RIP Valerie P.
Yesterday a colleague of mine died in the hospital of complications from breast cancer which ultimately spread to her brain.
The government program which my dad's company is contracted to run part of includes a call center, and the call center is under our purview. As part of the proposal process and subsequent negotiations, Unisys was contracted to do an independent analysis of the call center, which was a big embarrassment and one of the central problems (that we were aware of) coming into the job. People were routinely on hold for thirty or forty minutes before getting their calls answered. I think my father and his business partner presumed they'd have to hire new personnel and new management staff. Unisys actually said otherwise; the staff was good and as best as they could tell the management was great, they just didn't remotely have the technical capacity or especially the manpower to meet the call volumes our clientele generates. Upgraded systems and a 50%+ increase in staffing have the call center operating smoothly and admirably.
Valerie, or as I referred to her (as I do most people around the office) "Ms. P______", was the manager of the call center, and she was good at it. I didn't get to know her well over the past few months, but she was always friendly, cheerful, and (lame and unimportant as it sounds) was always responsive and timely when I asked her for data. Now that she's gone I feel great regret that the only concrete thing I can say about her is that she was good at her job, but being good at your job is a good thing, I guess, and I can see from the reactions of those who knew her better as well as my own instinctive fondness for her that there was, of course, much more to her.
I actually went, with my compliance compadres, to visit her in the hopsital yesterday, but I kept getting kicked out of the room so that they could come in and do procedures (suctioning fluid buildup, mostly) before I could say anything to her, or rather gather the courage and thought to do it. She was supported by breathing machines, and putatively unconscious, although we were assured that she could hear us. By the time I'd worked out what I wanted to tell her I'd missed my chance, and ultimately I realized that sticking around and crowding both her family and all the other employees coming by to say hello, say farewell, offer tears and a little humor, I realized it was selfish, that what I had to say wasn't that important in the end and that I wanted to say it more for me than for her. If she could hear us, she had more than enough love around her than to miss my meager offering.
I realized that this was something I'd never seen before; my mother died suddenly and alone, and while the three of my grandparents who are gone died over extended periods of time in hopsitals, I was always away, out of state, and only ever flew in for the funerals. I've never seen anybody dying before, and I started to think about what it would've been like to be there by (especially) my grandfather's (dad's dad) side, post-stroke, as he struggled and improved before finally collapsing in resignation. I thought about that, and then I thought, as I often do, about humanity's twinned hunger to feel empathy and stunted resources with which to do it. I was sad, and then saddened again.
She died a few hours later in the afternoon, and I found out a few hours later still. She seemed to be well loved, as we'd all hope to be, but all I really know was that she was friendly and good at her job, so for me that will have to serve; it is enough. If there's anything after this, I hope it's good for her.
That's all, I guess.
The government program which my dad's company is contracted to run part of includes a call center, and the call center is under our purview. As part of the proposal process and subsequent negotiations, Unisys was contracted to do an independent analysis of the call center, which was a big embarrassment and one of the central problems (that we were aware of) coming into the job. People were routinely on hold for thirty or forty minutes before getting their calls answered. I think my father and his business partner presumed they'd have to hire new personnel and new management staff. Unisys actually said otherwise; the staff was good and as best as they could tell the management was great, they just didn't remotely have the technical capacity or especially the manpower to meet the call volumes our clientele generates. Upgraded systems and a 50%+ increase in staffing have the call center operating smoothly and admirably.
Valerie, or as I referred to her (as I do most people around the office) "Ms. P______", was the manager of the call center, and she was good at it. I didn't get to know her well over the past few months, but she was always friendly, cheerful, and (lame and unimportant as it sounds) was always responsive and timely when I asked her for data. Now that she's gone I feel great regret that the only concrete thing I can say about her is that she was good at her job, but being good at your job is a good thing, I guess, and I can see from the reactions of those who knew her better as well as my own instinctive fondness for her that there was, of course, much more to her.
I actually went, with my compliance compadres, to visit her in the hopsital yesterday, but I kept getting kicked out of the room so that they could come in and do procedures (suctioning fluid buildup, mostly) before I could say anything to her, or rather gather the courage and thought to do it. She was supported by breathing machines, and putatively unconscious, although we were assured that she could hear us. By the time I'd worked out what I wanted to tell her I'd missed my chance, and ultimately I realized that sticking around and crowding both her family and all the other employees coming by to say hello, say farewell, offer tears and a little humor, I realized it was selfish, that what I had to say wasn't that important in the end and that I wanted to say it more for me than for her. If she could hear us, she had more than enough love around her than to miss my meager offering.
I realized that this was something I'd never seen before; my mother died suddenly and alone, and while the three of my grandparents who are gone died over extended periods of time in hopsitals, I was always away, out of state, and only ever flew in for the funerals. I've never seen anybody dying before, and I started to think about what it would've been like to be there by (especially) my grandfather's (dad's dad) side, post-stroke, as he struggled and improved before finally collapsing in resignation. I thought about that, and then I thought, as I often do, about humanity's twinned hunger to feel empathy and stunted resources with which to do it. I was sad, and then saddened again.
She died a few hours later in the afternoon, and I found out a few hours later still. She seemed to be well loved, as we'd all hope to be, but all I really know was that she was friendly and good at her job, so for me that will have to serve; it is enough. If there's anything after this, I hope it's good for her.
That's all, I guess.
posted by medrawt at
11:12
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