On Service (Part II)

And now there is another kind of going on service: beginning a new rotation at a new hospital in a new city. Suddenly there is much to learn beyond patient names and conditions; there are new corridors, new computer systems, new commutes. While I had spent four weeks at a hospital in Boston this fall, the setting outside of the hospital was familiar. I knew where to buy groceries, where to mail letters, where to jog. Since Sunday night, however, I have been living in Providence, Rhode Island, a place of which I have minimal prior knowledge and in which my already-pitiable sense of direction has gone completely askew.

After making it to the visitors’ parking lot for my first day after only one quick request for directions (from a security guard who kindly pointed out that the lot was directly in front of me), I learned that I would be parking in a remote lot with shuttle service to the hospital campus; an issue to be addressed the following day. That afternoon, determined to get out and start establishing my life here, I programmed my GPS to find the nearest Starbucks. I couldn’t find it, so I aimed for the next one on the list. No luck there. Finally, on the third try, I found the coffee shop and even a parking spot just around the block. After spending some time reading there, I plugged in the address of a yoga studio I had located online.

I found the studio, parked on the street by a meter, then realized I had used all but one of my quarters feeding the meter near Starbucks. It was 5:30, so only a short time remained during which my car would remain fair game for a ticket. Deciding that my mental and physical health were more important than a possible fee, I went inside and found the studio, whereupon I realized I had left my mat in the car. Back at the car, I spied an emptying parking lot next to the building. Perhaps I could park there and ensure there would be no ticket. I pulled into the lot, then saw the sign threatening that all unauthorized vehicles would be towed at all times. I retreated to the metered spot. Re-entering the building, I noticed a sign inside explaining that clients were in fact permitted to use that lot in the evenings after 5pm without fear of being towed. Back out to the car and into the lot I went. And then finally to yoga. And, after a few wrong turns, back home to the apartment where I am renting a room.

The following day, I set out for the new remote parking lot, having Google mapped it the evening prior. Only it turns out that I had used the Pedestrian setting, in which the direction of traffic on one-way streets is not taken into account. With the help of my hastily programmed GPS, I finally made it, then learned that the card I was supposed to use to swipe in had not yet been activated. A parking attendant kindly let me in, I parked, and then I faced the next problem: where to catch this shuttle? And once I was on it, where would it drop me off in relation to where I needed to be? These issues were sorted out by a kind stranger working near the garage and by my own vague recognition of the buildings near the hospital. (The problem with the parking pass recurred on the following day and required two trips to the Graduate Medical Education office and one to Parking Services but was eventually resolved.)

All this without even setting foot into the hospital! The Partial Hospital Program (a day program for children with concurrent medical and psychological diagnoses) is staffed by two directors, two psychologists, two psychiatrists, two pediatricians, two social workers, three teachers, and numerous nurses and therapists, as well as a host of other trainees. It is a busy, busy place, and while everyone has been extraordinarily friendly, it has been extremely daunting to figure out where I fit into the mix, let alone to try to retain each person’s name and role. Plus, no one told me when to show up, when to go home, or what exactly to do in between.

And then, just as with other services, be they with human patients or with my canine friends, small pieces started to stick. Yesterday I was encouraged to attend the pediatrics noon conference, to which I had accompanied one of the residents on the previous two days. Not that I had the faintest clue how to get from the Partial Hospital Program to the auditorium on my own.

Except that I did. I set out through the halls, hoping for the best, and suddenly saw a sign that looked familiar. Around the bend, I recognized a distinctive design along the wall that I was sure I had seen before. Several more serendipitous findings and a few hold-your-breath guesses and I had arrived at the conference.

Yesterday afternoon I went for a run. I had my cell phone with me, stuffed bulkily into my sports bra, just in case I needed a quick check of the route home. But it stayed right in my shirt the entire time, bouncing awkwardly while protecting me with its mere presence from imagined disaster.

Today, I attended a family meeting and a therapy session with a boy who I will be following. I set at least a preliminary schedule for meetings with the person leading his therapy. I arranged the weekly times when I will sit in on group therapy. I have some direction to my days.

And just yesterday, on a whim, I left the GPS in the glove compartment. I turned out of the parking garage, missed the turn I intended to take, then took the next one and figured it out from there. Slowly and with just the slightest bit of confidence, I wended my way home.