Career Geography, Part 3

Once I made it to DC, I entered a world that was part old school boy’s club government and part cutting-edge government.  It was an interesting time.  My boss told me he wanted me to get married, buy a house and start a family, so I wouldn’t be tempted to leave.  He really did want me for the long haul. It made me feel secure, but I also made a joke about not realizing I was supposed to get married already and I apologized for the delay and promised to “get right on that”.  I was used to being in the closet and had no problem simply pretending that I was either too fat or too ugly to find a girlfriend.  It’s what you do, when you are of a particular persuasion.

My first task was to train my co-worker Neal in all things Prosthetics.  We spent the first month or so, in side-by-side cubicles (waiting for our offices to be remodeled) while I regaled him with my abundant knowledge.  Not really.  We did become fast friends, bonding over fried foods and Star Wars. At one point I sarcastically referred to him as ‘Junior’, since he was eight years younger than me.  He responded by calling me ‘Scooter’, for reasons known only to him.  I laughed, but when he introduced me to his girlfriend, Jenn, as Scooter, it became my official east coast nickname.  In DC, as well as Central TX and Central PA, I was (and still am) called Scooter.  So much so, that at their wedding in Savannah, GA in 2011, Jenn’s mother (the incomparable Toni Montgomery Grupp) heard someone call me by my name and asked me, “Who’s Dustin?”

I was suddenly thrust into a position where I was making presentations to large groups of people across the country as well as working directly with people who had been in the VA longer than I had been alive.  The speeches caused me no concern; however, I struggled with the one-on-one interactions with people who didn’t think I had “paid (my) dues”.  A talent for self-deprecating humor, while not necessarily great for my confidence level, gave me an edge over my fellow youth with these Baby Boomer, especially when it was coupled with my middle-aged body shape. 

During this time, I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, the lung condition that had led to my mother’s death in 2000.  In my initial shock, I never questioned my doctor’s prescription of 60 mg of Prednisone (a steroid) per day.  It caused my physical state to crumble at an astonishing rate.  I began to gain weight almost daily.  The weight gain exacerbated my already painful arthritis.  I had flashes of heat (like I was experiencing menopause) and of anger.  My best friend, Christopher, was my roommate and de facto nurse, having changed his mind about a career as a chef in France, opting to move to DC instead of returning to Mississippi.  I also became diabetic but as my doctor had tested me before the steroids (and I was not diabetic), he didn’t treat it as he assured me it wasn’t diabetes causing my symptoms.  When I finally visited the emergency room after a particularly brutal day, they tested my blood sugar and it was 600.  To give you a frame of reference, Patti LaBelle went into a coma when her blood sugar was 500. 

I quickly switched doctors and he began to slowly wean me off the steroids, but he told me I needed to move somewhere with better air quality; less pollution.  He repeatedly told me, “DC is a tidal basin, swirling with pollution, Dustin, you’ve got to move.”  I mean, what do you do with this information?  I couldn’t just tell my boss, “Thanks for the life-changing opportunity.  Remember when you said you didn’t want us to be tempted to leave?  Well, I’ve got this doctor’s note…” 

But, you do what you have to do and when I explained to Mr. Downs the situation, he was very supportive and told me there was an available position in VISN 1, in New England.  VISNs, you remember from the last post, are like regions.  VISN 1 comprised eight medical centers in six New England states; the main office being housed on the campus of the Bedford, Massachusetts VA, about 25 miles north of Boston.  So, I traveled to Bedford, interviewed and was selected for the position of VISN Prosthetics Manager.  In between the five hour-long interviews required for the position, over the course of one day, I chatted (and bonded) with Marion Felix-Jenkins, who would become a very close friend.  Several people told me I should live in Nashua, New Hampshire, because they had no state tax and no sales tax. 

Nashua is called the “Gateway to NH” because it literally sits on the border, at Exit 1.  It is so close to Massachusetts that the southern-most section of the parking lot of Nashua’s Pheasant Lane Mall is actually in Massachusetts.  My commute would be about 15 miles each way, which took about 20 minutes, if you left early enough.  Much, much better than DC traffic to be sure, but as it was January in New England, there was snow; lots and lots of snow.  So much snow that a little over a month after we arrived, Valentine’s Day weekend, there was a blizzard. 

No one seemed to be bothered by what I considered to be very heavy snowfall.  I guess it was the trauma from the Lake Effect Snow in Cleveland, but when my car was almost covered by noon, I said, “I’m from Mississippi and this snow is crazy and I’m going home!”  The commute that normally took 20-30 minutes, took 3 hours that day, including the 10 minutes or so it took to loosen my fingers from the death-grip I had on the steering wheel as I was determined to avoid the ditch like so many others I saw. 

One of the things I have learned in my career is that if you want to find out how to improve things, ask the people who are doing the work.  So, I made a quick tour of the eight facilities, meeting my new staff and asking what they needed from me, what plans they had to improve their metrics (I had researched their data and knew there were significant challenges) and where they saw themselves in the next five years.  I listened and learned and let them try their ideas.  Most weren’t successful.  I had some ideas myself and introduced them at a joint meeting.  Not everyone liked my ideas, so I made them a deal.  I would give them one month to make improvements in their metrics using their ideas and if there wasn’t any improvement, they would agree to try my ideas for one month.

When only on facility showed any improvements, we implemented my ideas which I based on the reviews I had made at all facilities within my first month.  I put together a program that focused on standardizing work processes, redesigning their compliance systems and focusing on face-to-face training for the staff) and had immediate improvements.  We went from one of the worst performing VISNs to one of the best in a span of three months.  We even had one facility (Togus, Maine) that was selected as Prosthetics Service of the Year for the entire VA nationwide. 

These results caught the attention of my VISN’s leadership who selected my program as a Best Practice.  They submitted my ideas and results to Central Office and I made a presentation to a whole lot of important people via teleconference, including the Deputy Under Secretary for Health for Operations and Management, who named me a Best of the Best Practices for VA.  I then made another presentation to even more important people in DC.  While I was succeeding in my career, my health was continuing to spiral.  I was trying to manage my diabetes, but my weight had ballooned to 400 pounds and I developed neuropathy.  I also developed sleep apnea.  I was physically exhausted many days and would nod off each time I stopped at a red light when I was driving.  This was not going to end well.

Fortunately, a taping of 60 Minutes in the offices of the guys who accidentally invented the Segway, would change my life in unforeseen ways.

Can a bus be fueled by Lincoln Logs?

                I should have known something was amiss when the tour bus finally arrived and I pointed out to my colleagues that, “um…that back window is plywood… painted black.”  Let me back up a little.

                I was in DC recently for my Excellence in Government Fellowship's Business Acumen session.  One of our benchmarks included leadership lessons learned at the Battle of Gettysburg.  To get the full effect, we were to travel there by bus and take a guided tour by a retired government executive who has created a very informative lesson concerning the successes and failures on both sides of the War Between the States.

                We were supposed to be at the Partnership for Public Service building on New York Avenue early enough to board the bus and leave by 7:00 am.  This required me to cut short my much needed beauty sleep and forgo the free breakfast at my hotel and be all aggressive about Deonte at Starbucks (he had a nametag, people) opening the doors at precisely 6:00 am even though he was not finished stocking the baked goods display, causing him to under-sweeten my Trenta Black Iced Tea, four Splenda, no water. As a former food service person, I totally understand why he did it.  I ain’t mad at him, y’all.

                My classmate from San Antonio (hey Cory!) and I shared a cab driven by a man who was unhappy to not be taking us to the aero puerto (that’s Spanish, although he was not) and dropped us off at 6:30 on the nose as we are not ones to dawdle all up and through here.  Cory, too, is from the boonies.  Oddly enough we went to school less than 20 miles from each other in the wilds of East Texas.  However, as neither of us had a mode of transport other than our bodies (and you know I wasn’t traveling any further than the bus stop in those days, at least voluntarily), we never met each other until this program. The world is tee-niney, dear readers.  Tee-niney indeed.

                So, I was ready to get on the bus as snacks were promised and I needed a full stomach so as to fully realize all the American Spirit that lies within me and learn something.  At least I hoped to learn something other than I freckle like the dickens when exposed to too much sun.  I actually already knew that and it doesn’t even have to be the sun; a flashlight or bright lamp does the trick most of the time.  I sure do hope freckles are deemed sexy at some point in my lifetime.  Dare to dream, right?

                Those of my classmates who are from out of state (locals had the option of driving their own cars) had assembled at the appointed time and location and were awaiting the bus(es) when 7 o’clock came and went just like I did around the corner to the Subway (sandwich shop, not public transport) as they now serve breakfast.  As the hour changed from 7 to 8 with still no bus, our fearless point of contact (hey Lindsay!) made some phone calls and seemingly ascertained that the buses were in fact en route having been caught in traffic.  As the hour slid toward 9, there were more calls and no bus and the report became the buses had been caught behind a wreck on the interstate.  More classmates left, Subway did a fairly brisk breakfast shift that morning, as did the quickie mart in the lobby of the beautiful art deco building at 1100 New York Avenue.

                After several comments ranging from “Did they say New York Avenue or an avenue in New York?” and “were they behind a wreck or in a wreck?” the buses finally arrived at the ripe old time of 10:15.  Wisely I chose to board the bus that was not powered by a wood-burning stove and off we went to learn of many things leadershippy from His Lincoln-ness.  After we had been driving for more than an adequate amount of time to have left District of Columbia city/state limits, we received a phone call from one of the other points of contact that someone on the wood-burning bus had called her and said that the bus was in fact driving 30 mph with the flashers on as they were in the throes of a breakdown.  When our fearless Lindsay asked our bus driver if he could contact his co-worker driving the breaking-down bus, he replied, “No.”  So, we texted one of the other passengers and had them call us from the area near the ear, nose and throat of their bus driver who stated matter-of-factly that they were not about to breakdown.  When it was ascertained that he did not know what he was talking about, our fearless Lindsay stated, “We must go and get our classmates.  No EIG-er left behind”, while American flag-clad gymnasts flipped behind her holding sparklers and grown men wept at her selfless Americanism.  I may have overstated that last part but she was impressive to say the least.  And she was duly recognized by our fearless coach, Feli (hey Feli!).  There are many fearless people at the Partnership for Public Service, y’all.

                After it was decided that we would rescue them and it was also noticed that they were not behind us, we had to exit to turn around on the car-packed highway to get them.  In moments of crisis I am very calm but also downright pedestrian in my grammar.  My suggestion to “bust off across the median” was wisely ignored.  I did that once in a truck.  I was asleep at the time.  It didn’t end well.

                Once we re-traced our steps, as it were, we found that the driver of the wood-burning bus had not been truthful to their whereabouts.  We then called the bus and through the magic of GPS found that not only had the bus driver been driving too slow, he had also taken the wrong exit and was in Virginia, not Maryland.  Once we got there the bus driver was adamant that nothing was wrong with his bus even as there was black smoke running up the back of said bus.  As our comrades boarded our bus, he took off in his bus, very quickly I might add, shouting about his intended retirement.  Well not so much shouting as it was being reported by his former passengers. 

                Upon our return to the highway, we had driven another twenty minutes or so and I saw the exit for College Park.  To those from the DC area, you know that this means we are FAR, FAR from Pennsylvania.  I commented that we should just exit at the Ikea and have meatballs for lunch.  Although many concurred, we trudged ever onward toward the Burg that is Gettys. 

                We finally arrived and went straight to the buffet that was to be the mid-point of the day.  Nothing against the proprietors of General Pickett’s Buffet, but what I did not need prior to heading out into the open fields to hear tales of leadership gone awry and poor communication in spite of the talent on the Southern side was meatloaf and mashed taters.  I was weighted down, y’all.  Walking sleepy and stumbling toward an actual ledge atop Flattop or Tabletop, I forget which one.

                Suffice it to say, I did learn a lot about leadership from the battle but I learned much more from the trip getting there.  Some of the lessons I learned from the wood-burning bus besides never get on a conveyance that has wooden parts unless it is the paneled side of an estate wagon are:

1.       Never be too afraid to speak up in the face of poor decisions.

2.       Never lie about your whereabouts; you will be found out, and then silently judged.

3.       Never leave your team behind.  Everyone is important, especially those with granola bars and water.

4.       Never, under any circumstances, eat meatloaf on a walking tour.

5.       The Subway at 11^th and New York Avenue in DC is open for breakfast and there isn’t a line.

And that is all I’m saying.