Making Rounds with Oscar: The Extraordinary Gift of an Ordinary Cat - By David Dosa Page 0,4
January, though, the view is more likely to be cold and bleak, the water an uninviting slab of asphalt. That’s how it looked on that day, and it was a perfect reflection of my state of mind.
My eyes were fixed on a tanker unloading cargo, but I wasn’t paying attention. Instead, my mind had been going over the events of the last few days, playing over one scene in particular, like a damaged DVD. Three weeks before, I had learned I was a finalist for a major research award from a prestigious New York foundation. Such grants are more than gravy for me; my research in the field of geriatrics and nursing home medicine is what keeps me going, and receiving an award like this wasn’t merely a matter of recognition. I saw it as a validation of everything I did.
Two days earlier I had boarded a train bound for New York. The meeting had gone well, or so I had thought. I left the interview brimming with confidence, and maybe a little pride. This award was mine; I could feel it. I had worked tirelessly on the application, putting in hours late at night after the daily grind of work and family responsibilities. All that midnight oil was going to pay off. The board would see the importance of my work and fund my research, and why shouldn’t they? It was crucial and unique and the board must have understood that. On the train back to Providence I had begun plotting how I would use the award as leverage to get my boss to give me the raise I deserved. If I’d had a cigar I would have fired it up (or would have if I smoked and they still let you do that on trains).
But one call had changed all that. The moment the phone had rung that morning I felt a cold stab of dread. There was something about the ring. Perhaps it had come too early. Maybe it was just a premonition. Breathlessly, I had picked up the phone and said hello. The woman on the other end was immediately grim; listening to her, I understood how my patients’ families must feel when I call them with bad news.
“We want to thank you for coming to New York to meet with the board. They were very impressed with your work.”
The pause that followed was endless.
“But…we are sorry to tell you that you were not selected for the funding.”
The woman had continued for several moments chirping on about the many “talented candidates” they had interviewed, but I had already stopped listening.
All I could think about was the failure.
No promotion. No raise.
Another career setback.
I felt like the numbers had all been reset and I was back at zero.
Hours after the phone call, I still couldn’t get it out of my head. You know the expression “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” I couldn’t understand any part of it. How could they not understand how important this work was? So few people were interested in the nursing home environment and the proposal was good, perhaps the best I’d ever submitted. What could the other candidates possibly be doing that was more important?
Was it my notes?
The way I talked?
My suit?
I tore myself away from the window and forced myself to sit at my desk. I looked at the blinking prompt on my computer. I had been in my office for over an hour and hadn’t even logged on. I watched it blink like a failing heart monitor.
Maybe it was my tie?
I picked up the phone to dial the foundation, determined to find out what the problem was. I dialed the number hellbent on finding someone, anyone, who would listen to my plea for reconsideration.
Suddenly my pager went off. For a moment the world seemed to stop spinning, giving me pause to reconsider my actions. I looked at the numbers on the display.
It was Steere House.
I ignored the page and retreated back to my internal dialogue. Was I really going to learn anything by calling? What part of no did I not understand? Maybe they just weren’t interested.
The pager went off again.
Same number.
Don’t they know this isn’t a good time for me?
Frustrated, I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello, Dr. Dosa, how are you?”
“Fine, Mary, what do you need?” There was a distinct edge to my voice.
“Well, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today. Is something wrong?”