First, the prof who is in charge of the course had some difficulty finding placements for people, because of all the health institutions trying to prepare for the possible resurgence of H1N1 pandemic in the fall. Which meant that instead of getting our placement information sometime in July as promised, we got them in late August.
When she did e-mail/call me, it was to ask if I'd had a psychiatry placement already. Because she'd asked for our résumés back in April, I hadn't included my fascinating experience from May (of which you know). She had wanted to put me BACK at the psychiatric institution. O_O
At that point, I was just worried about having a damn place to work during the year. I told her that it was not my first choice, since I'd already done psych and I'm sure there were many students who hadn't had that wonderful experience. (It's kind of mandatory to have psych before you graduate.) She said okay, that psych placement wasn't even a sure thing anyway.
O_o Why would you even offer it to me unless it was a sure thing?
She got back to me a few days later and said that I'd been placed at community clinic. Okay, it's sort of on the opposite side of Montreal, but hell, I commuted to Maimonides, which is like 2 bus stops down from there for a term. I wasn't particularly picky about it. The placement was described as "Services Généraux", which I assume to be regular check-ups and such. I contacted the preceptor listed on the professor's ginormous Excel file and sent my résumé.
I was so relieved at having found a place that was not psych (again) and was not exclusively geriatric (again).
Oh, this is not the end of the story. Last Friday, I got an e-mail from the prof, telling me that my placement was "lost". I was confused, because I'd already talked to my preceptor and he hadn't said anything about changing jobs. Apparently, I had talked to the wrong person, because the prof couldn't figure out how to line up my name properly in the Excel file.
Yeah. She couldn't figure out how to move my name down 3 rows in an Excel file.
-_____________________-
That's a severely disgruntled face.
She wrote that she was trying to find another spot for me somewhere else and that I shouldn't panic, because there was still a whole week left before our first week at the clinics.
I did not take this well. It was more of a panic than anger. There are clinical hours that I need to fulfill to graduate. How could they lose a placement in the span of a week? Also, why wasn't the prof telling me the possible consequences of not finding a place for me at all? Why the terrible lack of organization?
Okay, so there was a teeny bit of frustration in there. Just a tiny bit. That's when I decided, screw it, I'm not going to let it keep me from relaxing the Labour Day weekend away. So I did the Buddhist ritual of 108 bows, meditated and generally felt better.
Finally after badgering her in class and via e-mail, I received word that I would be placed in an Enfance-Famille program on the southwest corner of Montreal. I was really happy about it. It's easier to get to (on the green métro line) and babies! On Friday, my newly assigned preceptor called me back.
The first thing she said after we'd said hello was, "Do you want to talk to your prof about finding another preceptor for you?"
I think when she heard the voicemail I left in English (because duh, I'm anglophone), she thought she wouldn't be able to communicate well enough with me. I wasn't about to give up three bloody days before the start of our clinical duties. Unless she was going to move out of the city, get pregnant or fake her death, she was going to teach me and I was going to learn from her, goddammit.
Her: I use French mostly and I'm afraid I won't be know how to explain some things in English. I only use English with my anglophone clients.
Me: That's okay. I've been studying French since elementary school and I feel comfortable with it.
Her: Could you say something in French for me?
[Rest of the phone conversation was in French]
Her: You see, we write our charts here in French.
Me: I was at the Douglas in May and all the nurses there were francophone, most of the patients spoke French and reports were done in French and I had no problems. I took courses at McGill for both conversational French and written French.
Her: Hmmmm....
Me: Sometimes I might get confused if someone talks really fast, but I can look things up and I have no problems asking for clarification.
Her: Okay, which day would you prefer to meet?
If she had asked for a writing sample, I would have totally composed a damn essay right then and there in my zeal to keep this placement.
So hopefully, this year will go well. If another thing goes wrong with this, I don't know what will happen to my already fragile sanity.
Click the photo to see the detailed contents.
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