Surviving a nightmarish week

Thought my job was safe, then told it wasn't, then told it was ... for now

I had a nightmare the other night.

It was terrifyingly real.

I dreamt I was dying.

I was sitting at my desk at the My Life, My Story office at the VA hospital in Madison, plugging away on another veteran’s story when something struck me from behind, some type of blunt force object. Barely coherent, I shot a glance to my left side to see who had perpetrated this surprise attack and all I could see was black figures. Tall, ominous blobs. Nameless. Faceless. They meant nothing to me, only that they brought pure dreadfulness.

I started struggling, tried to fight back. I clutched the edges of my desk with the force of a vice grip. Don’t take me! I’m not ready to go! But my breath was being sucked out with every move I made. Had the attacking blobs strapped something around my neck? A cord? A rope? Nonetheless, I was fading fast. I was giving up the fight. Total darkness was setting in.

Then, BANG, I woke up. My heart was racing. I looked around. I was in my bed. Am I still breathing? Yes. I put a hand on my chest. Still here.

I looked over to my right to see my three-year-old son sleeping peacefully in the same bed. Dreaming more pleasant thoughts than Dad, I hope.

I don’t often have nightmares, but this one rattled me. I feared falling back to sleep.

I couldn’t help but think, Was it a metaphor for everything going on at work?

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Last week was one of the most bizarre, chaotic and frustrating weeks of my life. But it ended with a glimmer of hope … I think.

I came into work Monday morning thinking my job was safe but also feeling sad. My colleague, Seth, was losing his position at the end of the week. Being term employees, and with the federal hiring freeze still in place, we both assumed we would be out the door when our terms expired April 5. Seth, unfortunately, could not get his contract renewed. I was told mine would be, possibly for four years.

Around 2 p.m. on Monday my boss called. Bad news. I, too, would be losing my job. Since I’m not “exempt” from the hiring freeze, there’s no way HR can extend my contract. Permanent employees, such as clinicians and service chiefs, are on the exempt list.

For nearly two days I cycled through all the emotions of realizing the best job I’ve ever had would cease to exist on April 5. Hey, at least I get four days to prepare unlike the turds who fired me on the spot from two newspapers jobs early in my career. Then Wednesday morning rolls around. I get another call from my boss around 11 a.m. “You’re being extended!”

HR, besides saying, “Oh, sorry for turning your life upside down for 48 hours,” had discovered a legal loophole in the term employee contract bylaws. What? I’m safe!? I almost didn’t believe it. Is this real? The haphazard jerking around with my livelihood left me so emotionally fried, I thought of quitting, something that never would have crossed my mind just three months ago.

It’s amazing how something so good can turn so bad practically overnight, simply with the flip of a presidential administration.

A colleague made these stickers recently with a valuable message.

Alas, my contract is being extended until August 2026, a full four years from when my term began in 2022. My boss pushed hard for another four years, but no dice. In a hiring freeze and an extremely volatile environment with thousands of federal workers getting canned left and right, it’s the best they can do.

I’m grateful. I’m happy my job is not ending.

So, why don’t I feel better?

That’s the question I asked my therapist (yes, I’m seeking counseling for the first time in my life). I’m still sad. Sad because my colleague Seth had to say goodbye to a job he adored after 10 years. Sad that we’re losing not only a gifted writer and editor but, in my opinion, the heart of our program. With the current conditions, we’ll likely never be able to hire a replacement for Seth, but it really doesn’t matter. Nobody could do this job quite like him.

He’s also a fantastic human who loves his work, loves My Life, My Story, loves his co-workers, his family and, oh yeah, NBA basketball. I’ll miss talking hoops with Seth in our office. I’ll miss talking shop with him, whenever I have a question about a story I’m working on or the excitement of saying, “Hey, I just had an amazing interview!” Or “Wow, heavy interview. This veteran has had a tough life. This story will be difficult to work on.”

I also feel guilty. His contract was a little different than mine, but why did I get extended and not him? In his 10 years with the program, he met, interviewed and wrote about hundreds of veterans. His forced departure is a tremendous loss for the VA and the veterans it serves.

Our program is whole no more.

Preparing for my last day at work, I jotted down a checklist of duties before leaving, only to find out I wasn’t leaving; hence I crossed out everything.

The feeling was evident as the tears flowed on Seth’s final day. He’s not the only co-worker I’ve seen break down in tears in recent weeks. Tough thing, watching colleagues cry.

I’m still fearful. I am afraid that this extension is only a reprieve. A stay of execution. The governor phoned the warden to say, “Don’t pull the switch … yet.”

Cuts are coming. Big-time cuts. Fifteen percent of our workforce or about 80,000 VA employees will be out of work by mid-summer. And since I’m a term employee and not involved in critical care, I will likely be among the first to get axed. They may give me 60 days’ notice … or 30 days … or none at all, if they decide to conduct the type of slashing that’s been done across many other federal agencies.

I’ll show up to work tomorrow excited to work on another interview. Happy to help another veteran. But damn, it’s getting harder each day to focus.

The faceless black blobs are still lurking.

How much fight do I have left?