The Guardian

I tend to get long-winded, and even I admit that I end up skimming longer blogs. I feel there certain things that need to be said, but I also hope that my peers will take the time to read my blogs and not be bored. So I'm posting a short version and a long version; I hope at least one of them will be worth the read.


(This is the full version)

I don’t know where it started.

----In general, I think I have always fallen into the role of “guardian.” I have always known this, but it took me until recently (32 years) to put a name to it. Any career I have contemplated, even from childhood, has had some guardian role. I don’t think it’s been a conscious effort (“I want to help and protect,”) but that’s what interests me.
----Safety in the workplace was a big deal during my Navy career. Dangers like hearing loss, lifting, riding support equipment, and aircraft hazards were everyday concerns. Still, the most significant hazards I endured were not involved in maintenance, but in clean-up instead. I inhaled (with no protection) clouds of dust from sweeping hangars, all of it was pigeon remains, including feathers and feces. (Through my studies in biology I have learned that, other than those who are immunocompromised, there's nothing really fatal you can get from inhaling bird feces. Still, when at the end of the day there's a film inside of your mouth and your nasal discharge is gray, it doesn't feel safe and is certainly unpleasant.)
----When my command was in the middle of mobilizing, I was on one of the last teams to move to the new base. Being low rank and stuck behind with no gear to work on myself and a few other unfortunate souls were given the busy work of cleaning up an old aircraft carrier. The USS Hornet had been in mothballs since before I was born. Some Veterans’ club had decided to clean it up and use it for tours and training of reservists. With the exception of pumping fresh air into compartments, there had been no preparation with our safety in mind. Asbestos snowed down on us as we broke the seal on abandoned compartments. Tape and signs marked PCB containing equipment but it still had to be moved. Swaths of lead paint curled off of bulkheads and ceilings like fruit rinds. Our "protective" equipment included only simple dust masks and latex gloves.
----None of us complained. It wasn't in our nature. We knew it was bad for us, but we been exposed all these things before. We were government property, risked as they saw fit. I'm sure we could have complained, gone up the chain, or contacted other branches of the government. But we did our jobs. It would all go and our records when we were discharged. If we had lasting effects we could hope that the government will deny them when it came time to seek disability.
----When I found out I was pregnant and insisted that I be given a lead test. My doctor said it was unlikely that I would have lead in my blood unless I had ingested or inhaled it. I had ingested it, inhaled lead dust, lead solder fumes, had lead paint splinters under my skin, lived in barracks constructed before lead regulations, and other sources one couldn't imagine. Thankfully, my lead levels were normal. But with everything else I know (and don't know) I was exposed to, I wouldn't be shocked if they led to some sort of birth defect.
----In retrospect, one of the most rewarding tasks in the military was being my command safety officer. I found a sense of purpose in everyday tasks like checking fire extinguishers, and keeping things to code. I took it personally when the command overlooked a danger or a regulation. It was rarely appreciated when I nagged my shipmates to wear their PPE, to not eat in the shop, or to follow hazmat regulations. Still, I felt I was doing it for them. There was no joy in calling people on their mistakes. I truly wanted them to understand that I was doing it with their safety in mind. It aggravated me when certain shops like support equipment saw neglecting safety regulations as some act of defiance. They were told to do so, but they were “rebels” - damn the man! They seemed ignorant and juvenile, like teenagers so when you're blind, paralyzed, and pissing into a bag - then you will have really taught the man a lesson! It was their eyes, their hearing, and their livelihoods; why didn't they care as much as I did?
----When I decided to return to school, there were careers that didn't just appeal to me but screamed at me, telling me with that desire that I thought was reserved for those few who are certain from early on what they want to do with their lives. The longest career appeal was working for OSHA. The opportunity to be not only the enforcer of corporations but the hero of the working man sounded like a starry eyed dream equivalent to those hopeful of becoming rock stars.
----My military experience and my subsequent civilian contracting jobs had been an eye-opener. How many others out there need their jobs so much that they do what they're told as opposed to risking their employment by demanding safer conditions? All workplaces have the OSHA posters, have the orientation for dues and don'ts and safety regulations, and give you human resources and whistleblower options for when things are neglected. The laws protect whistleblowers from losing their jobs. But the job and income aren't always safe. You're the guy at work who made things harder, who pissed off the boss, who made the government come in and change shit that was working just fine. Sadly enough, even in the most government regulated job sites, changes are only brought about when inspections are failed or someone gets hurt. To be that cop who protected and served and enforced regulations passionately appealed to me. Still, animals didn't have the option of speaking for themselves. And that was one group who needed a guardian even more.
----Why do I want to be a veterinarian? Why do I want to specialize in food animal medicine? These are questions that have been asked by a wide spectrum of people over the last four years. I've outlined them in personal statements. I’ve illustrated them in examples from my experience. I've weighed the pros and cons. I found analogies to which others could relate. But if I think back to the beginning, it was seeing animals who needed help, those who could not help themselves, and without a moment of contemplation, being filled with the impetus to help them. The rest was just details. When I heard of the opportunity to double major and receive a Masters of public health along with my DVM, I was giddy with the possibilities of guarding both the animals and the public.
----A current role as guardian and have taken upon myself is disability accommodations. Again, the reward isn't in the complaining that things aren't as they should be. But that doesn't change that things should be a certain way. When I transferred here from my small community college, the upgrade and size meant an upgrade and accommodations. Being a disabled veteran, and far within my rights to use disability access services. I never bothered at my old school, opting to address any issues with my professor directly. My old school was all one floor with no stairs to maneuver. Although I'm not in a wheelchair, my spinal injury prohibits me from lifting anything from the ground more than 10 pounds, and carrying anything more than 20. You don't have to be disabled to know that our textbooks and supplies with a far more than that. My rolling backpack (one of my favorite inventions) shares basic restrictions as a person with a wheelchair. I need to use ramps, elevators, avoid steps and curbs. Sure, it's one curb I can lug it up. Unlike a person in a wheelchair, I don't have to worry if I have the strength or if the physics make it possible for me to open heavy doors or reach things at certain levels. Yet these things are always on my mind. If it's an obsession, it's not a conscious one. I see icy sidewalks and I see the hazards they pose to less able-bodied people. I open heavy doors (you know the kind that you need to put your weight into opening) and wonder how the hell they expect someone to do that from a seated position below the level of the handle. I'm very pleased when accommodations are met and sidewalks are maintained. I understand how able-bodied people don't consider the extra effort that might be necessary for a person who's disabled. Why would they? If they've never been in that situation, if they've never known someone in that situation, why would it occur to them? Why does it occur to me? It's not my job. My extra needs are minimal, and I certainly have no hesitation when it comes to insisting on accommodations. But when the people who hold the jobs of taking those extra steps do those tasks half-assed, it pisses me off even when it doesn't directly affect me. When sidewalks slopes are over plowed with snow, or ice is on wheelchair ramps, or when I can't get into my 6 PM final because security locks handicapped entrance it at 4, I think of the people who don't have the opportunity to find someone to carry their bags for them, and I get all vigilante.
----I don't know where it started. Do I have some chemical predisposition, some inherited impetus to be a guardian? Is it that tired cliché of a mother's instinct (gag!) Or some experience where no one was there to help me that I want to save others from enduring? Is it obsessive compulsive disorder within actual purpose? Which part of my brain gets giddy with the idea of safety regulations and equal accommodations? Whether it's nurture or nature, there's some science in me that gives me this drive. I found a way to use my passion and skill with science to answer my calling to be a guardian. I have no doubt that even when I am settled in my career as a veterinarian, I will find things that could be and should be done safer, and I will take on extra tasks that placate the discomfort they cause me. I can easily see myself, after years in practice, taking a job with the government that uses both my DVM and my MPH to create and enforce regulations that ensure the safety of the animals, the environment, and the public.


(This is the nitty grtty)

I don’t know where it started.

----In general, I think I have always fallen into the role of “guardian.” I have always known this, but it took me until recently (32 years) to put a name to it. Any career I have contemplated, even from childhood, has had some guardian role. I don’t think it’s been a conscious effort (“I want to help and protect,”) but that’s what interests me.
----Safety in the workplace was a big deal during my Navy career. Dangers like hearing loss, lifting, riding support equipment, and aircraft hazards were everyday concerns. Still, the most significant hazards I endured were not involved in maintenance, but in clean-up instead.
----None of us complained. It wasn't in our nature. We knew it was bad for us, but we been exposed all these things before. We were government property, risked as they saw fit. I'm sure we could have complained, gone up the chain, or contacted other branches of the government. But we did our jobs. It would all go and our records when we were discharged. If we had lasting effects we could hope that the government will deny them when it came time to seek disability.
----In retrospect, one of the most rewarding tasks in the military was being my command safety officer. I found a sense of purpose in everyday tasks like checking fire extinguishers, and keeping things to code. I took it personally when the command overlooked a danger or a regulation. It was rarely appreciated when I nagged my shipmates to wear their PPE, to not eat in the shop, or to follow hazmat regulations. Still, I felt I was doing it for them. ! It was their eyes, their hearing, and their livelihoods; why didn't they care as much as I did?
----When I decided to return to school, there were careers that didn't just appeal to me but screamed at me, telling me with that desire that I thought was reserved for those few who are certain from early on what they want to do with their lives. The longest career appeal was working for OSHA. The opportunity to be not only the enforcer of corporations but the hero of the working man sounded like a starry eyed dream equivalent to those hopeful of becoming rock stars. To be that cop who protected and served and enforced regulations passionately appealed to me. Still, animals didn't have the option of speaking for themselves. And that was one group who needed a guardian even more.
----Why do I want to be a veterinarian? Why do I want to specialize in food animal medicine? These are questions that have been asked by a wide spectrum of people over the last four years. If I think back to the beginning, it was seeing animals who needed help, those who could not help themselves, and without a moment of contemplation, being filled with the impetus to help them. The rest was just details. When I heard of the opportunity to double major and receive a Masters of public health along with my DVM, I was giddy with the possibilities of guarding both the animals and the public.
----A current role as guardian and have taken upon myself is disability accommodations. Again, the reward isn't in the complaining that things aren't as they should be. But that doesn't change that things should be a certain way. Unlike a person in a wheelchair, I don't have to worry if I have the strength or if the physics make it possible for me to open heavy doors or reach things at certain levels. Yet these things are always on my mind. If it's an obsession, it's not a conscious one. I understand how able-bodied people don't consider the extra effort that might be necessary for a person who's disabled. Why would they? Why does it occur to me? It's not my job. My extra needs are minimal, and I certainly have no hesitation when it comes to insisting on accommodations. But when the people who hold the jobs of taking those extra steps do those tasks half-assed, it pisses me off even when it doesn't directly affect me.
----I don't know where it started. Do I have some chemical predisposition, some inherited impetus to be a guardian? Is it that tired cliché of a mother's instinct (gag!) Or some experience where no one was there to help me that I want to save others from enduring? Is it obsessive compulsive disorder within actual purpose? Which part of my brain gets giddy with the idea of safety regulations and equal accommodations? Whether it's nurture or nature, there's some science in me that gives me this drive. I found a way to use my passion and skill with science to answer my calling to be a guardian. I have no doubt that even when I am settled in my career as a veterinarian, I will find things that could be and should be done safer, and I will take on extra tasks that placate the discomfort they cause me. I can easily see myself, after years in practice, taking a job with the government that uses both my DVM and my MPH to create and enforce regulations that ensure the safety of the animals, the environment, and the public.