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Life After College

copyright 2010 comidacomida

I don't make a point of mentioning it very often, but it took me five years to get a degree. I'm not ashamed of it, if that's what you're thinking... I'm just not much for excuses. I had a fair number of scholarships, and they helped, but the honest issue was that even with them I still didn't have enough money to hold a full class load, so I took 9 credits every quarter, including during the summer and spent my extra time working at a local restaurant.

In the scheme of things, I guess I'm glad it turned out that way; I saw a lot of students put through college by their parents try to skate by on Cs and Ds, but university wasn't high school; you couldn't not try and expect to succeed. Working and going to class was hard to balance, but I managed... I didn't have a choice since I couldn't qualify for financial aid or student loans-- my parents made too much for the first and as far as the second: my credit was shot; my mother and father had managed to qualify some credit cards in my name. The point was to help them upkeep a lifestyle suited to the neighborhood where we lived, but they got carried away and it eventually caught up with them... well... us, I guess.

I lived like a starving college student, which I guess was to be expected considering my expenses, but it didn't bother me-- I was getting somewhere, and I had JD with me to make where I was at the time into somewhere I enjoyed. The time I spent with JD helped me gain a focus on what was important in life, and helped me escape from the rest of the world; when we were together it was just us and nothing else seemed to matter. I think that's what may have made the last year and a half of college so stressful for us both-- we barely had any time together.

I think it affected both of us, because I remember it being stressful-- JD wanted to see his human more, and I wanted to spend more time with my Guard Dog. He'll tell anyone who listens to him that I was the one who gave him direction, but, to be honest, I think it was a two-way relationship. We relied on one another to get where we were and I don't think anything quite illustrates my point like graduation night.

I was so proud of JD. He once thought that he wouldn't amount to anything... that he was just taking up space, but he finally had the chance to see that he could accomplish something... he could accomplish ANYTHING if he really applied himself. I still feel bad about my parents coming; I knew that they didn't approve of him and, quite frankly, I think he spent the entire ceremony walking around with his jaw clenched... he really didn't care for my family at all. He tried reassuring me that he was fine, and even managed a cheer-and-a-bark for me when I walked up to the podium (I was a valedictorian, and the faculty had asked me to make a speech).

For the life of me I don't really remember what the speech was about. My mother and father had a cam corder and, like any dutiful parents, they recorded the whole ceremony, but I think they lost the tape, or maybe recorded over it since then. I remember the talk had something to do with believing in yourself. "We all have the ability to accomplish anything we set our mind to. No obstacle, no matter how insurmountable it seems can block us from our goals if we are willing to work hard enough to achieve them. We are our greatest asset, and we must always work to invest ourselves wisely." or something to that effect.

My parents left after they had a chance to take some pictures and pose for photos. They had always tried their best to be as supportive as possible, but, frankly, I had no delusions about them wanting to be there; it was an obligation, and it looked good to have a picture of them embracing a son on graduation day. They lived their lives for themselves... after all these years I think that's the best way to describe them. By the time they left I was more than ready to leave as well. So was JD, but while I was considering the benefits of getting home and sleeping for a week solid, my Guard Dog had a celebration on the mind.

We went to a party he had a flier for. It was not an 'official' party, which meant things were completely insane. In addition to the immense selection of alcohol there were harder drugs all around. I was uncomfortable from the start, but JD kept close to me, barely ever leaving my side, and I couldn't help but feel protected from everything past arm's reach. It felt good, in a way... until he had his tenth or eleventh drink. Several of the other party-goers 'suggested' that we leave after JD vomited on one of the party organizers.

JD has always enjoyed a good party, which means I knew enough about him by that point that I already had the keys; he was not going to drive us home. Being the designated driver, I didn't drink anything except some Sprite... and, as the night dragged on, a few Mountain Dew. I'm not exactly a weakling, but when your three hundred pound bull terrier can barely stand, you'd better be in really good shape. I had to half-walk, half-stumble to the car, and I did the majority of the walking for both of us. The situation wasn't all that pretty so I'm going to avoid going into detail... but I'll sum it up by saying that he had to vomit twice more before we got into the car.

If you're familiar with thunder storm season in Southern California you'll know that rain can come on really fast, and it can get very wet VERY fast. Between a distracting, so-very-drunk Dog in the car, and water coming down like the whole city was a shower, it doesn't really matter how good of a driver you are when a cat runs across the road. I remember shouting, and trying to get the car to turn as a guard rail was illuminated by the headlights, and I remember the loud crash... but after that, the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. Due to a settlement, which I'll explain later, I can't mention the name of the hospital, but I was alive and being treated for some minor injuries.

The managing physician was very efficient. His bedside manner wasn't the best, but he answered what questions he could in a very measured 10 minute meeting with me, and then he disappeared, heading off to another client. I was able to find out that I'd been in the hospital for almost 20 hours. He informed me that JD was in the Dog ward (yes, the hospital separated humans and Dogs). Before he left, the doctor told me they anticipated discharging me the next day. I remember that my head was still hurting, and the medication they gave me kind of made the rest of my stay really blurry.

By the time my brain was working again I had already been brought home... well... home to my parents' house. Apparently at the hospital they had been doting over me just like parents were supposed to. They managed to get the doctor to discharge me into their care and they drove two hours to come get me, and drove us all two hours back to the childhood house I hoped I'd never have to see again. It was the following morning before I was cognizant enough to object. By that time though, the damage had already been done.

"We've decided that we're going to have you move back in with us." my father had said. I remember that it was almost 9am, and his breath already had the smell of gin, his favorite morning drink. My mother, who smelled of Jeagermeister, reaffirmed the decision and mentioned that they'd have movers pick up everything from my apartment. They wanted me back home, and they knew that, given enough time, they'd be able to undo the bad influence that JD had on me. I was out of that house in the time it took me to get my clothes back on... I think I was still trying to get my jacket situated when the door closed behind me. I haven't seen them in the 4 years since.

I managed to get a cab and headed back home. If you're not from the west coast then you can't imagine how hard it is to get a cab in Southern California... nothing like New York or Boston or DC. It was almost four hours from the point I left my parents' place to when I set foot back in the apartment. I gave a call into the hospital, and spoke with one of the interns there in charge of JD... unfortunately it was pretty obvious that he was an intern... he wasn't able to answer my questions and he was resistant enough to handing the phone to someone who could. I didn't have any option but to wait.

I did what I could to keep busy, including contacting the insurance company. They sent two representatives out to the apartment and left me with a loaner; in the scheme of things it wasn't that big of a deal because it was nicer than my car, which was deemed totaled. I spent the rest of the day fidgeting and worrying, having been completely unable to get any information about my Guard Dog. I think I spent most of the night half-crazed.

I got a call the following morning from the hospital that JD was awake and that there was an 'incident', and that he was able to identify me as his emergency contact. The doctor that spoke with me, Dr. Weidtman, gave me all the information I needed and answered every last question I had. His calm demeanor and soothing tone made me wish immediately that I'd had him as my physician and not the efficient-but-cold doctor who managed me. In closing, Dr. Weidtman explained that JD was resting comfortably, but there were a few things we would need to discuss once I arrived.

I put the loaner through some pretty good paces getting to the hospital, and I'm fairly certain I'm past the statute of limitations for prosecution if I were to say I think I ran more than a couple of red lights. For over six years JD had been a part of my life-- the most important part of it, and I'd been deprived of him in uncertain circumstances for far too long. By the time I got to the hospital I think I might have looked more like a drug addict going through withdrawals than a concerned visitor seeking out his Dog. Unfortunately, most of the hospital staff wasn't very helpful in locating JD; apparently their admissions software only tracked human patients. They left me to wander on my own with a casual point toward "The Dog Ward".

It took almost a half an hour for me to track down JD's room. Dr Weidman, the physician who called me was already there, and, by all accounts, appeared to have made a positive impression on JD since they were talking casually and JD wasn't scowling. Everything else became unimportant though when I saw my Guard Dog. We hugged, and I cried, and he made a big deal of pointing out that he wasn't crying and I told him I loved him anyway. Through it all, Dr weidtman stood off to the side with a casual, pleasant smile.

Dr Weidtman, I found out later, was a Leasher. He and his wife had a collie at home that they adored. Unlike most of the other doctors at that hospital, Dr Weidtman CHOSE to work in 'The Dog Ward'... most of the other folk were assigned to it because they were new, or were in low demand. When I discovered that... well, I'm embarrassed to say, I went ballistic. I'll save you the blow-by-blow description of my ranting and raving up and down the hallways, but I'll summarize that their staff lawyer caught me before I could leave the building and we had a LONG talk.

Just as I was getting the double-barrel hard-hitting lawyer discussion over letting my complaint go, Dr. Weidtman joined us and set a hand on the lawyer's shoulder. He calmly explained to the lawyer that I had the hospital dead-to-rights on my complaint and that the executives should probably start considering a repeal of certain procedures and policies, and that they could best start by reviewing his reports. I wheeled JD out of the hospital in a wheelchair, their discharge staff making a huge fuss over us which lead me to believe that the administrators were concerned about what I might say or do... and it was for good reason.

Two weeks later, after a formal hearing was arranged, I found out that Dr Weidtman had re petitioned the hospital administrators for a review of the conditions of the separate wards. I think once they heard that he had signed on as a witness for the hearing in my favor he was coincidentally terminated-- incomplete HR hiring forms if I remember correctly, never mind the fact that he'd been working there for eight years. I think that may have been one of the final nails in the coffin for the hospital because the court found in JD's favor... big time.

He still argues that the court win was mine but, to be honest, I went through it all for him... I wasn't about to let anyone devalue my Guard Dog, and their negligence could have killed him. I didn't want to sit by and let the hospital do that to anyone, Dog or Human. At the press conference later I think I said something to that effect. I had no idea what those words would end up doing... for health care as a whole, for civil rights activists... and for myself.

A representative from a TV station in New York called the next day. He said he represented a liberal-friendly broadcasting firm and that he really liked what I had to say at the news conference. He asked if I would be interested in a personal interview, and I agreed. He made plans to have me flown to New York and insisted on covering airfare for JD too. He arranged a hotel for us for a week and said his budget allowed him to cover meals as well.

At the time I considered it the perfect way to get a message out to as many people as I could; it wasn't fair to treat Dogs different in anything, let alone something as important as medical care. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I supposed that I wanted a chance to reach people and let them know that inequality existed; I hoped that my voice would help others to speak up. What I DIDN'T realize though was that the interview wasn't for a TV program or news spot... it was for a job.

The Walter Media Group wanted me to do a segment for them. It was ten minutes and it would air at the end of the nightly news. I suppose they saw the stance I took against the hospital as a step in the right direction for ratings, or whatever else they may have considered at the time. What I knew was that, not only was I getting a job right out of college, but it was my dream of being able to effect change. Interestingly enough, it was a new dream, but it was a strong one.

I accepted on the spot, and the media company helped get the move finalized. The apartment back in California didn't have much to be moved, but it was nice to know that JD and I didn't have to deal with it. The producers helped get me settled in with an apartment only a few blocks away from the office and helped complete all of the paperwork for the lease. I was ready for a fight in demanding that JD's name also appear on the account but it I ended up saying nothing; it already was.

Interestingly enough, one of my first segments involved interviewing Dr Weidman, who was more than happy enough to meet with me. In the month since he was released from service at the hospital he had managed to gain enough support and funding to open a new hospital in Northern California. Assuming you follow the news, you'll have heard the Weidtman-Honey Institute. If you didn't know, Honey is the name of Dr. Weidtman's Burb Dog. Even though that's funny in and of itself, I think it's even funnier that, for some reason I can't explain, JD never got past calling him "Dr German"... I think it's just his way of showing that he likes him... JD's weird like that. Even to this day, Dr Weidtman and I are still in touch-- I suppose it makes sense because we're both still trying to figure out how to cope with our quasi-celebrity status.

It's strange how life can change so quickly... even in the matter of a few days. I had been a college student, then became a college graduate, then became a car crash survivor, then I became 'they guy who spoke out against inequality', and then I became the host of the segment "Dog-Eat-Dog". I can't think of any other time in my life when who I was became so closely controlled by others. It was a whirlwind change and things were as crazy as they could possibly have been. Thank god I had my Guard Dog with me; unlike everyone else his opinion of me never changed; his view of who I was remained as secure as anything else we shared.

The following weeks were a blur as new schedules were set up, expectations were laid out, I learned what it took to be a host of a segment, and JD and I got used to life in the Big Apple. It seeemd that change was all around us, which was good on a number of levels considering how hard of a life we had in California. Moving to New York also meant that we could put everything in our old life behind us... our respective families and old homes; we would have the chance to let our history stay in our past and only remember what we wanted to... the good stuff.

I'm sure we both changed a lot as well. J.D. seemed to do well in New York, and the activity all around all the time kept him stimulated without being overloaded. The studio let him on set, and even gave him a small salary to act as my personal assistant. I found out a short while later that almost a third of the executive staff were either Burb Dogs or Leashers, and most of the rest of them were supportive or at least sympathetic. Even though it took time to get used to the change in scenery, but I finally found a place I felt happy calling home.

Even with all the change around us, though, how JD and I felt about each other didn't change at all. As far as I was concerned, JD was my Guard Dog, and I needed him as much as ever. As far as he was concerned I was still the same old Jason, always needing help and only scant inches away from being needed to be rescued. Life was moving forward, but everything that I already enjoyed was coming right along with... and I felt pretty good about that.