Locked out of the Resident's Room: A Lengthy Recap of What Should've Been a Swift Exchange

Last week, I completed training for my internship. I'll be enrolling new mothers in a study to promote safe baby practices in a national campaign to reduce SIDs (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).

I'd left my training manual in my locker. The project coordinator had given us a locker in the NICU Resident's Room to store our important files, screening logs, iPad, etc. During training, I opted to leave my training manual in the locker as we practiced mock enrollments on each other.

At the end of our training, I considered going back to take my training manual (I wouldn't return for at least another week--to start the actual enrollment). But in a moment of laziness, I shrugged and classic procrastination style convinced myself that prepping one week later on my first day of enrolling would be sufficient.

Not.

The coordinators emailed to arrange a mock enrollment via phone prior to my start date. I would need my training manual. And that's how I found myself in the Mother/Baby Unit at 9:30 this evening trying (so unsuccessfully) to access the NICU Resident's Room and retrieve my training manual.

Just a week ago, the coordinators said with ease and calm assurance in their voice that on weekends, the residents would have access to the locker room and we could just ask them for a key. So, that's exactly what I did. I asked the first resident I saw. She was kind, but said she didn't have access to the room.

One hour and two failed attempts from the security guard later, I was still there waiting. Hopes for being in bed by 10 were far gone and I found my calm demeanor now frustrated and irritated, almost to the point of tears. I'd so effortlessly entered the hospital, badge in tow, and made my way to the unit. I even remembered without a glitch where to go and the location of the Resident's Room. All to no avail because I didn't have the key to the room. The residents claimed to not have the key. And the security guards with a strew of keys of all sizes and caliber couldn't find one that fit the lock.

On his second failed attempt to open the room, the security guard told me he'd try yet another ring of keys and to wait. I found myself still standing in the hall, not as patient as before, as another forty minutes rolled by.

This time, I made my way to the lobby and personally contacted security who seemed more frustrated at my request than willing to help. However, as promised another guard came to try his luck at the door. Again to no avail.

During my periods of waiting, I'd asked another resident who refused to answer whether or not he had the key, but feigned an apologetic "Sorry, I can't help you". This only frustrated me more, because I read between the lines. All of them in his coy response. He had the key. He just wasn't willing to provide it. Even after I'd explained the study, identified the principal investigator, collaborators, provided my ID badge with the study's name engraved. It wasn't enough.

I retreated to security guard number two, who seemed more dedicated than the first to get me into the room. Yet, his keys were being uncooperative. He asked if the residents had the key, to which I blurted "he said he doesn't, but I'm sure he does". Before the words finished rolling off my tongue, the security guard was leading me to the resident's room.

"Hey, Doc do you have the key?"

Even in the presence of the hospital's security guard, the man of all the keys, the resident wouldn't budge. Again, I explained the study, even handed over my badge. Vowed to sign paperwork, leave my badge with him, offer a piece of my rib. He barely flinched. Moments later,  perhaps pressured with my desperation, having waited two hours just to get a door opened, and the firm request of the security guard, the (still reluctantly) resident gave in.

Of course, he took the name of the security guard and even then seemed hesitant.

Fast forward, over two hours later, I'm finally granted access to the NICU Resident's Room. A few seconds of fighting with my lock and I yank my training manual, the root of the long, unnecessary ordeal.

Of course, this could have all been avoided if I'd just taken it with me last week during training. But life always has lessons. I learned:
1) things almost never go your way.
2) the profession of medicine is truly a work of service. I deduced this while sitting in the NICU office gazing on as the night shift RNs attended to the nurseries' newest babies. And, as I first received help from an orthopedic resident and heard the fatigue in his voice as he directed me to the NICU resident's room.
3) no matter what, keep calm. It is hard. My childhood nickname was Tiger--for a reason. But with each hurdle, I [think] I am getting better.
4) it's good to show gratitude, even when people are difficult. I get it, he was doing his job. Maybe too much. 
5) persist, but be mindful of others. I'm glad I was able to get my training manual. SO GLAD. The thought of waiting two hours and leaving without it almost brought me to tears. But, I also kept in mind that this wasn't the most convenient of times. The nightshift residents probably hadn't been or probably never will be notified of their key-sharing expectations.

This was book, but I felt the need to release. What I expected to be a five minute exchange, turned into a two hour ordeal. Life has a way of reminding you that you're not in control. It is unnerving but it keeps you grounded.

adventure is out there

looking at all of these international and national job positions makes me nervous. i feel like the older i get and the more aware i am, the more nervous of deviating from what's comfortable i am. at eighteen, i packed my bags on a whim and traveled to Brazil with my best friend for a month to teach English. I'm not sure if I have that free spirit in me now. somehow, the notion of 'traveling while young and free' seemed so appealing before. i have to find that spirit again. those dreams i lay to rest. learn french, become fluent in Spanish, travel alone, live in a foreign country.

i'm nervous but i'll at least look for an international position. i spent a few days with a friend last month on a small island. she kind of just picked up and left America to study overseas. we sat on a boat dock grabbing drinks before dinner and the reality of how "fluid" life is emanated. we can literally carve our own path. we don't have to abide by routine or tradition. there's so much in the world to see and so much to experience. adventure is out there.