My Mentors

One thing I avoid on this blog is naming names. I think that the internet strips us of our information privacy enough. When I talk bout specific people, I usually do it in an elliptical way so that unless you know me, you wouldn’t really know who they are.

Well, today I want to honor some men, and I will name names. If they ever google themselves, they can find out when they meant to me.

It’s been a tough week at work. Problem that should have been fixed in a day were talking upwards of a month.It was taking crews of people to work on them, and I was finding a lot of “It’s not my job” and the more appealing but no more helpful “i don’t know.”

I’ve been doing this sort of work for more than 10 years now. It doesn’t feel that long, but I find myself at the end of it and dismayed to discover that I”m supposed to know what I’m doing.

I know a lot more than I used to. When I first started, I had to ask so many questions. I like to tell the story of how I simply could not make sense of the terminology. T1? PRI? What are they, and what is the difference? I wrote down the terms on 3×5 cards like I did when learning vocabulary in Russian.

But when I started, I found some mentors.I did not think of them as such at the time, but wow. They helped me so much.

These men, and yes, they were ALL men, patiently answered my questions with pictures and examples, letting me know what was what. How to troubleshoot by dissecting the system and knowing what should happen where and the tools that would tell me when it wasn’t. How to speak to the beauracratic heldesks and far-flung facilities to get what I needed as quickly as I possible, and to know that things would never happen as quickly as I thought they should.

These men loved the knowing and the discovery of the technology. I did too,and they were so generous with helping me out.

I met the other kinds too. There is that other kind of nerd, the one who needs to make others feel stupid so he can feel smart. But the men who were my mentors had no insecurities about their knowledge and expertise–at least not that it showed to me.

SO, Val Watson of Nasa Ames, thanks for taking me on and being patient with my ignorance. You started me on my career. Where would I be without you?

And John Broadus of Visa/Inovant, you who started working for the phone company at 18 and worked until they gave you money to retire. You worked again at Visa, and you showed me what it meant to work with a big company. Important lessons like how to tell when the boss means it and when you can ignore it….That’s a technical skill and it saved my overly-literal butt many many times. You gave me lots of IT answers too, but I remember you best for how you survived and thrived inside big companies.

Mike Stevens of Visa/Inovant–you taught me more than anybody else.You know your stuff and I would not have made it without you.I don’t use ISDN anymore, but if I do, I won’t forget the IMUXES ever again.

John Yost of the ever-changing company shirt..I met you when you were VTEL, and I can’t remember how many name changes until you it became WireOne. Maybe it’s changed again, for all I know. You always knew your stuff, and were the greatest as a troubleshooting partner. Wish you well.

The Dave Albertson of O’Melveny & Myers. DAMN I miss you dude. You were so cool and had a wicked sense of humor. I don’t know where you are anymore, but I bet you’re working very long hours, because you wouldn’t have it any other way.

My current position doensn’t have ‘that guy’. I don’t have the cool, focussed uber-nerd that doesn’t mind repeateing and repeating the way it works when I need to understand and fully grok the system.

Maybe It’s supposed to be me. Damn. I would love to have some of these old friends on speed dial.

trying

So…I feel as I am squeezed dry of interesting thoughts.

I have a lot of uninteresting things circling in my head…

should I start the dog on obedience training?

Should I paint tonight or vaccuum?

Does the sniffles my husband have mean I should shower him with love, or leave him alone (since he’s grumpy anyway)?

Where will I inject myself today…which of the many choice spots will accept the copaxone needle gently today?

Should I call the DMV for an appointment to change my name? Will they take a new photograph for my license?

Should I get over my addiction to whitespace on my blog?

It’s to the point where I am annoying myself. Petty DETAILS…all the uninteresting nigglies of life…bleah.

It makes me want to call a friend and we can run off and be witty and sparkling together..YAY!

But what witty and sparkling person would want to spend time with dull drabby detail dragging me?

and I have to paint, and go to the DMV, and walk the dog and be sweet to the man and reorganize my website and shoot myself…hip or thigh?…i forget…but I’m BUSY

and BORED

Pie season

This month is when a lot of pies happen.

There is pumpkin, of course, and many many other types. Pecan, Fruit (particularly apple), berries, mince meat (yuk), and the various pudding-type pies.

I like pie. I like to make it from scratch. I bought some pumpkin to get a start on it. I make a mean walnut pie. Grandma Ruth has mentioned a fondness for strawberry cream pie…Maybe I should try to make that…

but there are a lot of other things vying for my attention.

Really, though, pie is important and should not be neglected.

walnut pie

…isn’t that what we had a telethon for…?

So this week it was finally diagnosed. My doctor read my spine juice and diagnosed me with Multiple Sclerosis.

There is some reason, and nobody quite knows why, that my body decides to attack my nervous system and eat away at the myelin

It was scary when they first said I might have it. It was mostly scary because I didn’t really know what it was. But I’ve learned a lot more about it since then, and it seems like it’s something I can live with.

They have super-duper awesome drugs for it now. I’m taking copaxone. I had my first chance to inject myself with this stuff yesterday. It hurt, I’m not going to lie to you. It didn’t hurt to put the needle it, but it stung for the first 15 minutes or so and then it felt like a bruise the rest of the day.

But they say that it doesn’t hurt so much over time, that your body gets used to it.

Chris thinks i should inject it at night, and then maybe by the time I wake up it won’ t hurt anymore. I’ll try that. In fact, I’ll try that tonight. My first unsupervised injection happens tonight. Oh, yeah, you have to inject yourself with this stuff every day.

Between me and my diabetic cat, we will be the house of needles.

Check this out, though. The copaxone is a lovely drug. And I have lovely medical coverage. Kaiser is quite the comprehensive HMO. 5 bucks is what I pay for a months supply.

But Copaxone costs $1693 for a month’s supply. Yes, that’s right. One thousand six hundred ninety three dollars. That’s $56.43 per shot… and $20,316 a year. Holy God!

I’m calling it my medical bling. I will not be taking medical coverage for granted anymore. Not for the rest of my life.

I am feeling very blessed that I have the most stable job I’ve ever had, probably the most stable job it’s possible to have in America in the 21st century. My boss is the best boss I’ve ever had. So, I don’t feel insecure.

By all accounts I have a super light case of the MS right now. And I’m going on the drugs that are supposed to keep it that way.

I thought about not telling people. I mean, maybe people would be all weird. I wouldn’t have to tell. Looking at me, there is no way to tell that anything is wrong with me.

Actually, all the million tests they did on me to diagnose show that I’m a picture of health. Low blood pressure, low cholesterol. The only thing wrong with me is that my body is trying to eat my brain.

Isnt’ it ironic?

Well, MS doesn’t shorten people’s life. Doesn’t kill you. Heart problems and cancer can kill you. I got a different kind of disease.

Anyway, I thought about not telling people. But then I thought, well, why not? I’ve always been an open book. The benefit I might reap from people not knowing seemed slight in comparison with the effort it would take for me to restrain from talking about it.

Plus, I read that it’s protected under the disabilities act…and I can’t get fired for having it.

In last month’s issue of Neurology Now (the only magazine in the nuerology dept. lobby..I’m quite up on it now) one guy did get fired for having MS….he was blind in one eye…But he was old, and that was before hmankind advanced enough to have laws against being mean to people.

Yes, and one of the first things I did when I heard I might have this is tell a few close friends. and then it turned out that almost every one of them knew somebody that had it. And that that person had been diagnosed, scared, and then went on with their life.

If I tell people about this, when another person gets diagnosed and goes to tell their nearest and dearest, those people might know me (or read this blog). That person might get some comfort from knowing somebody who is doing okay.

It’s only fair. That’s what living an open life is for…To be an example to other people of what happens.

It’s been an exciting month.

October 24, 2003 [fires and bus strikes]

I wish we’d all been ready

My new hometown in the middle of Los Angeles looks like a scene from the apocalypse today. We’ve had our troubles with grocery store strikes; we’ve had the buses come to a halt for a mechanic’s strike.

It is extremely hot, unseasonably hot-reaching the 100s. And the Santa Ana winds, the ones Raymond Chandler blames for murders have begun to wake up.

The heat, the wind and I believe the discontent have resulted in many fires in our surprisingly brambly metropolis. One in particular is out of control.

45 miles away, where I work and breathe, white ash flecks were raining down. I walked through the grand opening of disney hall, with red carpet and velvet ropes mutely broadcasting BY INVITATION ONLY. And just in case you didn’t get it, there were cadres of police security to remind you that YOU were NOT invited.

The cloned waitstaff lined the street in a military at-ease position, their red-vested backs to us, the unininvited. The huge metallic hall, more modern than the day after tomorrow is blurred by the thick air.

The commuters walk in lines to their cars, and the cars file in lines to the freeways, which are far from free at this time of day.

Some self-employed commuters in unwashed clothing hold cardboard signs for the cars driving by: “Hungry. Homeless. Need Help. Need Food. God Bless.”

At my space in the wavy asphalt, my sedan gathered small drifts of white ash.