In the beginning

I still remember the exact moment that I realized that social work was the profession for me. I was 20 years old, had just finished my second year of college (as an English major). I was spending the summer in Fishkill, NY, working for an organization called the Fresh Air Fund, a non-profit organization that provides a summer camp to children who are living at or below the poverty level in New York City.

I was standing on the boating dock, supervising a small group of 12-year-old boys in the lake. Generally, 12-year-old boys from New York City have not had much experience in boating and swimming, so the sight was rather comical.

As I stood there trying not to laugh at these beautiful children as they attempted to do something that was a slight foreign concept to them, I started to think about how amazing these experiences must be from the perspective of the children experiencing them. Watching these children explore this new world made me rethink my professional goals. I love English. I am passionate about reading and writing, but I had known for awhile that a profession in English wasn’t really for me. I knew who I wanted to be. I knew that I wanted to be in a profession of service. What I couldn’t figure out was the educational path I should take to that profession of service.

From behind, me, I heard the voice of someone calling to me. It was the camp’s assistant director, Kish coming down for a visit. Kish was the first Social Worker I ever knew. I’d always been impressed the gentle softness that existed within her as she interacted with our boys (did I mention that this was a camp for boys ages 9-12? That’s kind of a stressful time for some people…) The conversation we had on that boating dock would change my life (ironically, 5 years later, that same boating dock would be the site of another life-altering experience). Kish introduced me to the field of social work, and invited me to give it a try. I’ll always be grateful for that.

After that day, Kish and I had a number of conversations about the field of Social Work, and about the diverse opportunities that exist in that field. For the first time, I realized that Social Work essentially put a label on all of the things I hoped to accomplish in my life. Social Work is more to me than a program of study; it is a representation of what I want to become in every aspect of my life, not just in my career. I began to view Social Work as something of a calling in my life; something that I know I have the right strengths and experiences needed to be successful.

Six years later, I have a BSW, am working in a hospice (which is a field of social work I never even CONSIDERED entering), and have my first official day of graduate school in t-minus 12 hours. Sweet.

I've always been curious what makes people choose their fields of work. Are you like me and view it as a calling? What are some of the other reasons people choose their fields?

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Posted in: My Social Work Story

What is this language you speak?

I just got out of new employee orientation at the hospice. Once again, I am wishing I knew more about medicine.

All through my school experience, I never thought even for a millisecond that I would eventually become a medical social worker. It wasn’t even remotely appealing to me. I really wanted to work for a non-profit of some kind doing some kind of something. As you can see, I am a very driven person who knows exactly what she wants in this life.

After graduation, the economy’s downward tide has made medical social work considerably more appealing. I was hired for the position I have now as a hospice social worker despite the fact that I haven’t yet obtained my MSW, despite the fact that I only recently graduated with my BSW, despite the fact that I have no experience as a social worker in any capacity, and despite the fact that my knowledge of anything even remotely medical can fit on the head of a pin.

I think it was an act of Deity.

So even though I had no idea whether or not I would find success or happiness in this branch of social work, I packed my bags and headed across the country; from northern Utah to southern Virginia. From the land of the Mormons to the land of the Southern Baptists. From the land of funeral potatoes and green Jello to the land of biscuits and gravy and grits. I think it’s safe to say I needed a change of pace anyway.

The change of pace has been nice. But challenging. Very challenging. See, I’m not medically trained. At all. On my first day on the job, I was reading a patient’s chart and I came across the acronym “S.O.B.” The context: “Patient was sitting up in bed talking and friendly, but noticeably SOB.” I thought to myself, ‘SOB? Hmm… that can’t possibly mean what I think it means…. But what does it mean?’ I can’t honestly say that I am much of a question asker (it’s something I’m working on), and so I just sat there for awhile trying to figure out what S.O.B. meant. I could have asked my boss and that would have been the end of it.

A couple of days later after reading it in about 20 other charts, it finally dawned on me that S.O.B must stand for short of breath. I mentioned this confusion to my medically trained sister and she laughed really hard. A couple of days later she and the physical therapist presented me with a list of commonly used medical acronyms.

It’s proved very helpful.

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Posted in: hospice