Horror Tales From a Nurse's Crypt
Over the past few weeks, I toyed around the idea of taking a part time job and working less hours at the hospital. I just have the urge to make some changes in my professional life and I'm even considering an entirely different career path, preferably one that involves writing. The only drawback is that most entry level positions mean a huge pay cut which I can't afford at this time. Before anyone thinks this is going to be a woe-is-me blogpost, I just want to make it clear that I do appreciate the job I currently have. When some people lost theirs (or are on the verge of unemployment) or are still looking for one, I have a stable occupation that pays the bills. Nursing is truly one of the more solid profession out there and there's always going to be an incessant demand for health care workers (nurses, physical therapists, med techs, caregivers, etc) everywhere.
Here in the US and in other countries, the presence of the Filipino workforce is very crucial to the delivery of health services. Without their hard work, the system will be potentially impaired. It's therefore comprehensible that the insensitive and unfounded comment from the TV show "Desperate Housewives" left a bitter taste especially among Filipinos engaged in the health care industry. The unfortunate dictum just didn't reflect the reality of how much these host countries have relied on us to take care of their old, sick and dying. It also reminded me of how unjust things can be to any foreign worker. I'm sure a lot of OFWs out there will heartily agree.
Although the Filipino nurses are becoming more respected and acknowledged, they are far from being exempted or immune from any display of discrimination or racial prejudice. The recent case of the "Sentosa 27" is a crucial illustration of how challenging it is out there for Pinoys who are seeking a better future overseas. Their predicament is not remote to me and to countless others who were once (and probably still are) casualties of such unscrupulous treatment. The ongoing legal wrangling has essentially brought to the forefront something that a huge number of us went through not that long ago.
When I first arrived in the US in 1994, I was a bit anxious but had no apparent reasons to be afraid of anything. Stepping through the sliding doors at the Chicago O'Hare airport was like being transformed from an ingenuous small town girl into an optimistic young woman ready to claim her independence and start a new life. Regrettably, the euphoric mood didn't last long as the fairy tale unfolded into an austere narrative of a bizarre dimension. Without disclosing any incriminating details, let me recount my own version of "Coming to America" (or rather, "Tales From the Crypt").
Feeling relieved that my passage through the US Immigration went without a glitch, I rolled my lone luggage out towards the arrival area and waited until I was approached by a man (a Filipino) who introduced himself as the "agent". After a perfunctory greeting and inquiry about my trip, Mr. Joe* escorted me out towards the parking lot. He informed me that we needed to head over to the nearest Social Security office to apply for my SS number after which he will then introduce me to my employer. Unsuspecting of any anomaly, I got into Mr. Joe's vehicle. Shortly thereafter, I found myself marveling at the wide expressways, tall buildings and impressive skyscrapers. Unabashedly gawking, everything just seemed enormous in my hazy and sleep-deprived state of mind.
I was so engrossed with the newfangled surroundings that I probably looked perplexed when Mr. Joe asked for the cash balance ($2,000.00) that I was instructed to remit upon arrival. The said amount was part of my placement fee of $3,500.00 (not including the miscellaneous charges from visa processing and the airfare). After I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, he then handed over an employment contract that appeared similar to the one I already signed back in the Philippines except that upon closer inspection, I noted that a few things were significantly revised. The name of the nursing home employing me was different from the one indicated in my work petition/visa. In addition, the hourly rate on the document was noticeably lower than what I originally signed up for. Alarm bells were ringing in my ears as I struggled to make sense of the detrimental stipulations jumping at me.
Flummoxed by the blatant changes, I timidly questioned Mr. Joe but only received an elusive response that both nursing homes have the same owner and he basically brushed my concerns off as irrelevant. I also had a disconcerting feeling that he wouldn't accommodate further inquiries and just wanted me to sign the contract on the spot. At that point, I mentally kicked myself for being so foolish in asserting my autonomy by declining a relative's offer to meet me at the airport. Sensing the impatience in Mr. Joe's demeanor, I deliberated on the possibility of not signing the agreement but was overwhelmed by the trepidation of ending up alone and lost in an immensely alien territory. Worse, I was mainly apprehensive about being deported and giving up on the pipe dream that was just within my clasp moments ago. After pondering on the financial sacrifices that my parents went through in supporting my aspirations for a better life, I swallowed the huge lump of fear in my throat and haltingly signed the pact with the devil.
It didn't take long to find out that I signed up for an even worse deal than I bargained for. Although far from living in squalor, I was housed in a 2-bedroom apartment with five other nurses. That made for a very uncomfortable and crowded living arrangement despite being charged more than the actual rent ($650.00). Since we didn't have any credit history to speak of, the employer leased the apartment in our behalf but automatically deducted an unreasonably excessive amount from our paychecks.(Let's do the math: $200.00/month x 6 occupants = $1,200.00 = blood money). Aside from the abysmally low pay rate, I was strong-armed into working a lot of overtime hours(16-hour shifts) but was paid straight time only. It also meant being mostly assigned to a patient population that non-contract nurses would rather not take. I constantly dreaded getting up and going to work, literally feeling nauseated from the anticipation of another grueling and punishing workload.
Toiling under duress and a lot of stress took a toll on my emotional well-being and also affected me physically that I even endured a profusely prolonged menstrual period for 3 weeks which resulted to anemia. It turned out that I didn't have an insurance coverage for the first six months so I was basically without medical care. It was such a dreadful and low point in my life that I seriously considered throwing in the towel. The prospect of going back to the Philippines and reuniting with my family just didn't seem so bleak in comparison to my ordeal.
After much mental wrestling, I ultimately decided to stay and ride the tide. Fueled by my family's encouragement, I prodded on. I developed a supportive friendship with some coworkers and we became each other's morale boosters. On our days off, we made sure to spend the time as far away from work as possible. As I mentioned in a previous post, those were the days when all we wanted to do was to travel and explore. It was our way of temporarily escaping the nightmare and "making a lemonade out of lemons". Figuratively speaking, I sure drank a lot of lemonade.
Although my contract technically expired after two years, I didn't get to tender my resignation from the facility until after four more years later. It was a matter of necessity since I applied for the immigration status and an employer's petition was required in the process. It took a long time due to some circumstances and procrastination on my part. By then, I have already accepted my fate with more stoicism and dare I say, gratitude. After all, there was no gun aimed at my head when I signed on the dotted line. I came and stayed on my own volition.
In retrospect, I wasn't really without any choice. I could have left and gone back to a familiar life in the Philippines. On the other hand, I could have sought legal counsel and collected reparation if successful in holding the agency and employer accountable for their callous practices. I could have also just ran away and eventually find another petitioner who'd be fair and unprejudiced. It's been done before, I'm sure. Despite the options, I made my bed and laid on it. It was thorny and rocky but it was mine.
When I finally received my green card, I wasted no time and looked for a new employment. Ironically, I did benefit from my tenure in the long term care facility. It gave me opportunities to develop my nursing skills and gain experience to be confident enough in applying for a job at a prominent hospital in Chicago. It took me awhile to acknowledge but the hardships undoubtedly made me resilient in my personal life as well. I just have to remember all the adversities I went through and any type of crisis doesn't seem to faze me that much anymore.
Whenever my coworkers and I trade anecdotes on our past nursing home careers, it's almost like swapping war and horror stories. Interestingly enough though, these accounts are also peppered with fond recollections of the people we worked with and the memorable residents under our care. It wasn't really all that bad, I reckon. If given a choice, I'd rather not work in a nursing home again but it's still a good offer on the table rather than not having a job at all.
Those who just recently migrated and found it difficult to get hired can probably attest to that. It might seem fantastic to not have to get up and go to work everyday but after a certain period of lassitude, the sense of monotony and ineptness will creep in. The restlessness will eventually drive an individual to pursue something to focus their energy on unless every cell in their body have become slothful. In a way, it was probably the dread of losing a purpose that motivated me to keep doing my job, albeit under abusive and unpleasant conditions.
Of course I'm not condoning the iniquitous, fraudulent and bigoted working environment that some establishments are propagating. Far from it. I believe I should have gotten a fair deal just like anybody else who's trying to make an honest living. Everyone deserve it wherever they might be ... except in the real world. It's quite a harsh observation coming from me but let me try to justify this assessment.
It cost me a lot of tears and several bouts of disenchantment but in the long run, I figured out that the world is not always an even-steven and fair playing field. As much as we want it to embody all our ideals, it will never be without injustice, corruption, poverty, oppression, war, terrorism, sickness, pollution and all the other things that dehumanize us. It might sound fatalistic but it is what it is.
As discriminated and wronged I might have felt, I also recognize that a lot more people out there are suffering of so much terror and pain than I can ever imagine or experience. I only have to step out of my little cocoon to see that in the grand scheme of things, my misfortune is just a bantam blob, a nanosecond blip on the global radar.
So, do I endorse the actions of the Sentosa nurses? I honestly don't have a clear-cut answer to that. I do applaud them for their tenacity and determination to seek justice. If they do get vindicated and compensated, more power to them. Perhaps they will help pave the way for a more secure and nondiscriminatory working conditions for the nurses and other OFWs. Hopefully, I'll get to see that happen in my lifetime. If I still sound a tad pessimistic, it must be because it's been such a long, long time since I last wore those rose-colored glasses. Even if I want to, I don't think they'll fit me anymore, anyway.
came on so I decided to check in on him first. I knocked on his door, " May I come in, Mr. Tower? What can I do for you?"
. He was breathing hard and was waving his arms around. Oh, dear 
and I will be your nurse till tomorrow morning. I understand you had been waiting for some medications?" I took a few more tentative steps into the room like entering a lion's den 
.
ing medications NOW!!!" 
What a mess! I pity the doctor who will have to deal with him. Well, I pity myself more since I'm stuck with him for 12 hours! 
Dr. Wise* and notified him of the problem. He was busy with another patient on crisis in another unit but managed to come up to see the patient in less than half an hour later. I told him more about the patient's verbalizations (use of the F word particularly) to emphasize the mood he was in. Minutes later, Dr. Wise came back to the station and said, "I don't think he likes me either. 
I told him that it was wrong of him to curse at the nurse, that it was an inappropriate and unacceptable behavior. He denied cursing and being rude. He wants another nurse but I told him it's not necessary or possible. Just be prepared when you go in there, okay?" A-huh? 
...
. Braving for the worst, I went in to the patient's room to inform him that the doctor was in the process of entering his medication orders in the computer and I will bring in the meds as soon as they are dispensed from the system or sent from the pharmacy. The patient looked like he had calmed down and was surprisingly pleasant this time around 
. I thought he was going to throw me out of the room but he seemed like a different person than the one I initially met. Wow! 
I think what the doctor said probably homed in on him and made him think twice about his unfair behavior. Sometimes, patients can become so anxious and it gets manifested in other types of behavior. It's still no excuse to be abusive to the staff but it's understandable and expected at times. 
. I thanked the doctor who made that possible. It is so rare that an MD would stand up for the nurses so it was a very refreshing experience 
. Most of them couldn't really be bothered to go an extra mile to make it easy for the nursing staff so kudos to those who respect our profession as much as we respect theirs. 
