Because of my work as a Hospice Nurse I no longer recoil from death and dying as I once did. But so many people still do. A chief desire of mine is to help people overcome this fear and loathing. I want people to see past it; to look beneath it to see the humanity; the person. At that level, we can all relate and share a common understanding of just how precious life really is. This allows us to stop running away from ourselves and each other, and instead turn toward one another and really live; really love.
Recently I was struck by a quote from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, which really captures how I look at death these days.
Dickens sets the stage: Ebenezer Scrooge is with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. He has been taken to a room which was very dark
"...too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side."
Here is Scrooge, unable to face death although he knew he wanted and needed to. And in that place of fear and hesitancy, he hears a voice. Dickens tells us "No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed."
"Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion!
But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man's.
Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!"
Dickens wisely reminds us that if we love one another, revere & honor one another, then even in death the faces of our loved ones will not be dreadful or horrible. I've seen people gaze in wonder and awe at the face of a family member who has just died. The true worth and value of that person somehow becomes more understandably real than it ever was when they were alive. Part of missing someone is the realization that they meant far more to you than you ever knew...until they were gone. And this is good for us, because (if we let it) this experience opens a new space inside us to love more fully than we had before.
When someone dies and all we have left is their memory, this becomes a story we tell to ourselves and to others, and the next generation then remembers as well. It is like a seed falling to the earth and being buried: only in this way can that seed bring forth new life. And we, in the very act of dying, become the story that is told and changes the world around us.
The holidays are a very difficult time for many who have lost loved ones. We feel their loss more keenly when we see and experience the warmth of family and friends. This year may we all remember fondly our loved ones who are gone from our sight. Tell lots of stories and share memories of the bad and the good times of life lived together. And, in so doing, like Dickens we can taunt death; revile its seeming theft by acknowledging the way new life always has a way of springing up to the eternal.
A friend and I were chatting recently, and I shared this story. At her prompting, I'm sharing it here for a wider aurdience...just so you all get some small glimpse into the life of nurses who visit people in their homes.
Lots of people think caring for people in their own homes looks like this:
...and sometimes it does. But not always.
True story: The year was 2000. I was a home care nurse and had a new patient to admit to our services in East Palo Alto, CA. For those of you who don't know, that was (still is?) a bad part of town – definitely the wrong side of the tracks.
(This picture is not EPA, but you get the idea)
As I pulled up in front of the house, there was nowhere to park…but right in front of the patient’s house, a dude was leaning into the driver’s side window of a parked car and clearly some sort of “deal” was being done, with cash being exchanged quickly, etc. Also of note, in one hand, the dude held the leash of a large rottweiler.
The car drove away and I parked in his spot.
The guy who'd been leaning in the driver's side window took the rottweiller (named "Felony", I later found out!) and tied it up to the garage door handle.
...then he began walking toward mydriver's side wondow. The look on his face said both "Are you sure you want to be here man?" and "If you aren't supposed to be here, you're going to be sorry!"
I took a deep breath and rolled down my window, introduced myself as a nurse who was here to see someone in the neighborhood and...was it OK to park here?
He said “Oh, you must be Keith! My dad said you would be here soon. Sorry about that man – I’ll make sure you always have a parking place, don’t worry about it!” …and he always did!
He turned out to be a very devoted son, and was really helpful all the time; clearly cared a lot for his dad…in the middle of various “deals” he was doing outside.
…and one day as I was getting ready to leave, he said “Hey, do you like Mt. Dew?” I said, “Umm, yeah, but I’m headed out to see another patient so I can’t stay, sorry.” He said, “No problem – here take some with you!” and he opened a closet door.
On the floor of the closet were approximately 30 two-liter bottles of Mt. Dew!
My mind flashed through a few scenarios as I wondered where in the heck he got THIRTY 2-liter bottles of Mt. Dew…but I didn’t ask him.
I just said thanks, grabbed a bottle, and walked out to my car… =)
On Monday August 27, 2007 I started my job as an RN Case Manager -- a home-visiting Hospice RN taking care of around 10-15 patients on a weekly basis. One week later, my dad died.
On Monday January 4, 2010 I will start my new job as an RN Clinical Manager -- supervising around 20 staff including RNs, Social Workers, Hospice Aides, and a Spiritual Care Coordinator who will collectively care for around 40-60 patients.
As I type this our 16 year-old cat Jack is sleeping next to me on the couch, but he is not well. He has declined rapidly over the last few weeks, and may not have more than a week left to live. We're hoping for more, of course, but also don't want him to suffer.
As I reflect, I can't help but see the parallels. Life is so good, so full of promise and potential. But then suddenly events outside my control converge and conflagrate, and life seems so much more tenuous; so fragile and mysterious, and all my questions go unanswered. Problems go unsolved. "Conclusions" seem, at best, elusive -- and at worst, evasive.
While sitting with Jack I've been reading a book recommended to me by my good friend Dave Kellogg. Dave was the High School Sports Editor for the San Jose Mercury News and for the past few years has been the Sports Editor at the Monterey Herald. He ran the Big Sur Marathon and blogged about his training. As a journalist and athlete, he's encouraging and upbeat...but he's also a realist. I'm enjoying the book he recommended: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, who is a Japanese novelist (I'm reading the English translation of his book) and a long-distance runner with the experience of multiple marathons, triathlons, and even an ultra-marathon (100k = 62 miles).
With all that being said, here's the quote I want to share with you which ties it all together. Mr. Murakami is speaking of not finishing the New York City Marathon in his planned time -- how on race day his plans fell through and he never heard the Rocky theme song like he'd imagined. But he's also talking about life when he says:
At certain points in our lives, when we really need a solution, the person who knocks on our door is, more likely than not, a messenger bearing bad news. It isn't always the case, but from experience I'd say the gloomy reports far outnumber the others. The messenger touches his hand to his cap and looks apologetic, but that does nothing to improve the contents of the message. It isn't the messenger's fault. No good to blame him, no good to grab him by the collar and shake him. The messenger is just conscientiously doing the job his boss assigned him. And this boss? That would be none other than our old friend Reality.
He tells the story of his race training, and race plans, and race-day plan-execution...and has no clear answer for why he didn't reach his goal-time. But He doesn't let the failure or setback effect his stride in life. He doesn't let the lack of an obvious solution or "Conclusion" keep him off the road for too long. He keeps on running.
There's one thing, though, that I can state with confidence: until the feeling that I've done a good job on a race returns, I'm going to keep running marathons, and not let it get me down. Even when I grow old and feeble, when people warn me it's about time to throw in the towel, I won't care. As long as my body allows I'll keep on running. Even if my [race] time gets worse, I'll keep on putting in as much effort -- perhaps even more effort -- toward my goal of finishing [my next] marathon. I don't care what others say -- that's just my nature, the way I am. Like scorpions sting, cicadas cling to trees, salmon swim upstream to where they were born, and wild ducks mate for life.
I may not hear the Rocky theme song, or see the sunset anywhere, but for me...this may be a sort of conclusion. An understated, rainy-day-sneakers sort of conclusion. An anticlimax, if you will. Turn it into a screenplay, and the Hollywood producer would just glance at the last page and toss it back. But the long and the short of it is that this kind of a conclusion fits who I am.
What I mean is, I didn't start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn't become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run -- simply because I wanted to.
I look up at the sky, wondering if I'll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don't. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn't be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there?
Mr. Muraki goes on and says "No" to his own question.
But I say "Yes" to mine.
I didn't become a Hospice Nurse because someone asked me to. One day in nursing school almost 15 years ago I watched a brief video on hospice care that has ended up changing my life -- because out of the blue I decided I wanted to help people facing the end of their lives stay as comfortable as possible, feel as loved as possible, and maintain as much dignity and self-determination as possible. So when I look inside -- into my well, I do see kindness: not only for others, but also for myself.
And, like Mr. Murakami, I don't run because someone asked me to become a runner. Today I am a runner because one day back in late May of 2008, out of the blue, I decided that I wanted to run. And as I've become a runner I've discovered another well inside me. This one has determination; stick-to-it-iveness I never knew was there. I found faithfulness that, like the kindness, can be for me too.
Jack has just hobbled up onto my lap, laid down, and started to purr.
And right now Monday morning's training run and new job responsibilities are an eternity away.
The mid-January half-marathon is past the horizon and the early October 2010 Portland Marathon (my first) is just a hopeful gleam in my eye.
Right now, for today, a warm purring cat on my lap is enough. I'm content. I really really am.
I had a sort of epiphany this morning while running. I like it when that happens. I'm running along and my mind is clearing out, and suddenly an idea pops into my head, so I start to play with it. Then, before I realize what's happened, I have a whole new outlook on something, because my perspective has been turned inside-out, in a really good way. These moments seem to happen more often when I run than at other times of the day.
This morning I was thinking about being stressed at work and had an inside-out-turning of my perspective that was really great. Before I share that with you, I have to let you a little deeper into my world so it'll be more meaningful.
In my job as a Hospice RN I have to stay flexible with a host of shifting priorities and that constant shifting is a major source of stress for me. I know many people face similar challenges, so let me share my unique situation.
My perfect day at work is when I am scheduled to see Mr. A, then Mr. B, then Ms. C, then Mrs. D, then go home, and that is exactly what happens. But it is rare. Usually it is very different.
Let's say it is Tuesday and I am scheduled to have the perfect day. But if Mrs. D calls in the morning saying she is having a problem, maybe I can help her over the phone, but maybe not -- I may need to see her first and reschedule the other patients. Or what if Mr. G calls and is having a problem? Now I need to see him today instead of Thursday, and that may mean bumping one of my other patients to a different day. Maybe I come to work and find that Mr. B died last night. I may not need to go to his home today, but maybe I will. At least I'll make a phone call, and offer emotional support. Or maybe I come to work and find a message on my Blackberry that Ms. N is going to be a new patient and it is my responsibility to introduce her to our services -- which means I'll need to dedicate 4+ hours to this process, which means shuffling other patients around...
You get the picture. Now let me complicate it further by telling you that on average I care for 10-13 patients at a time. And patients are people. And people who are facing life-shortening illness sometimes have changes happen quickly, and they need me to help them in those times.
I love helping people, but I hate it when my perfectly planned day gets tossed out the window -- whether that happens at 1:15pm or 8:15am.
When my schedule changes, I often grumble and complain inside, but then I feel bad about it because after all these are PEOPLE who are DYING I am dealing with, and I should be a better sport about the whole thing (especially since, HELLO!, I intentionally CHOSE to go into this line of work). So not only am I stressed about the shifting priorities but I feel bad about being stressed. Then I cut myself some slack and remind myself I'm human too, and as such I get the grace to be imperfect and have needs and faults.
So my priorities get shifted every day, and that stresses me because it feels as if I am being pulled in 15 different directions all at once. It feels like this:
Do you notice how he looks like he is having fun?
I don't get that.
Maybe that's because if he drops a plate all that happens is people laugh and he says "oops". But in my job the plates are people so if I drop a plate it is a much bigger deal. I don't like that possibility, so I'd rather deal with fewer plates at a time. See, if I could just have 4 plates today, then 4 plates tomorrow, I think I'd be OK (I'm probably wrong about that as well, but I digress...).
But I don't just have 4 plates today and 4 plates tomorrow. I have 13 plates all at one time. I can do my best to figure out which plates to help on any given day, but my reality is one of constantly being called upon to run from plate to plate keeping them all spinning.
Because of the nature of my work I know each patient will die, and on average this happens just about every 5 days. So every 5 days or so a plate is removed from my responsibilities, but that is hard on me because it usually happens just when I've grown fond of that particular plate and also just figured out how best to keep it spinning. And it also means that when I least expect it I will be told "Here you go -- another new plate to go figure out."
I have to pause here and say I really hope I don't sound callous. Each and every patient I care for has tremendous worth as a human being and I treasure the moments they allow me in to share their lives with them as they finish their journey here. Each patient is very special to me and referring to them as "plates" may seem discompassionate or even cavalier and I'm sorry for that. But I'm trying to help you understand my human heart and frailty as a person and how stressful my job can be. Because the more you understand how stressful my job can be, within the context of the spinning plates analogy, the more sense it will make to you when I go on now and tell you my epiphany.
There I was running along in the pre-dawn wondering what to do with the stress I feel from spinning plates, and in my mind's eye the imagery shifted, and turned all inside-out and bass-ackwards.
It went from this: to this: And suddenly I felt peaceful about it all. See, instead of me being the guy who is running from plate to plate trying to keep them all spinning...what if in reality I am. Just. One. Plate?
What if all I need to worry about it is keeping myself spinning by staying centered on that stick?
And that would imply each of my patients has a measure of responsibility for their own spinning. Yes, I have an important role to play, but really it is their journey, not mine.
It turns out I'm stressed because I take on a responsibility that is not mine to take!
Wow.
And then as I was reeling from that "A-ha!" moment, the image shifted a bit again...to this: And it was another "A-Ha!" moment. See, the idea of keeping myself centered is good but horribly incomplete because,
the reality is plates don't actually have the ability to spin themselves.
I don't have the capacity to keep myself centered. If I am the plate, then any "responsibility" I take -- any wiggling motion I do make to try and "keep myself centered" usually just makes things worse and the best thing to do is relax and choose to trust The One whose hand is down there keeping me spinning.
That removes a ton stress, and I can just be me and help people and not sweat the other stuff. And that is good for me, but it is also good for my patients, and my coworkers and my wife, and everybody! =O)
A guy from the 1st century called Paul understood this pretty well and wrote some stuff about it, if you want to read it here. I've read his comments before and thought I understood them, but today I got a personalized example and word-picture. Pretty cool huh?
The company I work for, Willamette Valley Hospice recently completed a project called "Faces of Hospice" which was written up in Salem's newspaper. I'm including the link below, and hope you will take a moment or two to read the brief article. There is also a short video. Together these offer a glimpse into the incredibly rewarding world I've been working in for the past year.
Since he gave his permission to publish his name I can also tell you one of the featured patients (pictured above), was Mr. Walter Bowden,a man I had the honor of caring for in his last 6 months.
To read the article and view the video, you can click here. I've also inculded the video here:
I'm so thankful for the encouragement so many of you have given me in my work and the move to Oregon to begin this next chapter of my career.
Eighteen hours ago I was driving home from a Vineyard Pastor's Retreat. It was raining really hard, but up ahead there was a break in the clouds. So I was driving in pouring rain, but looking at blue skies. In my rearview mirror I noticed something cool - a rainbow was there. Right. THERE! Like, the picture above, only all I could see was rainbow out my back window. And it was travelling with me -- chasing me. I don't know how long it was there before I noticed it.
The bible says the rainbow is a promise that God won't wipe us out in another flood (which was comforting, considering the amount of rain I was driving in!).
At the retreat, God really met me and reminded me of some promises He's made to me over the years -- promises I think I'd largely forgotten but, like the rainbow, they've been chasing me down all along.
As I type this I've had only 1 hour of sleep. I was on-call from midnight to 8 am and was out caring for families whose loved ones were dying. I saw three patients: one who did not die, one who died while I was there in their home with them and their family, and one who died before I arrived. I think that completeness of possibilities is poetic somehow.
On very little sleep, and on foggy roads, I was kept safe -- I was not wiped out by a flood or anything else. And now I'm going to sleep.
As I head to dreamland, the sun is out. I can't see the rainbow anymore but I will rest well, knowing I am still
My job as a Home Hospice Nurse has me driving all over the boonies in Polk County, Oregon. All of the 100+ folks on staff here carry a Blackberry 7250, and we are constantly in communication via eMail -- I get around 40-50 eMails a day on it, and I'm new here, so it will go up as I get more busy.
It is also my work cell phone, and our company has an unlimited data plan, so my Blackberry also carries my gMail, Google Maps, Google News, and Google Search apps, plus access to WeatherUnderground and 2 push-messages a day from AccuWeather. Yes, I'm a geek, but it is also handy to know what weather to expect as I am driving around in it all -- especially as the rains have now hit hard, and winter is still over two months away.
It is really nice to be out and about in a new area, and have the world at my fingertips. As such, I now use it even when I am off duty. I have become "that guy" with the holster on his belt. No, I have not stooped to wearing black socks with white tennis shoes or wearing a belt with shorts -- and I've never worn socks with sandals.
But I am now gloriously, hideously, happily addicted to having it with me at all times.
...religion is totally integrated into all that we do and think, but never forced on anyone. It is there, largely without words. Florence Nightingale, I think, is the one who said "You should carry the bedpan for the glory of God." Many would prefer to say, "I'll carry it for the dignity of man." But, you know, the two belong together. ~ Dame Cicely Saunders
~ Keith
Quotation from The Moment of Truth: Care of the Dying Person -- full bibliography here
Today is my last day at Stanford. I've worked here for over 9 years, and have been in my current job for over 6.
I started at Stanford on 28th June, 1998. I was a new grad RN and was thrilled to work for such a world-class hospital, in such a beautiful setting. I mean, just look at it -- it looks like something from a Disneyland Hotel brochure!I started out on C3 -- the Orthopaedics Med/Surg unit. I was taken in and shown the ropes by some great nurses and nurse's aides.
In February of 2000 I transferred to Stanford Home Care. Due to financial shortfalls, the department closed. I was disappointed since I was hoping to move into the Hospice) division at some point.
I started working at the Spine Center in April of 2001, and have loved (almost) every minute of it.
When I left the Navy in 1989, I'd been in for 6 years. I'd done a variety of jobs in a variety of places, but 6 years for a 23 year-old -- that was over 25% of my life!
Now I've been in this one particular job over 6 years, and have been at Stanford over 9 years!
I agree Hospice Nursing will be challenging, but I feel compelled from an inner place so deep it is hard for me to understand, let alone describe. Suffice to say I can't not do it, and feel as if it is what I have been wired for.
Before I was accepted into Nursing School, when I was still awaiting confirmation from God that nursing was a calling I should walk into, a bible verse that hit me was
To the Father, pure religion is this: that you care for widows and orphans in their distress, and that you keep yourself unstained by the world. ~ James 1:27
Then in the first few weeks of Nursing School, I saw a video, titled Dealing with Death and Dying by Thanatologist Joy Ufema, RN. As I watched the video and listened to her stories, I was struck how deeply this need is felt in America today and knew I wanted to care for the elderly and dying, someday -- here were the "widows" the verse in James mentioned*.
So here I am facing a new chapter in my career.I recently received an introduction / orientation packet from my new employer, Willamette Valley Hospice. Included were the standard forms to sign and the acknowledgement that I might have to pee in a bottle once in awhile. Also included were two books -- mandatory reading for all clinical staff. The two books are:
I'm only about 2/3 done with the first one and have already had a few experiences of trying to read through bleary eyes as the tears roll down my face.
As I move forward and share my journey here on my blog, I'll start with a few quotes from my reading thus far which may help you better understand why I would want to give myself away to help people live well as they die well:
In many ways, [death & dying have been] brought to the forefront of our public conscience. Finally, we are naming our fears and concerns about this life process. The stories [in this book] were written by people who chose a natural death. Their words tell of the difficulties of their choices. They also speak of the joy and healing that come as we sit in the darkness. They tell of their journey as they walk toward the light. (p 169)
We have chosen to include stories that encompass the totality of what death is, both good and bad. We have found that when the story of death is told by someone who has walked the path, the effect is profound. These stories are more than the sum of their words. They took great courage to write and the very action of writing released and healed painful layers of grief. These stories are small pieces of peoples' souls. (p 166)
It seems too often that many hospice patients' most profound questions come not as you [the hospice nurse] are sitting quietly with them, but rather as you are about to leave their room. It is usually at the time...when you feel as though you have the least amount of time. But in our hearts, these are the moments we have come to value the most in our contacts with patients. There is always time for them.
My patient Jim and I often would sit together...and talk about life and what this dying time meant to him. He softly asked me this question as I was about to leave his room: "Have you been witness to any healing of patients from cancer?"
I turned from the door and shared with Jim that in hospice work with patients in the natural process of dying I have frequently witnessed something even more powerful than the curing of disease. In the final weeks of a patient's life, I saw the healing of sadness, the healing of regrets from unmet dreams, the healing of families too long apart, the healing that comes from words that took a lifetime to say, and the healing that only letting go brings. (p 8-9)
Death will eventually arrive for everyone, and when it does, there are no do-overs. That is why it is important not to run from your inner struggle. (p 184)
Such beauty and grace abound in these stories.
I know as I work alongside people who are living their life to the fullest in the best way they can, I will also look deep inside and feel challenged to live my own life to the fullest as well.
I am humbled and in awe at such a loving God who would not just allow me to, but actually ask me to give my life away to His precious ones at such courageous, important, and tender moments of their lives. What an incredible honor and privilege -- and what an immense responsibility.
And I haven't even started the job yet -- I'm not even done with the required reading!
~ Keith
* (the orphans referred to, I believe, are kids with Downs Syndrome -- but that part of my calling has yet to be revealed, except in brief glimpses here and there. (back))
On 5th June, I mailed away the packet applying for an Oregon RN license by endorsement -- which means I was saying "Since I am already licensed in California, can I please have a license in Oregon?"
According to the website for both the Oregon State Board of Nursing (OSBN) and the California Board of Registered Nursing (CABRN), this is a three-step process:
Apply to the OSBN for licensure by endorsement.
Ask City College of San Francisco to mail my transcripts directly to the OSBN.
Ask the CABRN to send me verification of my own licensure, in a "state secured envelope" which I am not to open, but instead immediately forward to the OSBN
The CABRN's website states the process could take 6 weeks. They cashed my check on 18th June, so waiting a full 6 weeks would be cutting it close!
I've been eagerly checking my mailbox every afternoon, hoping to see this "state secured envelope" -- but no dice yet.
Yesterday I was faced with some bad news and some good news.
The bad news: still so sign of a "state secured envelope" from the CABRN.
The good news: my Oregon RN License, in a regular old run-of-the-mill envelope from the OSBN! I guess that "state secured envelope" must have been mailed directly to the OSBN!
Hurray!
Goodbye Hello
~ Keith
PS -- as an added kicker though, the extra bad news: the way the expiry works in Oregon, is such that my new RN license is set to expire 31st Oct 2007! The good news, though, is that in Oregon I have no CEU requirements, so I don't have to kill myself getting a bunch of CEUs in a short period of time!
Ladies and gentelmen, we are now ready for takeoff. Please ensure your seat belts are securely fastened, and your seat backs and tray tables are in the upright and locked position...
On Thursday 21st June I accepted a job offer from Willamette Valley Hospice in Salem, Oregon. 27th August 2007 will be my first day of work there as an RN Case Manager.
My last day of work as a Nurse Coordinator for Stanford will be 1st August, and we'll drive up to Salem from Redwood City on Friday 3rd August. Our last day at our sending church will be 29th July.
It's all happening so quickly, these things I've chosen to not share publicly until now.
In an earlier post, I likened our process to a crockpot. The light has now come on! It is time to dish things up and start eating!
In another word picture which feels more applicable at the moment, it feels like we've been sitting in the airport since 2004 because our flight was delayed. Then we were able to board the plane last summer, but there were more delays.
Now the jet is roaring down the runway and our heads are blissfully, if terrifyingly, pressed against the back of the seat.
A critical part of the process in obtaining my Oregon RN license is getting my college transcripts into the hands of the Oregon State Board of Nursing (OSBN).
On 6th June I mailed City College of San Francisco (CCSF) five things:
The CCSF transcript request form
My check for $10.00 (rush processing: 3-5 business days)
The OSBN transcript request form
A post-it note on the first form, asking them to please include the second form when mailing the transcript
A post-it note on the second form pointing out the address and re-stating the request that the OSBN form be included when mailing the transcript
Imagine my delight when I called the CCSF Transcript Department to check on things and spoke with Ms. Anne Lee. She said my transcript had been printed yesterday and would be mailed today! Hurray!
but then...
Anne called me on my cell phone to inform me she read the post-it note on the CCSF form, referring to the OSBN form...which she could not find! I asked her if I could fax it to her ASAP and she said I could. She kindly gave me her direct number so I could let her know (without wading through a phone menu) when I had faxed the new form.
I downloaded the form from the OSBN website, and faxed it to her right away. She answered on one ring, and confirmed receipt of my fax.
but then...
I noticed at the bottom of the OSBN form the ominous message in bold font:
Sorry, No Faxes
Oh No!
While on the phone with Anne I pointed this out. She said the original form I included with my request might be lying around in the transcript office somewhere, but finding it would be like the proverbial needle in a haystack. I said I guess I'll just have to pray! Anne didn't disagree with me on that idea, but she added an idea of her own: she offered to call the OSBN and check with them! Not only that, she offered to call me back once she'd spoken to them.
Less than five minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was Anne. She had a smile in her voice when she said she'd been able to speak to a live person at the OSBN, named Midge. Per Anne, Midge said "Oh yeah, a fax is fine. In fact, if that form is not included it is no big deal at all. It is just faxed transcripts that we can't accept!"
Before I hung up, I made sure to thank Anne profusely for her kindness and extra work on my behalf.
Phew!
Now to type this up in the form of a thank you letter to the CCSF Registrar's office so her boss knows what a valuable employee Anne is!
