My Latest Position
(or, how much I make)
Whatever judgment you or I may have about it, I have always carried a portion of my identity in my work.
Cancer didn’t stop or take that. It just redirected my employment. And how I get paid.
I chose the identity of Cancer Shark to visualize how my shiver and I clear out what does not serve. Though unlike ocean shivers, most of mine don’t travel with me. I go to them.
And there are a lot of them.
Neurologists. Oncologists. Ophthalmologists. Endocrinologists. Primary care. Cardiologists. Radiologists. Along with the dozens of phlebotomists, nurses, medical assistants, and staff who make the entire medical sea I swim in actually move.
I appreciate all of them. I often even enjoy my exchanges with them. If I didn’t, I would find somewhere else to work and heal without hesitation.
Because much like any career, sometimes the tides turn, and you know it’s time for an exit.
The work itself is a lot. Commuting. Researching. Communicating. And instead of deadlines, I have what I call “do dates.” Non-negotiable tests, treatments, follow-ups, and check-ins that cannot be missed.
Not because I won’t get paid.
But because I’ll lose time.
And I don’t have time to waste. No one here does.
There are some benefits to this job.
My ADHD has always found its dopamine in work. One mentor once joked in a leadership meeting that offering me money to land a partnership was pointless because I’d do it for free.
She wasn’t wrong.
I’ve never been especially motivated by money. I’ve been motivated by momentum, community, solving problems, and making lasting positive changes.
That instinct followed me here.
I like finding creative ways to move through this world now, too. Handing a nurse a Cancer Sharks sticker. Starting a conversation with someone I don’t know in the MRI waiting area. Creating small moments of humanity inside sterile places.
Side effect: I get remembered.
And being remembered inside a system that keeps you alive is its own kind of professional asset.
People used to say to me, “No one ever said on their deathbed they wished they worked more.”
I call bullshit.
I’m not advocating endless hustle. Rest is part of the work. I’ve learned that the hard way. Some of my biggest career mistakes came from not knowing when or how to stop.
But work itself was never the enemy. Meaningless work was.
My work built relationships. Those relationships built a community that now shows up for me in the ways that matter most.
And that career woman I used to be, for all her blind spots and burnout, paid into the systems that are now keeping me alive.
Social Security. Disability. Medical coverage.
The same persistence that once chased partnerships now allows my son to still have his mom present and tangible.
This full-time job doesn’t pay in money.
It pays in time.
It isn’t easy. It isn’t tidy. Some days it’s nothing but waiting rooms and exhaustion. On other days, it leaves just enough time to write an essay between appointments.
But given the options, it is still one of the most important positions I will ever hold.
This is the only job where the salary and the stake are the same thing.
Time.
And every day I show up to earn a little more of it.
Just because my current employment isn’t a “real job” doesn’t make it any less rewarding. Sort of like these flowers at the front desk of my primary care physician’s office. They are still gorgeous (maybe even more impressive than the real thing?).