Before getting into the next chapter, here is a minor job update and some tips for those #opentowork.
First, no, I don't have a job - still. It's been 7 1/2 months, and it's hard not to lose hope, but I'm trying. At this point, I have decided to hire a career coach. Maybe they can help me figure out why no offers have been coming. It's not like I don't have the skills & experience, and qualifications for the roles I apply for, but it's more than that. There are fake jobs, ones where the company isn't really hiring, keeping up the facade that they are, and ageism is at play.
But, I do have to say that using ChaptGPT for my cover letters has been amazing; that's tip #1.
Tip #2 is to review the job description and then ensure the job is posted on their website or another credible career platform. Scammers are getting very good at their job.
Tip #3, don't just apply to anything and everything; you waste your time and that of the company. Make sure you have at least 70% of the qualifications.
Tip #4, Don't follow career or job advice on Tik-Tok. There is so much confusion surrounding what to do and not do. Follow these recruiters on LinkedIn; they are very experienced and know what's up:
And again, if you or anyone you know is hiring for a remote content marketing manager with years of experience who can lead a team to be rockstars in their field, please DM me.
Onto the next chapter ...
My sleep is fitful. It doesn’t help that the nurse checks my vitals every few hours. What’s going to happen when I get home? Will my nephew get arrested? And my worst fear – was he trying to kill me? I shiver and pull the covers over my head and try to sleep.
The next morning, I awake to a different nurse gently rousing me. “Hi, I’m Nurse Marigold; yes, my real name,” she says with a little smirk. “I’m here to check your vitals once again, and the doctor wants to talk to you about hyperbaric chamber treatment. These treatments are for people with carbon monoxide poisoning or extreme smoke inhalation. But the doctor wants to do a treatment, considering the smoke grenade was not just a harmless object but designed to cause injury. He will explain more when he comes in soon.”
I know using hyperbaric oxygen treatment is reserved for the worst cases, so I’m a little confused why the doctor wants me to do this, but I don’t say anything.
“Right now, I’m going to get you a hot breakfast. It’s good to eat and be hydrated before you go in. I’m adding some more fluids to your IV, and then I’ll bring in a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and toast,” Nurse Marigold says. I watch her doing her job and notice she walks with a little limp. Her short blonde bob is curled inward under her chin, and she’s wearing bright pink scrubs with green speckles. Her brown eyes are big, and her eyelashes are long and coated with black mascara, with a deep rosy color spread across her lids. A deep pink gloss shines on her lips. She’s pretty tall, and I now notice her small pregnancy bump, about five months, I surmise.
“Congratulations on the little one,” I turn my gaze to her belly.
“Oh, thank you,” she says tenderly, rubbing her stomach. “Due on November 18th and is already giving me fits with how much she moves.” I mentally calculate she’s six months pregnant, but she looks so tiny. I looked like a whale when I was that far along. But of course, I don’t say anything.
“Oh, a little girl. I’ve always wanted one but got two sons instead. I do have three granddaughters and one great-granddaughter, so I’m happy,” I say, and then let out a little gasp, thinking of my family and the warning from my nephew. Nurse Marigold stops what she’s doing.
“Are you OK?” She touches my leg.
“Sorry, yes. I was just thinking that my sons don’t know I’m here and that I should probably tell them.”
“Of course, but let’s wait until we get you out of the hyperbaric chamber. And, without further ado, I’m going to go grab your breakfast so we can get this show on the road.” Nurse Marigold pulls the wide door open and then shuts it behind her. I’m alone now. I look around the room and see heavy dark blue curtains pushed aside from a large window; when I peer out, I see that I’m up at least three stories, maybe more. I can see a bunch of buildings that make up Salt Lake City, but the one that really stands out is the Capitol building that sits on the hill, looking over the valley.
I’ve only been to this hospital three times many years ago, twice when my boys were born and then when my son, Jared, got run over on his bike. He was 11 and was turning onto our street when a teenager came flying out of nowhere and hit him. Thankfully, he only broke his leg and had some scratches and bruises on his elbow. He wore a helmet, so no concussion. Back then, LDS Hospital was the closest. It’s changed so much now, expanding its wings quite a bit from 45 years ago.
I notice raindrops pelting the window as the American flag beside the American Express building blows in the wind. It’s raining, and I’m sitting in a hospital bed, so I can’t enjoy it.
Below the window is a small maroon sofa, and I wonder if it folds out into a bed for loved ones. It would barely miss my bed and be quite tight. Across from me, I see a whiteboard with the nurse’s name and instructions written in black, and to the side, a portrait of a calm blue ocean and the sun just going over the horizon. The sky is dotted with clouds. It’s peaceful scenery, and I feel my eyelids getting heavy, but then spring back open when Nurse Marigold opens the heavy steel door and brings with her a white tray. She sits it on my sliding table, then moves it over my bed so I can get to it.
“This looks delicious,” I say, eating the eggs first.
“Some hospital food is actually palatable,” she winks at me. Just then, Doctor Wagstaff comes in, looking fresh and like he’s had 12 hours of sleep, even though I know he hasn’t. He probably didn’t get home until late last night and has had to do rounds this morning. I only know this because my son is a doctor at St. Marks in the city, and when my grandkids were younger, my daughter-in-law stayed home and worked as a freelance graphic designer. Now their two children are grown and gone; the oldest has two kids. What are the lyrics in the song Cats in the Cradle about the son wanting time with his father, but he never has the time, and then when the son grows up with kids of his own, the father wants time, and then the son doesn’t have the time for him? Yeah, kind of like that.
And the cycle goes around.
“So, the last blood test we did last night showed you have cyanide, which means the smoke grenade was made of some nasty stuff. Not sure how they were able to make it, but cyanide is a harmful gas, as I’m sure you know, and can cause major health issues if inhaled, so I have set up oxygen therapy for you in our hyperbaric chamber. Do you know what that is?”
“Kind of,” I say, cocking my head to the side.
“A hyperbaric chamber is used for people with carbon monoxide or cyanide poisoning, among other illnesses. You are put into a sealed but clear chamber, and an increase of pure oxygen is released. You will be wearing a mask to help deliver it to your lungs, which will help to dispel the harmful gases. You will feel some pressure in your ears as if you are in a plane ascending or at high elevations. Swallow or yawn to help clear it, and it will only be temporary, so no need to worry. And there will be a team monitoring you. I will come back and check on you after you’re done, but someone will be there the whole time. Afterward, they will check your blood pressure, pulse, and ears. That’s it.” I’m trying to take in all the information, but I give him a tired smile.
“We need to prep you, and there are strict rules we need to follow. First, you will need to take a shower. We need you squeaky clean, meaning no lotions, deodorant, perfume … “ he stops, then takes one of my hands and looks at my nails. “Good, you have no new nail polish 'cause we can’t have that either. “So, you wash your body and hair. Once you’re done, you will be given a 100% cotton gown or scrubs – your choice – to put on, and you will wear a special bracelet that discharges any static buildup.
"We will supply you with a blanket and pillow to keep you comfortable, and you can have a water bottle, as we want to keep you hydrated. But, no phone and reading materials or glasses, watches, or jewelry are allowed. We will provide a large TV, so you can watch a movie or show.” Oh great, I won’t be able to see or hear.
“The treatment takes about two hours, and you can nap if you would like. You’re not claustrophobic, right?”
“No, I’ve been in MRI machines before.”
“Good. Okay, as soon as you finish your breakfast, Nurse Fitzgerald will get your gown and bracelet, and you can get your shower. Both shampoo and conditioner are available. Wash thoroughly, please.” Doctor Wagstaff jots down notes on my chart. “I will be back in about 30 minutes, and we will get started. Sound good?” I nod. I haven’t even thought about Chief Errington and Officer Lopez, and hope they’re doing ok.
I ask him about them. “They’re doing fine,” Doctor Wagstaff smiles. “We gave them some oxygen and checked them out. They called to inquire how you were doing early this morning. They seemed quite concerned about you.” At least someone cares. My own nephew has been trying to kill me, possibly. And I conclude that after my treatment, I will call my kids. They need to know what’s happening before they hear it on the news.
_____________________________________________________________
Before I know it, I am in light blue scrubs with the bracelet on my right wrist and being slid into the oxygen chamber. It feels a little weird, but at least I can see everything outside of it. The chamber is white and cylindrical. There is another empty one next to mine, so I can get a mirror image of what I’m in and notice it’s transparent and sealed. The chamber closes, and I hear a psssh sound.
“You good?” I hear one of the technicians say. I look over and see a phone pressed to her ear.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, hearing my voice echoing with my mask on.
“Okay. We are releasing the oxygen now. Remember, you will feel some fullness in your ears. Just swallow or yawn for a minute or so.”
I hear a whoosh, and suddenly, the flow of oxygen enters my nose and mouth, and I breathe it in, and true to her word, my ears start feeling full, so I yawn and swallow as much as possible. Soon, the sensation ceases.
“Would you like to watch TV?” I wish I could, but without my bifocals, I can’t see a damn thing.
“No, I can’t really see without my glasses.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wish we could give them to you.”
“It’s Ok. I may just close my eyes and rest. It’s been a tiring few days.”
“Of course. Ok, I’m right here if you need me.”
I close my eyes and try to think of good things, but the negative thoughts drive the good ones away. I wonder where my nephew is and if he even knows what happened to me. But, then, of course, he would have to know. I’m sure Chief Errington told him, but was that after or before they arrested him? I wish I knew what was going on. Would my nephew really want to kill me, and why? I didn’t get much life insurance from Willis and had even less after the funeral. I have a retirement to live on, but still, I don’t have much money. Why would he want me dead?
Plus, he just got twenty thousand from killing Troy. But if investigators put it together that he was trying to either kill me or seriously harm me, would they also discover he killed Troy too? The last thought I have before drifting off is that I’m the only one who knows the truth, and twice now, I’ve been the target of someone wanting to kill me.
I’m the loose end.
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