All That Glitters Is Not Gold

Learning the difference between fool's gold and real gold.

Photo by Tolga Ahmetler on Unsplash

And when the thing you wanted is no longer what you want, first celebrate the growth that has caused it to be so, then worry about progressing to what you now want, and then finally know that this feeling will return with every achievement you’ll ever make.

Patrick Muindi

A million girls would kill for this job. That is the resounding quote of the 2006 film ‘The Devil Wears Prada.’ One of my favorite films ever, I was always very conflicted about its message until now. 

For those who don’t know, the movie is about a new college graduate Andy (Anne Hathaway), who embarks into the world to establish herself as a reputable journalist by pursuing a position at the top fashion company in the world. Not as a writer, but as Fashionista in Chief Miranda Priestly’s (Meryl Streep) assistant. Andy sacrifices months of her life to meet the grueling expectations and demands of her relentless boss but ultimately, when faced with the choice to choose herself or her job, she chooses herself. 

Entering Runway

Credits

Like Andy, I graduated wide-eyed and eager to prove myself to the world. But it was months prior when I landed a clinical position at a pristine office. Unlike Andy, I was completely enamored by the career field I wanted to enter and was willing to put in the work to accomplish my goals. What the practice offered was promising to me as a pre-med student: direct patient experience and numerous other services to help create the best application I could. When I went to the interview I walked in expecting… well just that. Instead I, along with other interviewees, spoke to previous alumni of the program who ranted and raved about how much leverage they were given by working there. We were given a tour of the clinic before interviewing and at that point, the message was clear: this experience didn’t just offer what I needed for my application, it was also aspirational.

Despite the doctor shortage, gaining medical school admission is a difficult feat. I wanted to be one of those medical students who were ahead of their classmates in patient care. I wanted to be exceptional. So, if there was any opportunity that allowed me to do it, I would take it by the reins. Whoever earned a place there would be lucky enough to receive a wealth of benefits, and I was part of the lucky few who did. 

Now that I’m on the other side, I look back and marvel at all the signs I missed. Oh, were there signs. I had to clarify my eligibility for the program twice, stating that I was indeed going to be a graduate by the start date. Questions that popped into my head during the interview that I should’ve asked but didn’t for fear of ruining the fantasy. In the letter offer, my main site was an hour away from where I lived. The learning materials given a few weeks ahead of time were sparse, which frustrated me as someone who likes to be given comprehensive materials to feel prepared. A recent lawsuit was attributed to petty jealousy of the CEOs successes. When I learned my start date couldn’t be pushed back to accommodate for my jaw surgery I was getting three weeks prior, a feeling of regret began to take root. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Rescinding my acceptance was something I was hesitant to do as I signed a contract stating I would be willing to work 12-14 months full-time. So, my first day of training I showed up with a jaw bra strapped around my face and a bag equipped with masks to hide my swollen face, my medication, and a liquid shake. My parents had hoped that after witnessing my condition they would push things back, but they persisted and so I did the same (albeit begrudgingly).

Sitting through the intro to the establishment of the company, the background of its founders, and the eventual establishment of the program made me once again feel confident in my choice. This was good because the training didn’t. It went by too quickly and due to my inability to speak, I spent three weeks shadowing, learning the language of healthcare, and applying the skills taught in training for the first time on real people on the job. Despite attending the initial training session, I struggled with another provider so much, that I spent another two weeks being retrained anyways. 

Afterward, meetings were held to discuss an increase in performance expectations, if any more doctor appointments were to be expected (of course they were, I had both my jaws broken), placement with providers (since I couldn’t go back to the one I was originally working with), and such. It was a week after that my hours were cut. 

It was downhill from there. 

Poor Frantic Andy 

Credits

As I found myself being encouraged to ask questions in the face of uncertainty, I began to grow tired of feeling uncertain. I became more frustrated with myself about why I couldn’t complete certain tasks correctly despite doing so before or being trained twice. I craved structure, my brain searched for a pattern to grab onto and reinforce. A routine to rely upon. But all of the above remained slippery. 

Meanwhile, every spontaneous performance review meeting discussed all the ways I continued to fall short despite my best efforts. I soon realized that every mistake I made was being noted, reported, documented, and used against me. I began to feel as though I was being treated differently than my peers, like I was being held to a higher standard, and the more this became apparent to me the more my performance suffered. I felt annoyance and a quiet ‘why don’t you know this’ with every mistake made. I was the dumb jaw surgery patient who couldn’t get anything right. The new girl who needed supervising. All the while I felt like I didn’t fit in, which is common for me in almost every room I walk into. Despite the small group of allies I forged, the feeling still stuck. When I was finally fired and given a termination letter with a list of all the mistakes I’d made since my third week not only were these feelings cemented, but also crushed my confidence. 

I was never made to sign anything or presented with any sort of documentation, but I now recognize my experience as eerily similar to a PIP (performance improvement plan). Many people claim that it aims to help employees improve their performance and is characterized by regular meetings and additional assignments to accomplish those goals. But those who’ve worked in the corporate world know PIP as Prove I’m Pathetic. PIP they say, is introduced when the company has decided to fire an employee preemptively and is a nice way of encouraging resignation. PIPs are not meant to improve performance by any means necessary but are instead a way for the company to track how the employee is failing to meet standards and expectations. As someone fresh from a major surgery, firing me outright would’ve allowed me the ability to sue and the company was just wrapping up a lawsuit for healthcare fraud. So rather than do that they decided to check all the boxes they needed to (allow me to start the workday later for doctors appointments, allowing me to leave a few minutes early during training to rest, retraining, and monthly performance reviews) so they could say that they did what they could to make it work but I just couldn’t meet expectations. I was a bother, a burden, and a liability that needed taking care of, and I was. 

All Truth Is Revealed in Paris 

Credits

When Emily gets into a car accident in the film and is then delivered the news by Andy that she will be going to Paris instead of her, she sobs and angrily begins eating pudding and bread, violating her strict diet of starvation and cheese. I understand how she felt. My confidence was crushed for weeks. I honestly believed that I couldn’t learn. That I wouldn’t be able to master the skills needed for a job and the mistrust I felt toward those in my environment was reinforced. All well-known impacts of PIPs.

But as things begin to look up with a new position elsewhere, a weight is being lifted from my shoulders. When I think back to my time there, I knew the environment was becoming toxic. The fatigue I felt after work was notable and it wasn’t just because of my surgery. The crazy part is that despite this, I never thought to leave. I was there for just two months, I had signed a contract, and because I didn’t want to be the one to take responsibility for quitting. That was something too intimidating to consider especially at my first job.

Despite holding on I can’t say that I’m proud of the work I did there. I will always reflect on it with embarrassment and shame. I don’t think I made a difference in the lives of the patients I had, even doing harm to a few. I question the use of inexperienced pre-health students fresh out of college to do the work of certified healthcare professionals, particularly given the quality of training received. I was even more unsettled when I learned the clinic was known for upcoding visits (charging the maximum amount of money for a visit), providers taking on heavy patient loads, and a lawsuit. It saddened me to realize that I wasn’t contributing to a space that was making a difference in people’s lives. At least not as big a difference as I had hoped. 

When I started, I did so with the feeling that you get when you’re able to do something no one else was willing to and get experience some people don’t get. Of course, some things just flew over my head because I was so new to healthcare. But I was arrogant, desiring a life of elite prestige. Towards the end, I was becoming increasingly impatient and pushy towards the virtual scribes I worked with who were just trying to do their best like I was. It scares me to think how far down that path I would’ve gone if I had stayed. 

In Paris when it’s revealed that Andy is just as cutthroat and ruthless as Miranda, she walks out of the car abandoning her as she walks into her next event. When Miranda calls for Andy on her phone, she throws it into a fountain. This scene has always conflicted me. While what Miranda did to Emily and Nigel was wrong, to follow her down the path of success and acclaim was a tempting one. Despite looking down on people like Miranda, I found myself acting like her: pushy, abrasive, quick to throw someone under the bus for my own gain. Traits that some of the providers and co workers I worked with exhibited. As it turns out that no matter how awful you think certain types of behavior are, when it’s tied to something you think is valuable or worth it, you don’t mind. I entertained being a Miranda Priestly sometimes. Despite how unfortunate it is that it took my own throat to be cut to understand the nature of what being someone like her entails, I’m beginning to reconsider my position. 

Let The Phone Ring

Credits

Moving on has been deleting the contacts and emails of all former associates off my phone and unfollowing all related parties on LinkedIn. It also meant realizing that my experience was more about protecting a company than it was about me. It meant realizing there was nothing that I could’ve done to change the outcome. There was no standard or expectation I could’ve met. It’s easier to remember the times I did do well even if it was never acknowledged.

At my new job at a new company, I’ve realized that none of the opportunities marketed at my former were unique at all. Much of the pre-health support they provided, they also do here with a seemingly higher success rate. Here, scribes complain about providers taking on too many patients. Here, I’m not constantly bombarded with what an amazing opportunity I’ve lucked into and I don’t need to be. Training here is organized, structured, and seamless. Here, the results speak for themselves. Here, if people get the sense your schedule is booked, they’ll just push out your start date, no big deal. I feel like I fit in more. Like I can trust my peers. I’ve found people whose path to medical school is much more similar to mine. Here, providers prioritize quality over quantity. People pick up shifts to help out a friend. Work hours are much more flexible, allowing me and others to take care of other parts of our application. The commute time is 15 minutes instead of 1 hour to 45 minutes. I no longer work at a shiny polished clinic, but I feel at home. 

Although it’s too early to tell, this experience will affect me in positive and negative ways for the rest of my life. Positive because I now know that all the hype I heard was smoke, mirrors, and superb marketing. Positive because I would rather risk being scolded for rescinding an offer letter than risk my health and my performance (which was also risking the health of others) to do a job. Positive because getting fired isn’t the scariest thing to happen to me anymore, it’s having my dignity and sanity put on the table trying to keep a job. Positive because I understand the importance of having courage when I know something’s wrong. But also negative, because I will never again be able to trust those I work with, whether it’s my peers, manager, or HR. They’re there to protect their companies. I truly, truly understand that now. 

On my last day, I was running late after getting stuck in traffic, and an elderly woman struggling to find her hazard lights called out for me. I had a choice at that moment to run into work or to take some time to help her. Despite my poor rapport with HR due to my performance, I chose to help her. I soon saw her in the clinic and waved at her as went to collect a patient.

A million girls would kill for this job and I am no longer one of them.

The Importance of Not Being Moldable

Edition 8: The Devil Wears Prada

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