Here it is, New Year’s Eve 2023. I find myself reflecting on where I was on Eve’s of the past. One particular dark night comes to mind. The setting is Charleston, WV. December 31, 1999 on a conference call with my boss at Sundance Rehabilitation. A national company with contracts to provide the rehab services of physical, occupational and speech therapy in nursing homes and skilled rehab hospitals. I was their regional manager for the WV/Virginia/No. Carolina area. This job was challenging due to the travel required to the facilities in my supervision. Thus, leaving my son in the care of friends and paid caregivers way too often. I was not happy in this job or in my life that year but it was a job, a paycheck, and paid the rent and food.
The call’s agenda was about making last minute adjustments and plans for the anticipated crash of our computer billing and documentation systems due to the Y2K panic. Derek stayed occupied while I was on the phone playing video games (my built-in babysitter). The long communique finally ended with me feeling overwhelmed with stress and exhaustion. I remember telling Derek he could stay up all night if he wanted because I was going to bed! I did not care one bit if the sun came up on the new year.
As it always does, the sun did rise the next morning. And guess what? Nothing happened! Nothing, nada, not an iota of an IT glitch ever affected our facilities, payroll or reimbursement systems. Was that a fortuitous outcome due to the exorbitant amount of money spent and preparations made by upper management? Or was the whole Y2K thing exaggerated and overly emphasized just for the profit motives of software developers? Sundance Rehab spent close to a million dollars in the months leading up to New Year’s Eve 1999.
By the end of January 2000, rumors of layoffs and contract negotiations with many of the facilities were floating at the water cooler. By the beginning of March, I was traveling the road to issue pink slips to at least a dozen therapists. Something I thought was immune in my chosen field of healthcare. I recalled the conversation from several years prior when my dad asked me why I was choosing my profession. My response was, “Think about it Dad, there will always be sick and injured people. I will always have a job!” He then praised my logic, words I will cherish and never forget.
By April, I was issued not a pink slip, but a demotion and pay cut to return to the position of a staff therapist in a nearby nursing home, vacating my lofty position as middle management. The wheels of change were in motion. My heart was breaking, my bank account starving, and my son was struggling. I was grieving both the passing of my parents and the absence in my life of my daughter who lived here in Idaho with her mother.
Then came the phone call. My oldest brother Craig, who was now taking on the mantle of patriarchal responsibility of the family, was on the other end of the line. He explained how the family home here in Preston was not selling after several months on the market. “Why don’t you and Derek come home?” he asked. “You are out there alone, you need our support…come home.” We discussed the pros, cons and logistics of me assuming ownership of the home as part of probating the estate, etc. I told him I would think about it and let him know.
Eight hours later, with little to no sleep, I went to work to turn in my 30 day notice. I knew I was leaving behind many dear friends and “family” in WV but the pull was too strong for me to ignore. By June 1st, these friends and ward members who had buoyed me up through the darkest days, and shared some of the happiest moments of my life up to that point, were toting boxes and furniture to pack the Ryder moving van with my red Camaro on a car trailer behind. Derek was going to be fine because he had a new GameBoy with a bag of fresh batteries to keep him occupied on the 2000 mile drive to our new home. I am not sure either one of us would have survived the five days on the road without that expenditure!
The rest is history, with the expected mix of good and bad times. Proof to me of the truth contained in the adage: “There is nothing so bad, that a little good can’t come from it!” All thanks to Y2K…JOB WELL DONE!