Tomorrow begins a new chapter in my life.
I'll be working a twelve hour shift at one of the hospitals in town. I'll be working three of those every week. The first eighty hours will be for free; the mandatory clinical preceptorship portion of the review course. But I'll be working on the same floor where I'll be after the eighty hours are up.
I'm comfortable with my skill level. (I passed my RN boards in 1983, so I've got some experience.) If anything, my age has improved my judgement, if not my memory! I'm concerned about my feet. My knees. But the whippets have kept me in pretty darn good shape. We walk from 2.5 to 7 miles a day.
We did. Until tomorrow.
And that's my fear. I've been surrounded by a happy pack of whippets 24/7 for the last seven years. And since 1993, I've had a dog next to me while I worked. At our old office (Bill is an MD) the whippets came, too. They decorated our front office. Patients would check out and ask, "How many dogs are in there?" There were beds under the desks, next to the chart racks.
They would stay up front, unless a patient needed a therapy dog. Then Giacomino would come back and work his magic. Sam I Am wasn't born yet.
But starting tomorrow, I go off to work alone. Isn't it ridiculous? I'm fifty-frigging-five years old.
And I have separation anxiety.
Hug your hounds!
*** Bill is home all day for the dogs; they are in good, loving, whippet-spoiling hands***