And while I'm grateful, I can't help thinking why--of all the people who have been let go from jobs that they loved in the last two months, or six months, or nine months or twelve months--did I get to be the one to get mine back?
If someone was going to get their job back, it should have been Steve Whitmire. Because his is not just a job, it's a vocation.
Why me and not him?
I mean, I know the real answer. It's because I was let go when the clinic I work(ed) for implemented a new records system, and they didn't think that they'd need transcription services anymore. But some of the doctors apparently aren't adapting to the new system very well and are still dictating, so it turns out they need someone to type that dictation. In my case, the people in charge didn't have a personal vendetta against me, so when they saw there was still a need, they brought me back.
Knowing that doesn't help, however. Yesterday I was worried about how I was going to pay my mortgage and bills this month. Now I'm thinking that, worst case scenario, I could just go home and live with my parents.
If I could get Steve his job back by giving up mine, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can't. And I know that starving myself or wrecking my credit with a foreclosure isn't going to help anyone, least of all Steve.
But still. Fate is a fickle mistress.