Laura Meade Kirk

Some people have all the luck. Last year, I had none.
I was home, in a wheelchair, with IV lines hanging from my arm, when I got a call last fall that was far more painful than feeling the bones in my ankle being snapped in half.
The Providence Journal — the place where I’d worked for more than 23 years, with plans to stay at least 23 more — had decided to lay off its entire part-time staff. Having gone part-time nine years earlier, when the youngest of my four children was born, my past, present and future evaporated in an instant.
At least I had good drugs to kill the pain.
It took awhile for the reality to set in. I was in the midst of a gut-wrenching, wallet-draining divorce at the time. And I’d already been out of work for three months on disability pay because of a freak accident at the beach last July.
A wave had snapped my leg like a dried twig. All the plates, screws and other thing-a-ma-bobs the doctors had used to piece me back together had become infected – requiring four operations and the installation of an IV that pumped killer antibiotics directly into my heart every day. And, of course, I had experienced an allergic reaction to those drugs that landed me in isolation at Rhode Island Hospital, requiring the docs and nurses to wear Haz-Mat masks and gowns when they came near me so I wouldn’t catch their germs.
Needless to say, I was a bit of a physical and emotional wreck when I got the call last October saying my job – my career, my life, my health benefits for me and my kids – was gone just like that.
Poof.
A few days later, still unable to drive, I bummed a ride to the office. I deliberately wore my Life Is Good shirt, determined to show that this latest stroke of awful luck would not bring me down.
It took a couple of hours to pack two decades worth of stuff (the decorations around my cubicle were legendary!) and make the rounds on my crutches to say goodbye.
I then hobbled to HR to listen to the company spiel about the layoffs. Blah, blah, blah. “Do you have any questions?” I was asked.
“No,” I replied. But holding out my arms, with the IV lines hanging, I did say: “Your timing sucks.”
I then signed the requisite forms and crutched off to the elevator, fighting back tears. I wasn’t going to let them see me cry. I punched at the buttons, but the elevator never came.
Of course not. Just my luck.
So I crawled down the stairs, on my hands and knees, careful to make sure my crutches didn’t catch the IV lines and rip them from my heart.
It all seemed so fitting – I’d poured my heart and soul into 75 Fountain St., and here I was crawling out, every ounce of me spent.
But when I reached the first floor, I stood up tall on my crutches and made my way outside, blinking against the brilliant sunshine.
It was an omen, I felt, that things would be okay. And they were.
Within a few months, my divorce was final. I was walking on my own. And I had found a new job, with new challenges and a great group of people who have quickly become friends.
Finally, my luck – and my life – has changed. As my T-shirt says, Life Is Good.
And hard as it would have been to believe last fall, life is getting better, every day.

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