, “Well, that was painless.” Maybe for you, you didn’t have to answer any questions. “Yeah, I don’t know why they couldn’t just read my notes,” I told her. “Yeah,” she said. I thanked Lisa for being there. “I have your check,” she said. “I’ll give it to corporate and it’ll be in your next paycheck.” “Thanks,” I told her. I would have paid $500 not to be here.

I made it out to my vehicle and took off the loafers in exchange for my post-run Oofos flip flops. Instant relief. Remi followed out the back door. “I hope you got some good things established today,” she told me. “What?” I asked. She walked my way. “You know, you were talking about how you need a nurse and everything.” “Oh no, I said,” I just got done with that darn deposition.” “I don’t know even know what that means.” Remi, just a few years my junior. A phlebotomist. One of the nicest people I’ve worked with. There’s an innocence and a curiosity in her. She easily takes interest in others, like a Golden retriever. I secretly wish I could be more like her. “One of my patients on Ambien got into a car accident and I had to talk to the lawyers.” “Oh, sh*t,” she said. “Well, you didn’t wear those, I hope,” she said, pointing to my flip flops. I smiled. “No. See you tomorrow.” “I hopped into my car and backed out slowly. From the rearview mirror, a woman in a white coat came out the back door, in a slow jog. Dr. Johnson. “How’d it go?” she asked me. “I survived.” “Well good, make sure you get your money.” “Thanks.” I drove home, changed clothes, gave my dog a hug. We went to the beach.

The deposition replayed in my head while I was supposed to be dreaming. “Read your note,” Mr. Christie’s voice echoed in my head. What if somehow this came back to bite me? Sure, I’d told the truth. But what if I had missed something? What if I’d said something incorrect or inadvertently omitted pertinent information? What if I really was found to be an incompetent provider?

Prior to the deposition though, I remembered something important. Jesus faced the sharks – in the form of Pharisees and Sadducees and Pontius Pilate. His “regional manager” of sorts let him down – Peter denied having been affiliated with him. He felt like he was in an ocean of sorts but his ocean was more of a garden – the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus’ heart hammered, I’m sure. The man was so nervous He sweated blood. I had prayed for the Lord to be with me during the deposition and He was. I came out the other side. He’s never left me. I’m grateful.

Despite the Lord’s presence, in the early wake of the deposition, I’m thinking about another job. One where this doesn’t come up. One where not everything is a moral dilemma. One where I don’t have to make weighty decisions in a 15-minute talk with another human. Had I been around in ancient times, I would have undoubtedly identified with the Essenes. Maybe if I just run away and live in a cave somewhere all the problems will go away. Maybe the gremlins won’t find me. For now, I stay at my current job, where the sharks are plentiful and the gremlins live on my shoulders. Where I tread water. Where I endure. Cynicism lurks. My in-box fills. Rabbits multiply. My heart races and shoulders climb to my ears. The clouds pass. Sometimes I feel powerless. But I want to see things ordered and well. I cling to Jesus, my life raft.  ~