Double Shot

Submitted by: Jenni, WA

For almost 15 years, I was lucky enough to do something I loved and called it work.

My coffee shop started small. I knew nothing about business, but I knew a lot about coffee and customer service. My kids were 5 1/2 and 18 months old at the time. And so, I took the leap. In that 15 years, I eventually learned the business ropes…but I learned so much more than that along the way. The hospital raised my kids with me and wrapped their arms around me after my divorce. It was more than a job–it was my family.

At first, we were a modest coffee cart with a few cabinets positioned adjacent to the gift shop of our local hospital. Eventually, we moved into a bigger, 200-square-foot space warmed by tall tables and chairs which, in its small splendor, was a momentary respite for its patrons from the sterility and gravity of the rest of the space.

The hours were long but always full of perspective. I’d often arrive after waking at 4:45am to get in an early morning run, my blonde hair pulled back into a wet haphazard ponytail, my eyes bleary as I pulled espresso shots. As I lamented my fatigue, I’d often serve a staff member who had worked a 10-hour day, only to be called in an additional two or three times that night before standing in front of me again that morning. I still miss those early morning conversations—heartbreaking and hilarious alike.

I’ll fondly forever remember the Halloween “parade.” During my first Halloween at the hospital, I conservatively opted for a nondescript orange and black t-shirt, only to arrive to administrative staff members dressed in outrageous costumes and parading through the facility handing out candy. Even a Dr. Ben Dover made an appearance.

My kids were a permanent fixture–they grew up there. Tuesday was their favorite night of the week, because it was Taco Tuesday in the cafeteria. It was pretty apparent from the beginning we would be lucky to break even each year financially, but this place would take care of us, my family. It’s still hard to explain, and the best explanation I have is one that a staff member gave me: We are caregivers, and that’s what caregivers do.

Shortly after I arrived, Kay took over the gift shop and became a second grandmother to my kids. Consistently clad in brightly colored sweaters, impeccably coordinated outfits, and her thin wire glasses, Kay meant business. Like me, she wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, but she was always kind and calm. A few months before her passing, she gave my daughter, Lo, a pair of her diamond earrings. A month after she died, her husband called and said Kay had told him if he couldn’t take care of Joey (their Italian greyhound), she wanted him to go to Lo…I was a single mom of 2, with 2 senior big dogs, a cat, 2 pet rats, and a newly-inherited third dog….yet nothing seemed more perfect. It’s like she knew her death would impact us, and we needed a little more of her a little longer.

As our little staff grew, we’d often joke if anyone had been “Rothed” the night prior. Pete Roth worked on the ICU’s night shift. Shifts started at 7, and we closed at 7:30. Often, Pete would run in, out of breath and just in time, placing an order for his crew of about 10 smoothies–all different flavors. Any barista knows just how much fun blending (with one blender) ten different smoothies can be…right before closing. Despite our occasional under-the-breath expletives, “Rothing” became a lovely joke about his incredible, ongoing generosity while dramatically improving our blender skills.

I remembered thinking Steve, another staff member, was a very serious man—until I received a postcard from Sturges from him. Later, I viewed his photos from the trip, laughing as he unabashedly sported a flamingo hat at each stop.

I remember getting to sign the beam in the new tower and truly feeling like part of the team.

There were the sad times, too. I remember arriving to work on the Saturday morning after Dr. Tucker’s coworkers had tried so hard to save him. I learned so much from families saying good bye to loved ones. I observed the different cultures and experiences surrounding grief, and I’d like to think I took a little bit from each to practice myself.  Long-term patients sometimes became more like residents and at times drove me crazy, but all had a unique story I feel privileged to have heard.

There are the many faces of those I got to know in those 5-minute conversations. There was a woman whose son I never met, but I got to know her over the year when they stayed for his chemo treatments. I remember when she told me there was no more they could do–I cried and she was the one who consoled me. I will always remember Justin (despite never meeting him) because of her–she is one of the strongest women I have ever known.

After my divorce, I was blanketed in hugs; despite not being a particularly affectionate person, this unconditional love became a lifeline. In those next 7 1/2 years, I would run the business on my own. I was terrified at first, but I became more empowered and in control of my life than I had ever been.

My son came with me during that time; he helped get everything out in the morning before heading to the cafeteria for a breakfast burrito. In gratitude, I’d make him an iced mocha before he walked to high school across the street. After school he walked right back over. Once Lo was in high school, she did the same thing, eventually working with me every morning. I will forever be grateful for that time with them both, and for the nurturing staff that surrounded them, too.

This place was so much more than a job or a business. It taught me to take ample time to savor this life, because it goes quickly and sometimes without warning. I can say I left every single day with a healthy dose of perspective, and while I spent most of my days filling others’ cups, it is mine that is completely full.