Earlier I noted that the transitions from dealing with candid and innocent (really, sometimes more savvy than I) children to political and scheming adults were some of the most challenging in my divided life. This continues as I am less in the home world and more in the work world, and still I am disappointed in the latter.
As I re-entered the 'career' track in earnest when my children were well in school (youngest in middle school), I soon realized my innocent approach to my career that had served me well in my part-time work life was not going to cut it in the corporate world. Doing my job well, being dedicated to performing at a consistently high level and working collaboratively with my colleagues was just not enough. I was advised by a (female) colleague, who I did not so much respect for her work as I marveled at her ladder climbing ability, that (1) my twinsets had to go (I love ‘em because they are really comfortable and practical), (2) a blazer – always- is key to being perceived as a professional (think lab coat, maybe?) and (3) a mentor was essential. Well that isn’t typically my way (not a true non-conformist, but more a pragmatist); I like the comfort of sweaters, can take or leave a blazer and formal mentors was not really my thing, but as a pragmatist, in many the adaptation was inevitable. I just did not expect the experience to be quite so transformational.
I ditched the sweaters, stocked up on blazers and suit separates and quite literally overnight, things changed. Silly but true. I hoped it wasn’t just the blazers, but what I saw change was the perception from others that I was now worth listening to (ridiculous, I know).
Next, I sought a mentor. Well, first I created a mentoring program (always the process driver), pitched that to senior management and kicked off a corporate-wide initiative (organization - it’s what I do….it’s what I live for) while I ‘piloted’ the program myself with a great, great guy whom we’ll call Saul. I had worked with him, but not for him, and respected his approach and lack of political slant. Long and short, it was a fantastic experience for me and effectively identified my ‘niche’ that I would later use to meld my career with my love of children/family to influence the way in which drug development impacts children. So blazers and mentors work and I was reminded that I can learn something from almost everyone (heck, if I can learn the insanity of corporal punishment from a 2 year old, the value of just sitting close to someone you love, in silence, from an infant and the sheer pleasure in a robust game of Pooh sticks from a 4 year old, this should have been obvious).
Fast forward to my next career leap, and with interest to expand my mentoring network, I joined a group program at my new company. In this program, I am introduced to David (for obvi reasons, names have been changed to protect me from lawsuits). David’s background is similar to mine in educational focus but his career goals brought him to the commercial side of the business. Well, in retrospect, maybe it was not his goals, but his unique personal style. After meeting with him in group and individually, I begin to get a feel for the man and I am nearly repulsed. He is arrogant, bigoted, chauvinistic and demeaning. But otherwise, he can be quite pleasant.
At the most recent conversation, I am actually stunned (which is not so easy for me, given my life experiences). This man has told a group of corporate women (he has already noted that he is disappointed that there are no men in the group…good thing his wife was sensible enough to have given him only sons) who have sought his career advice in working within the corporate structure to excel, that our efforts are admirable, but clearly our husbands’ careers are likely more important. He goes so far as to say that the executive women he knows all have either subservient husbands or have been successful before marrying equally successful men (like himself) and had the good sense not to have children.
Now, I’m not so naïve as to think I could devote a mere 40 hrs a week to my career and expect to be an executive. But, I have made the conscious choice to marry, have a family, raise my family and then re-embark on my career. And I expect I can do this and still achieve the ultimate career success that I desire, in spite of having taken a road, though more often traveled (I believe) than is often acknowledged, is not so socially popular.
Only time will tell actually how successful I will be in this, or any, career. I am confident that, having done this my way (with lots of advice, good, questionable and sometimes poor- which may have been the most useful), at the end of this I will hold my head high and be proud of what I have accomplished and the path I have taken.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
A bit more on the aunts, whom I loved dearly and think of often.
As the years rolled along, my children were growing, my schooling progressing, I had the joy of getting to know my elderly aunts as more than doting, childless relatives with a charming brogue, a fascinating single lifestyle in the world’s most exciting city and a checkbook for birthdays. I would visit more often and realized rather quickly they were both aging more rapidly and changing into people in need of more regular assistance. They were physically quite well, but mentally in the twilight of brilliant lives. A neighbor from the old sod was available to check in daily and assure they were maintaining the basic activities of daily living (and to give me a call if not). She was a God send. I did not realize how much so until one Sunday morning when she called, concerned, when she had not been able to reach them the evening before or early this morning.
A bit more than concerned, I called my brother who had a key and lived in the city. He checked the apartment and found it empty. I called a cousin in Jersey City to see if she had heard from them, but no luck. We next began calling hospitals and police stations in Manhattan as we headed for their neighborhood. A few hours later, we hit paydirt. They had been hospitalized the evening before (when Elizabeth had become aggressive after an evening’s libations, and Mary called 911 for assistance). Both were taken to a local ER and after Elizabeth was admitted, Mary collapsed…so there they both stayed. Upon our arrival, it clear this was a sentinel event for a higher level of care or assistance as they clearly needed 24/7 assistance.
And now started the clock…and the dance begins. The hospital, after initial evaluations (and Elizabeth biting more than one aide), announced both must be discharged. I balked, explaining we could not return them to their apartment safely and rooms in our choice of assisted living facilities (selfishly near my home and work) would not be available for 2 more days. After daily trips to the hospital in NY, I gave the social worker numbers where I knew I would not be and conveniently returned her calls after hours… until Friday evening (~5p). When we connected, I gambled she would not stay to ensure discharge occurred that evening and instead, would dump the business to the weekend coverage (which she did).
On Saturday, my brother rescued them (or the hospital?) and shepherded my aunts to our home in the ‘burbs. There, after a lovely lunch, we brought them to a beautiful facility (thank you for a successful high school friend with insights to start a business I would later need) where I had brought some of their things and furniture and began the move-in process. A new chapter of a complicated story.
A bit more than concerned, I called my brother who had a key and lived in the city. He checked the apartment and found it empty. I called a cousin in Jersey City to see if she had heard from them, but no luck. We next began calling hospitals and police stations in Manhattan as we headed for their neighborhood. A few hours later, we hit paydirt. They had been hospitalized the evening before (when Elizabeth had become aggressive after an evening’s libations, and Mary called 911 for assistance). Both were taken to a local ER and after Elizabeth was admitted, Mary collapsed…so there they both stayed. Upon our arrival, it clear this was a sentinel event for a higher level of care or assistance as they clearly needed 24/7 assistance.
And now started the clock…and the dance begins. The hospital, after initial evaluations (and Elizabeth biting more than one aide), announced both must be discharged. I balked, explaining we could not return them to their apartment safely and rooms in our choice of assisted living facilities (selfishly near my home and work) would not be available for 2 more days. After daily trips to the hospital in NY, I gave the social worker numbers where I knew I would not be and conveniently returned her calls after hours… until Friday evening (~5p). When we connected, I gambled she would not stay to ensure discharge occurred that evening and instead, would dump the business to the weekend coverage (which she did).
On Saturday, my brother rescued them (or the hospital?) and shepherded my aunts to our home in the ‘burbs. There, after a lovely lunch, we brought them to a beautiful facility (thank you for a successful high school friend with insights to start a business I would later need) where I had brought some of their things and furniture and began the move-in process. A new chapter of a complicated story.
Of convenient timing….opportunities afforded by a flexible work schedule
One of the many benefits of being a SAHM was the flexibility of my day. This led quite often to opportunities to be connected to friends and family in unique and very meaningful ways.
Not the least of these was being close enough to my elderly aunts to realize things were declining more quickly than the casual observer may have noted. But, stoic as their immigrants roots required, neither would ask for help or raise a flag of frailty. Instead, as my visits became more regular and routine, I began to quickly note the changes know to many who care for the elderly: housekeeping spotty (dishes piled high where they never were before), few new purchases (not sure if this was because money handling or shopping was just a chore), clothing looking more and more shabby (eyesight worsening and attention to these details failing), retention of even the most basic of junk mail (as potentially important, but unable to be sure) and it goes on and on…
I started to slowly take on some responsibility (sending Christmas cards, paying rent and other regular accounts), visiting doctors and local merchants with them (to check them out but also to let them know someone else was involved) and just learning. Among my missions was to get their affairs in order, as neither ever married and had few relatives to rely upon.
One of the more enlightening conversations with these two aunts, who emigrated to the US in the 1950s and lived together in the same apartment in Manhattan for more than 40 years (a rent controlled haven) – perfect instance of the need for an ‘alternative family’ acknowledgment, was about their choice of final resting place. Having buried some siblings here in the US and others back ‘home’, I thought this was a good starting place for the Last Wills, Living Wills, etc conversation (as those of you with relatives of this generation will attest, these conversations, if they occur at all, are uncomfortable at best.
In unison, the elder of my father’s living sisters, let’s call her Mary, more meek and accommodating, and her younger sister, Elizabeth, the more defiant and definitely more challenging to please, both provided unique answers: “Gate of Heaven” (NYC)/ “Home in Ireland …of course”.
Humm… I sputtered. Clearly we needed to discuss.
Long and short of it, they agreed, they’d prefer to be in Ireland, their place of birth to which they had returned annually for many summers (much more later….think pre-9/11 and arriving at JFK with 10 min to spare for a transatlantic flight…and boarding!). Although, they also agreed, it was less important where than that they be together. I concurred and agreed we’d not have to speak of this again.
So began my intimate journey with Mary and Elizabeth and their final years. It was a source of great honor for me to be able to be with them during these difficult and exciting years, but also a significant strain that I cannot imagine combining with a challenging career, such as the one I enjoy now. So for all of us, this was a blessing to be together and available for each other.
Not the least of these was being close enough to my elderly aunts to realize things were declining more quickly than the casual observer may have noted. But, stoic as their immigrants roots required, neither would ask for help or raise a flag of frailty. Instead, as my visits became more regular and routine, I began to quickly note the changes know to many who care for the elderly: housekeeping spotty (dishes piled high where they never were before), few new purchases (not sure if this was because money handling or shopping was just a chore), clothing looking more and more shabby (eyesight worsening and attention to these details failing), retention of even the most basic of junk mail (as potentially important, but unable to be sure) and it goes on and on…
I started to slowly take on some responsibility (sending Christmas cards, paying rent and other regular accounts), visiting doctors and local merchants with them (to check them out but also to let them know someone else was involved) and just learning. Among my missions was to get their affairs in order, as neither ever married and had few relatives to rely upon.
One of the more enlightening conversations with these two aunts, who emigrated to the US in the 1950s and lived together in the same apartment in Manhattan for more than 40 years (a rent controlled haven) – perfect instance of the need for an ‘alternative family’ acknowledgment, was about their choice of final resting place. Having buried some siblings here in the US and others back ‘home’, I thought this was a good starting place for the Last Wills, Living Wills, etc conversation (as those of you with relatives of this generation will attest, these conversations, if they occur at all, are uncomfortable at best.
In unison, the elder of my father’s living sisters, let’s call her Mary, more meek and accommodating, and her younger sister, Elizabeth, the more defiant and definitely more challenging to please, both provided unique answers: “Gate of Heaven” (NYC)/ “Home in Ireland …of course”.
Humm… I sputtered. Clearly we needed to discuss.
Long and short of it, they agreed, they’d prefer to be in Ireland, their place of birth to which they had returned annually for many summers (much more later….think pre-9/11 and arriving at JFK with 10 min to spare for a transatlantic flight…and boarding!). Although, they also agreed, it was less important where than that they be together. I concurred and agreed we’d not have to speak of this again.
So began my intimate journey with Mary and Elizabeth and their final years. It was a source of great honor for me to be able to be with them during these difficult and exciting years, but also a significant strain that I cannot imagine combining with a challenging career, such as the one I enjoy now. So for all of us, this was a blessing to be together and available for each other.
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