That Which Does Not Kill Me
I've been looking forward to the time when I can stop grousing about the sorry state of medical transcription and focus more on my future in cancer registry. The last few weeks have brought incredible stress--some very up-close and personal (new account, new platform with a huge learning curve, endless conference calls and training modules, double shifts, dropping pay, rising bills, A/C leaks, car repairs, and an ex who's blown off alimony payments for six months without so much as a peep of explanation until I found time and energy to get my legal horses in order and sent the state of FL after him) and some off on the periphery, vying to be in my face because they'll affect me eventually (economy falling apart, an ugly election season that threatens never to end). With even less time to fit everything in and sleep the only thing that can give way to make room for the excess, it came as quite a surprise when I realized I may have already started the transition where it matters most--my head.
My new account has me transcribing more OP notes and procedures, and especially GI. As my mom survived stomach cancer a few years ago, this has been especially fascinating to me. As I transcribe these stories, I find myself thinking in terms of things I've been studying for the last few months--the specific anatomy, biochemistry, predisposing factors, patient's history, pathology, and prognosis. I've only rummaged through the SEER training site and have yet to get into the actual cancer registry coursework, so I play a little guessing game and try to pick out the things that I think will be noteworthy to a registrar. Eons ago (or so it seems) when I first researched registry and played around on the SEER site, I was amazed at how little of a patient's transcribed reports are actually germane. As an MT, I can usually see why doctors dictate what they do (with a few notable exceptions, often those zealous residents who throw everything but the kitchen sink in there, just to be safe), but from my little preview, a tumor registrar is going to discard most of it. If you're curious about whether cancer registry would mesh with your own skill set and interests, I highly recommend SEER to get a feel for what is involved. You can download their entire course as well as go through online exercises at will.
Mostly, I find myself fantasizing about the day my second career as a student will end and I will be able to confine my job to just 8-10 hours a day. Though there are definite benefits, working from home has never been a great goal of mine and especially having spent the last years sequestered save for the weekly grocery trip, I long for some human contact. According to
this old article, over 50% of registrars work in the hospital setting and almost 40% work in state or regional registries. The main differences seem to be pay (hospitals paying less) and scope (hospitals tend to follow patients throughout their lifetime instead of a specific moment in time), and beyond that, I can't even focus enough to care. Anything will be a step up, as long as it involves better pay, job security, more compartmentalization of home and work life, and yes, even working with other human beings.
I'm still not sure what extra hoops I'll have to jump through in order to take my certification now that the requirements have changed. This will probably be a huge pain and extra delay, and given that the NCRA is already struggling to attract people to the field, I wonder how much further behind they will find themselves as far as recruitment goals. Still, given the enthusiastic endorsements of students who've blazed the trail for me, I have no doubt I will find it all worth struggling for--assuming I survive that long. Right now, I feel like a fetus who's been trying to will herself out of a very small orifice for a loooong time (yeah, I suppose I could've used a less-graphic turtleneck sweater analogy, but we're all medical people here, right?) and I'm looking forward to that moment when I can finally claim my own space in the big, bad world and see what's out there for me. I'm drawing on every scrap of optimism and sheer force of will I can muster at this point to get me there.