CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT’S NEXT?

My seed of an idea was now sprouting. I was gaining confidence in my ability to make decisions, but still had one last office related chore to perform. I needed to inform the staff and I needed to do it before my little secret leaked out. These people were more than mere co-workers or minions, they were my friends. Because turn-over in our organization was practically nonexistent, we had had years to learn, nurture and grow together. This was a group of hard working, dedicated women, and because we trusted and depended on each other, their opinion of my plan, mattered.

The first Tuesday of every month we hold a staff meeting consisting of clinical and administrative personnel. Patient care is postponed for an hour to realign with our mission statement. Complaints are voiced, solutions proposed, proposals denied, counter offers submitted. So although there is always an agenda, these meetings that have only estrogen in attendance, can frequently take on the tone of a hen house. Tuesday June 6th unfortunately turned out to be one of those days. This had been the target date to disseminate my information and there was no turning back. With only 8 more minutes remaining and the atmosphere charged with high volume energy, I went for broke.

“There is one more thing I would like to announce,” I said a little sheepishly. No one paid attention so I tried again. “Excuse me, there is something I really need to tell you.” The cacophony continued.

Emma knew what was coming and came to my rescue. “QUIET!” she shouted, “Jaimie has something else to say.” The boil reduced to a simmer, so I charged on.

“I’ve been employed here at Brooks Family Medicine for over 20 years and like everyone else, I have taken my share of vacations. But this time I feel that I need more than a holiday break. I need to enrich my life and it will take more than seven days to do it. So I’ve decided to take a sabbatical for two months… I’m going to the south of France.”

The simmer turned to silence. I braced myself for the consensus that I was having a mid-life crisis, or like my daughter, conclude that I had some incurable disease. But I held my ground. Although I saw many stunned faces, it was me that ended up being shocked, not them. One clap, closely followed by another, broke the silence until I was wreathed in a standing ovation.

“You go girl! was shouted, followed by, “Oh Jaime, that is utterly fantastic!”
And then the twenty voices were spanking me with a butt-load of questions, ALL of which were positive!

″When?″ they asked. ″Where in France? Who’s going with you? What airline are you flying? Do you know anyone there? Will you get a car? Can we come too? Will you come back?”

Not one person said “What the hell are you thinking?” or “Is this some kind of joke?” And nope, there was not even one “Are you out of your freaking mind?”
Instead they were like party kids vying to be the first to strike the piñata as their questions danced around the room.

I was reassured by their enthusiasm, but aware that we were running short on time, so I seized back the reins.

“I will never be this young or healthy again in my life. This is as good as it’s ever going to get. Every day I will get a little older, but not necessarily one smidge smarter, so I’m not wasting another second debating the pros or cons of this trip. I do, however, need your acceptance and the security of knowing that you all will take care of our business in my absence. And just for the record, I DO intend to return.”

I was again rewarded with smiles and head bobs, so decided to take a quick stab at providing the few answers that I had in my possession.“September” I stated. “I’m leaving in the middle of September and won’t return until the end of November.

My French location is a tiny anchovy fishing village named Collioure. It is set on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea near the Spanish border and is walking distance to vineyards and beaches.

No one is going with me, however, I’m open to guests. I have rented a two bedroom doll house and would welcome anyone who felt the lure to discover France.

I’m leaning towards British Airways because Air France seems unable to compete in price or luxury. I haven’t yet decided if I will fly into Paris and then train down to Collioure… or if I will enter through Barcelona, pick up a rental car and cruise up the Spanish coast to France. Since I’m undecided at this point, I’ve downloaded maps on my portable Garmin, just to be on the safe side. There are still many unknowns and I’m both excited and a bit frighted at the same time.

And lastly, the answer to the question of, ’Do I know anybody in France,’ is No. Not one living soul!”

Their eyes began to glaze as I witnessed a combination of envy and respect, sautéing in a skillet of approval. I was professing an intention that most people only fantasize about. I was seizing the moment and doing what many of them would never even attempt. This was all very out of character for me, and I’m sure that on some level, they doubted my ability to pull it off. Hell, I doubted my own ability. But they were on board and I breathed a sigh of relief.

As the meeting broke up, everyone scrambled to refocus on the afternoon schedule. Everyone save one, who lingered behind. Caroline had been born in England and although very Americanized, retained her European heritage as well as her British accent. She touched my arm and with wonder in her voice said, “Jaime, I’m so proud of you. America is a lovely country, but there is so much more out there. I’m thrilled that you see that. Please keep me posted through every leg of your journey!”
Unable to speak, I grabbed her up, squeezed her hard and listened as another tumbler on the combination-lock went ‘click.’