It is a little pathetic and slightly sad that it takes a hurricane to force me to stay home and give me time to sit down (lie. I've totally been in bed all day long) and update this damn blog. Last update was June 12th?!?!? really girl? really?
Pathetic.
Since June 12th...
Finished 5th semester in Miami on August 5th. Thank you sweet-baby-jesus. I really never want to look back on that semester. gag.
In typical ridiculous-me fashion, I left the final exam and headed straight to the airport to high-tail my Canadian ass back home.
Finishing yet another semester and arriving home was, however, anti-climactic as my family wasn't even there. Although it was actually the perfect situation, since I had to isolate myself and go into crazy self-absorbed, intensely focused study mode for Step 1. I went slightly insane for the next 15 days, but I successfully took Step 1 on August 21st.
August 22nd - to Kelowna for a ridiculously amazing reunion with family.
August 23rd - fabulous surprise 60th birthday party for the world's best dad. successfully planned and executed by the world's best mom.
September long weekend - whirlwind of a time with the bestest-best-friend a girl like me could ever dream up.
Back to red deer.
12 hour road trip alone to Williston to visit niece, nephew, sister, bro-in-law... What. a great week that was. I'm sure sis/B-I-L had days worth of laughter as they saw me - young, fit, non-stop-working, go-getter - struggle to make it through a day keeping up with an almost 3 year old and 5 month old. I swear, what I do (some of what you read about, and some you don't) is *nothing* in comparison to being a parent like them. I hope I made that abundantly clear to B&C. For shiznit.
12 hours back home.
Then shit hit the fan as I started all the preparation for
starting rotations in New York. Just all
that miniscule paper work bullshit of scanning, submitting, getting messages
back that you actually need this-that-or-the-other-thing. So while I was doing well with dealing with
all those little things and complying with the ongoing changes, I ran into some
issues trying to find a place to live in the area close to the hospital. As it turns out, no place will rent to you
without a social security number. Not
even if you pay 6 months up front. For shits and giggles we even asked about
paying 12 months rent up front. Still a big fat no. Then I find out from
someone who rotated at this hospital that it would be in my best interest to not live in that area anyway as it is…
shall we say - “shady”.
[Note. Looking back on this now... what a blessing in disguise. Because the area I was trying to live in just got destroyed by the hurricane. And the area I actually ended up living in was barely touched. More than just coincidence. I'm well looked out for.]
So that at least opened my search up to other areas. Which didn’t help with the SSN issue. After many emails and phone calls, a lot of
dead ends, a baby sized hand full of mental breakdowns, I finally was able to go
through an agency for foreigners. A nice
place in a nice area in Brooklyn.
Albeit, over an hour commute on the metro x2 everyday.
After countless hours of submitting all MY paper work for my
visa, I was forced to play the waiting game… I submit all my shit. Wait for
school to send me official letter, which states: I’m a student with them. Where in my education I am. What I’m doing in
the states. What I’m doing at an
American hospital.
Then the school sends that same letter to the hospital, and
they send me a similar letter from them: I’m a student completing medical
clerkship rotations with them on behalf of my school for specific dates etc
etc.
My mom and I were literally just sitting around waiting to
receive this final letter from the hospital so that we could book our flights
to NYC. Once I got the email it was like
‘all systems go… GO’
We were all set to fly out at 6am the next morning. Bags already packed. Drive to the airport in
the middle of the night. Calgary to Toronto. Once we landed in Toronto and got
our bags to go through customs we were already pressed for time to make our connecting
flight. We weren’t overly concerned, as the customs line seemed to be moving at
a generous pace, and, after all, I had my paper work and documentation printed,
organized, and in a special folder. I’m what immigration officers’ dreams are
made of, yes?
My mom and I decided to go through customs separately. No problem. We will meet up in like 15 mins
on the other side.
I stated my need for visa at customs, so off into the back I
go into ‘immigration’ area. There were
only 2 officers working back there – one man, one woman, neither English as
first language speaking. Both were busy
so I take a seat and wait around 10 mins before I get called up by the woman,
who at this point has already read all my letters/paper work.
If ever going through customs/immigration… you don’t want
the woman. For the love of all that is
good in this world, if you can, avoid the woman.
So I get up there, she gets me to state exactly what I will
be doing at this hospital in New York.
Now, you have to understand, I have been prepped a lot from the Canadian
advisors from my school on what to say and what NOT to say. So I make sure to absolutely NOT say anything
like “rotations” and course emphasize that I am NOT being paid for my work
(something also stated in the letters).
She seems to be following along with what I’m saying as she continues to
read over the letters… ‘mmhmm. Mmhmm’ says ImmiHagBag… “No.”
My little eyes suddenly go wide.
“No” she says again.
“This isn’t going to work. We have a problem.”
My feel my stomach, small intestine, large intestine, and
probably uterus, all drop. I can
literally feel my blood pressure start to rise but continually tell my self to
remain calm and go into crisis-dealing-mode.
“Okay, so what do you mean? What is the problem?”
“Well this letter from this school just says you are going
to one of its ‘affiliates’, and this letter from the hospital just says they
are taking you on from this school.”
“Yes ma’am. So, again, what is the problem?”
“Well I’m just supposed to take your word that they are
associated?”
“Well there’s no way this letter from the director of the
hospital could have been sent with my information and schedule attached had
they not been in contact and associated/affiliated with this school…”
uncomfortable. Disbelieving. Breath holding pause.
Exasperation and annoyance from ImmiHagBag – “NO!! You
aren’t understanding!”
“I’m sorry ma’am. But I do understand and I feel like maybe
you’re not understanding what I’m explaining.
Both of these letters have offered these numbers to call if you had any
further questions if that would help?”
“I do NOT make any phone calls. You should have had all your
affairs sorted out before you came here!”
How does one prepare to have an argument with an
incompetent, pissed off, bitch over the semantics and cause-and-effect type
relationship between letters?
We go in circles for a few more minutes.
“Okay ma’am, I need you to tell me where we go from
here? What happens now?”
“Well I turn you away and you come back in a few days when
you have your paperwork sorted out.”
“Okay well here’s an issue – my mother is on the other side
already as she has come with me to help me move.”
Even more pissed off, “well I really wish you didn’t do
that.”
Trust me bitch. There’s a lot I wish right now too. That wasn’t one of them.
“Okay. Can I try and make some phone calls and see
if there is anyone I can get ahold of to make a couple of word changes in these
letters to satisfy you?”
Big sigh. “fine. But
you have to go back out into main terminal.”
So ImmiHagBag escorts me back out through customs and back
into the main terminal as a huge line of people look at me like I’m a friggin’ terrorist
being turned away.
I start stripping off all my layers at this point as my
sympathetic nervous system is in hyperdrive and sweat is starting to pour off
of me. I’m madly going through every email I have on my phone searching for any
number to call. To add more cow dung to
this shitshow, it was Saturday so trying to reach anyone at the office numbers
listed = impossible. Of course that
didn’t stop me from calling every number and leaving messages of urgency. Then, by some miracle I had an email from the
director of hospital relations from my school… and he just happened to have
listed his cell number.
He answers. I explain
the situation I’m in. He is
dumbfounded. Basically there is nothing
“official” that can be done until Monday.
I start picturing mom in NYC alone with me in a hotel alone in Toronto
for 2 days at best.
Then he’s all, “I am literally out doing errands in town
right now, but what I could do is head into the office and write out a detailed
explanation of the affiliation between hospital/school on email with the letter
head and my credentials. Do you think
the officer would accept that?”
Honestly I thought no effing way. This bitch wants official letter shit. But I
need to still ask.
He’s all “okay go ask her if she will accept reading the
email from your phone. And if she will,
call me back, and I will go ahead with it.”
So I head back in.
First having to wait in the customs line again. Go through customs
again. And walk back into immigration
office past the 3 police man guarding the way.
I’m all “I’m baaaaaaack!”
Big ridiculous smile.
This pleases the policemen as they smile back and are all
“good luck in there!”
I figured being on good terms with the police couldn’t hurt
in this situation.
I sheepishly go up to ImmiHagBag and explain. Much to my surprise she agrees to accept an
email from my phone. So then I every so
gently ask, “okay so now is it okay if I call this man back in here and tell
him that you agree to this?”
Well shit. If ever I poked a bear…
“I TOLD YOU TO MAKE ALL YOUR PHONE CALLS ALREADY!”
“Ma’am I had to ask you if you would even accept this before
he drove 45 mins into the office to write this email!”
“Fine. Go sit down over there and sort out your business.”
Like a scolded little child heading to the corner for her
time out, I obey and sit in the corner and make my phone call. Thankfully my mom had just messaged me to
inform me that we were set to get on the next flight 5 hours away. So at least I wasn’t having a heart attack
over time constraints anymore.
After 30mins of sitting in silence later, ImmiHagBag yells
over at me – “did you get the email yet!?”
Whaaat a great question.
Yes. Yes I got the email but continue to sit here because I’m just soooo
comfortable and don’t want this dream to end quite yet.
Dumbass.
“No ma’am. He should
be at the office soon though.”
2 mins later.
ImmiHagBag turns to male officer and is all “okay I’m going to go take
my lunch break”. Throws on her sweater.
Starts to walk away. Stops. Turns back
to ImmiMan and is all – “uuuuggghhh. I quit smoking 2 weeks ago and I’m craving
a cigarette sooooooooo bad.”
I.
Die.
This bitch put me through hell because she is in nicotine
withdrawal!!!
I stare in disbelief as she walks away.
I’m sure not even 30 seconds later… ImmiMan – “hey you. Come
up here.”
Thinking he’s going to give me shit now, I walk up
cautiously like an abused little shelter puppy.
He’s all, “what is her problem??”
I quickly give the big picture explanation of what I tried
telling ImmiHagBag.
He looks at me and says, “I know exactly what you are
talking about and I don’t know what her problem is. I will stamp you through
but we need to hurry before she gets back!”
I.
Die.
Again.
Completely shocked, my fight-or-flight mode (ironic?) kicks
into super-duper-hyperdrive.
ImmiMan is all, “you need to run back to terminal and get
new boarding pass and new bag tags for your new later flight…don’t wait in line
for customs, just tell them I told you to come straight back. Got it? Hurry!”
I take off running with all my bags. Fly past the police
again and turn back smiling and declaring “I’LL BE BAAAAACK! Again!!”
They just laugh and are all “we believe you!”
I didn’t just run through the terminal. I sprinted. Find the westjet check-in and through heaves
of catching my breath state “I. Need. New. Ticket. New.
Bag. Tag. Fast.”
The lady looked at me like I was 8 shades of crazy, seeing
as the flight I’m on is at 7pm and it was currently 245pm at best. I’m just acting like the flight is boarding
in 15mins. Little does she know. Little. Does. She. Know.
I get what I need from her and take off sprinting again
through the terminal.
Run back through customs.
Run past my policemen friends. “I’m baaaack!” “Go girl go!” (they may have not acutally said that, but in my head they
did).
Back into immigration holding area. Big sigh of relief as I see ImmiHagBag has
not returned yet. I fill out the visa
form as fast as humanly possibly.
ImmiMan stamps the shit out of it.
Hands it back to me, looks straight at me and says – “run. Run as fast as you can.”
And I do.
I get the hell out of immigration holding. Run to security
screening on the other side – once again out of breath. The guy was all “looks like you’re in a
hurry!”
I’m all, “no sir. Just excited!”
I get through to the other side and take off running to find
my mother. Finally I spot her. I run up to her and see her face filled with
complete shock – matching mine – and we both burst into laughter.
We spend the next couple hours going over and over every
ridiculous detail of what just happened.
Swinging from laughter to stunned silence, then back to laughter.
We calmly board that later flight. Fly into NYC at night taking in the surreal
birds-eye-view of the city lights.
Check into hotel. Go for much deserved drinks.
End scene.
True story.
Much more to come.
Xoxo
