#LucKy2wentyK

I enjoyed following the #LucKy2wentyK phenomenon as much as anyone else. How it could change people’s lives, and how no one had failed the challenge so far. I knew it could happen to anyone, at any time… but I never believed it would happen to me.

My phone beeped an alert while I was sipping coffee and mentally preparing myself for work. It was about time to go, but I thought, I’m not quite done with my coffee anyway. So I checked my phone.

It was my WeThrowIn App. “You have been paid by user #LucKy2wentyK” it said.

Someone’s pranking me, I thought. Or it’s some kind of virus.

I opened the app anyway, and checked the full message.

“Your turn!” It read, surrounded by an abundance of cash and four-leaf clover emojis.

I bestow upon you all the luck these twenty thousand U.S. dollars can bring!

I’m sure you know the rules, but here’s a reminder:

1. You will accept these twenty thousand dollars.

2. With some luck, you will double it.

3. You will return twenty thousand dollars within one year, so that I can bestow it to another random WeThrowIn user.

4. You will not tell anyone that you are the new LucKy2wentyK recipient, until after you return the money. Trust me, this rule is for your own good. Afterwards, you retain the rights to your own story.

FAQ’s:

What if I try my best, but cannot pay back? It hasn’t happened yet, so I don’t know! Please don’t break this luck chain. You’ve got this!

What if I just take the money and run? You won’t. Lady Luck is on my side, and she would not point me in your direction if she felt you were Unworthy.

Who are you? I am the proud owner of a very heavily borrowed twenty grand, obviously!

Why are you doing this? I’m hardly doing anything, really. You’re the one who is going to do something. I’m just helping you help yourself.

Now put that money in the bank! Good Luck!

#LucKy2wentyK

I transferred my WeThrowIn balance to my checking account faster than I registered that any of this was real. I opened my banking app and checked the transfer. $20,000: Pending.

Seeing the usual delay between receiving money, and actually receiving money, finally helped it all sink in.

I maintained roughly $1,000 in my account on any given week.

I was about to increase that twentyfold.

A wave of anxiety gripped me. How do I double it? I thought. I needed to write ideas down, before my nerves overwhelmed me.

I went to the bedroom and dug through birthday presents I hadn’t sorted yet. I found the little black notebook my sister had given me, “for unhackable secrets.” I grabbed a pen and sat back down, but my mind was as blank as the notebook.

I picked up my phone to search for ideas. That’s when I noticed the time.

Oh, fudge. I’m late to work. Again.

I threw the notebook in my purse, grabbed a fresh mask, and ran out the door.

***

“You’re late.” My supervisor, Clara, raised an eyebrow at me.

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Gee, never heard that before.”

I washed my hands, adjusted my mask, and pulled on some gloves. As an ophthalmic technician, I prepared myself for the daily routine of apologies and mistakes.

My first patient to screen said “I thought I was seeing the doctor today.”

I put on my best customer service smile. Not that she could see it. “You are. I need to ask you some questions first.”

“I’d rather just talk to the doctor.”

“I understand, and I’m sorry, but I need to ask these questions.”

***

Soon after, I found someone wandering the hallway.

“What’s going on?” the patient asked. “I’ve been here for hours. I should have seen the doctor by now.”

We hadn’t been open 2 hours yet.

“I’m so sorry; we're running behind.”

“Don’t give me that; it’s like this every time I come here.”

That was very likely true, but I had no time to explain. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ll try to see where you are in the queue. Could you please give me your name?”

“Hey!” Clara poked her head out of a nearby workup room. “Your next patient is waiting. Get a move on.”

“Yep; sorry, on my way.” I turned from the patient, who yelled to my back, “Wait, you don’t know my name yet!” Thankfully, a scribe called his name, so he turned to redirect his frustration elsewhere.

When I reached my supervisor, she said, “You should know how to respond to patients faster by now.”

I kept my face blank. “You’re right. I’ll get the next patient.”

“Good. There are seven more waiting.”

Another patient came up to me before I could continue my work. “Excuse me, but someone in the waiting room isn’t wearing their mask properly. I didn’t come here to get sick; you need to do something.”

“Thanks, I’ll take care of it.” I walked over to the one person in the waiting room wearing her mask below her nose, “Ma’am, please keep your nose and mouth covered.”

“But I can’t breath with this on,” she said. “I have COPD.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s all the more reason to protect yourself, and it’s our policy.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said, “I should go somewhere else.”

“That’s up to you.” I turned away and called back the next patient, who wound up being the one who complained.

“Thank you for addressing that,” she said as we went into a workup room. “Isn’t it ridiculous how people don’t wear-”

“I hate to interrupt,” I interrupted hastily, “But many patients are waiting, so I need to ask you some questions and go through a few quick tests.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly.

I cringed. “Sorry.” But right now, all that really matters is the clock.

***

I pulled my notebook out on my lunch break. I held it in my hands and closed my eyes, reminding myself what it was for, and how my life had changed that morning. I didn’t want to open my eyes again. Instead, I took a few deep breaths while moving my neck and shoulders, trying to relax.

I opened my eyes just in time to see another co-worker in the lunchroom glance away. My attempts to de-stress must have been amusing.

Nevermind him, I thought. How can I use this money?

I opened up the notebook, and on the first page, I wrote down what I remembered of how previous LucKy2wentyK recipients succeeded.

- Become a day trader and double it

- Produce a record-breaking album

- Create a popular phone app

- Write a best-selling novel

Listing other people’s accomplishments was starting to depress me; I wasn’t capable of any of these feats.

I turned the page and wrote a new list; my old dream jobs. Perhaps I could start a new career?

- Travelling Photojournalist

- Graphic Novel Artist

- Ambassador

- Pirate

- Dragon Tamer

I closed the book in frustration. There is a reason I wound up in healthcare. The jobs I really wanted weren’t financially stable, or didn’t exist.

I decided a long time ago that if I was destined to be miserable, I could at least be miserable doing something that contributes to society. Every role in healthcare, no matter how big or small, helps with the bigger picture of keeping people healthy. This thought comforted me on my worst days.

At least, it used to. I couldn’t remember the last time ‘the bigger picture’ meant anything to me. All that seemed to matter now was the clock.

Speaking of which, it was time to clock back in.

Clara found me as I was putting my hand on the scanner.

“Oh good, you’re back,” she said, as if clocking out had caused me to disappear. “You had a ten minute gap in your room earlier; why? You could have screened a patient in that time.”

“Patients kept stopping me with questions; you saw one of them... and helped.” I forced myself to add, “Thanks again, by the way.”

“Well, like I said, you need to get better at addressing little interruptions faster. Perhaps you’ll be more productive scribing this afternoon.”

I froze. “What.” There was no hiding my flat tone.

“Scribing. Retina. The scribe asked to tech this afternoon, so I’m having you two switch places.”

“... Great. I’ll be right there.” The scribe probably had a nervous breakdown. I screened patients all morning, I thought. I should consider myself lucky.

***

The first patient was a new injection patient, of course.

I verified insurance and reviewed consents. I tried to be quick, but it’s difficult when the patient is crying. It was her first time, after all, and it can be a lot to absorb.

I wanted to comfort her, but there’s no time for tears in eyecare. I gave the patient some tissues while gently prodding her to make a decision on whether or not to proceed.

The doctor poked her head in the room. “Is she ready yet?” Retina specialists have some of the busiest clinics in ophthalmology. They might see over 60 patients a day, which amounts to less than 10 minutes of time available per patient.

“Just a moment,” I said, as the patient dried her eyes and signed the consent.

I grabbed the medicine from the fridge, and carefully prepared the patient for injection, explaining everything while I worked. I had inserted the lid speculum and added a couple more drops of betadine, then called out to the doctor, “Ready.”

To the patient I said, “Follow my finger with your eyes,” and dragged my finger above and away from where the doctor would be coming at her with a needle.

The doctor came in, and with the steady grace of years of practice, she plucked up the medicine and injected it into the patient’s eye. It was over before the patient had time to realize it had begun.

"That's it?" The patient asked, as the doctor left the room.

"That's it," I confirmed, while following post-injection protocols.

We did this ten more times, with ten other patients, before I made a mistake.

I called out, “Ready.” I felt like I had finally found my rhythm for the day.

The doctor came in. “Where’s the medicine?” She asked.

I stared at the counter where it should have been. I had forgotten to grab it from the fridge.

The doctor glared at me, then went to get it herself.

“Seriously?” said the patient. This one was not new to retina injections; he had done this a dozen times. “I waited two hours for this appointment. Is this why you’re so backed up?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I said.

“Whatever. At least the doctor knows what she’s doing.”

When the injection was over, the doctor stopped to say, “We can’t have any delays. Even the patient could see that was unprofessional.”

My supervisor chose that moment to appear. “Now what?” Clara asked.

“I need someone faster and more reliable, to help me finish the clinic today,” the doctor explained. "No more mistakes."

Ouch, I thought.

“Well, the patients are all screened, so you have your pick of techs. Who do you want?”

The doctor named another technician, and I went to get him.

“Oh, no,” he said when I broke the news. “Why can’t you do it?”

“She doesn’t want me,” I said. “I screwed up. She wants you.”

“Ouch.” He whistled low, under his mask. “Don’t take it personally. Once I screw up, she’ll spit me out and pick a new tech.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Message relayed, I returned to Clara. “Should I go home, then?” I asked, hopeful.

She laughed bitterly. “You can leave early another day. Go relieve the glaucoma scribe; she’s had too many late nights lately.”

“Great, on my way,” I recited, somewhat flatly.

Our glaucoma doctor was more thorough with his patients, which meant his clinic usually ran late. He was also more thorough with his charts, which meant I spent the rest of the afternoon (evening, really) typing.

It might have been a nice end to the day, except for the last patient, who chose to believe they did not have glaucoma.

“I know your game,” he said, while turning his head and darting his eyes around. “You try to scare me with this made-up disease, so I can pay the pharmaceutical companies hundreds of dollars for drops I don’t need. Just so you can get kickbacks.”

The doctor and I shared a look. “There are no kickbacks,” he explained. “I'm only trying to help you.”

The patient swiveled his head toward me. Despite sitting 4 feet away, it took a moment for his eyes to find my face. “You’re in on this too. Glaucoma isn’t real. You know that, right?”

“Glaucoma is very real,” I said. “Look at you. Can’t you see how much you don’t see?”

“I see fine!” The patient exclaimed. “Perfect vision!”

“Your central vision may be okay for now,” the doctor explained, “but you’ve lost everything peripherally. Look how much you turn your head and move your eyes. You’re compensating. You have tunnel vision, and if you refuse treatment, then you'll lose that too.”

“Is that a threat?” the patient demanded.

The doctor threw his hands in the air. “If you don't want my advice, get a second opinion. Any other glaucoma specialist will tell you the same thing.”

“Yeah, because they’re all in on it.”

For a moment, there was almost total silence in the room. All I could hear was the sound of my own typing, as I swiftly documented, encouraged patient to seek second opinion, but patient reluctant, due to belief that ‘they’re all in on it.’”

“Fine,” the doctor said. “Since you choose not to follow my recommendations, there is no need for you to come back to see me. Please get a second opinion before it’s too late.”

“Wait, you’re not going to help me anymore?” The patient asked.

“If you won’t accept treatment, all I can do is track you getting worse, and what’s the point in that?”

With that, the doctor left the room.

“I don’t believe this,” the patient said. He stormed (more like stumbled) out of the room as well.

I was left alone, staring at the computer screen and trying to remember why I did this every day.

***

Clara was still in her office after I had cleaned up and shut down the exam rooms.

“I’m glad you’re here.” I sat down in the chair across from her desk. “I think I have to quit.”

She looked up. “What, because of a bad day? It’s fine, you’ll do better next time.” She looked back at her computer screen.

“It’s not just one bad day,” I said. “It’s always like this. Every day. For years.”

“Having a stable job for years is not a bad thing.”

She had a point, but I pressed on. “It’s not like I couldn’t find other work that pays about the same, pretty much anywhere else. You’re only paying me $16 an hour. That’s not exactly competitive.”

“That’s two dollars more than what you were making when you started. You should be grateful.”

“Still, I could make that anywhere, doing far less stressful work than this.”

I thought about the twenty thousand dollars in my account. Money I was supposed to find a way to double. Lady Luck chose wrong, I thought. I’m not like the others.

“I am grateful,” I said. “I know others have it so much worse, but… I have a chance to take a break, and I’m going to take it. I think a lot of people in my shoes would do the same, whether they’re honest enough to admit it or not.”

“Wait, are you not even giving two week’s notice? Is this it?”

I paused. The practice was always short-staffed; I couldn’t put the extra work on my co-workers like that.

I was about to say so, when my supervisor said, “You know what? Take tomorrow off. I'll figure out coverage. Think about what it would take for you to keep working here. Make a list, and we’ll talk in a couple days.”

“Why?” I asked. “I mean, thanks, but why do you want to keep me? I feel like I'm terrible at everything I do.”

“Well, we throw a lot at you, but you keep the place running, and we know we can count on you.”

I stared at her. “You could say that more often.”

“Add it to the list. Don’t tell anyone,” she leaned in, “but you’re not the only one feeling burnt out. So I’ll talk to the owners, and see if we can make some changes.”

I smiled, then remembered my mask, so I tried to look as grateful as I could with just my eyes.

“Thank you. I’ll think about it, and I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“Great.” She waved me away. “Now get out of here, go rest.”

***

The next day, my notebook was repurposed. I had only managed two pages of my attempts at ideas on how to use the money I had been gifted. That had only seemed to add to my stress.

But solving issues at work? Oh, I had a long list of ideas for that. Organizational development ideas. Training ideas. Patient flow ideas. I completely filled my notebook.

Once it was full, I realized how it would look, showing up with all these suggestions. I could easily imagine their reaction. Who does she think she is?

I calmed myself with a new little mantra. I have twenty thousand dollars. If I have to break this lucky cycle, and blow it all on surviving until the next job opportunity, I will. I don’t care about other people’s expectations anymore.

I went back to work, and found that Clara had arranged a meeting for me with one of the providers who was also a practice owner; the glaucoma specialist who I had worked with the other night. This did not go as badly as I had feared. We were able to casually discuss my ideas, throw out some, and rework a few. He seemed eager to implement a couple concepts immediately.

Honestly, it was nice to just feel heard.

“The last thing we need to address is wages,” Clara said, at the end of the meeting. The owner nodded.

“You brought up a very good point, that we could lose valuable staff with advanced skill sets to jobs that are less stressful, because we aren’t paying a competitive wage. It turns out we're paying well below the national average for your job title.”

I didn’t respond. This was not news to me; the information was readily available online.

“Therefore we have updated our pay scale, which we hope will help compensate for the stress of the job. We are factoring in overall knowledge and flexibility, such as your ability to step into multiple roles on short notice. You may not realize this but you are one of only three people in the practice who can do almost any role we have.”

Clara handed me a piece of paper, which turned out to be a new salary contract. “First of all, for your help and sticking with us during the pandemic, we’ll give you and your co-workers a $2,000 bonus in your next paycheck. Consider this to be the hazard pay that we should have given you before.

“Second, we are increasing your hourly rate from $16 to $22. You’ll find this is more in line with national averages. There is still room for growth, if you continue to improve as an employee.”

I was stunned. This was the sort of thing that happened at other practices. Not here. Not to me.

“This… is quite a lot to take in. Why are you doing this?” I realized I was looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I mean, thank you! Really. I mean it.”

The owner laughed. “We deserve that. Honestly, none of us can do this job without the technicians. All of you. Can you imagine?”

“Screening your own patients, setting up for your own procedures, writing your own charts?” I raised my eyebrows. “That is unrealistic.”

“You're not wrong. So… will you stay on?”

I stared at the new salary description. The paper already converted the $6 raise into its respective annual increase: $12,480. With an additional $2000 bonus. In a matter of days, without even touching the $20,000 in my account, I was 3/4ths of the way towards doubling it.

More importantly, this change would benefit me, and my co-workers, for years to come.

Deep down, a part of me felt that this situation was highly unusual. The whole outcome felt all too easy; like a dream, or a fairy tale. Is the LucKy2wentyK money actually, truly lucky? Is this why no one has failed the challenge?

I would not let this good fortune go to waste.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’ll stay.”