Connie Jo, an astrologist with Soul Navigation, whose video I have posted below, says the degree of Chiron within the natal chart, often reveals when the wound started or manifested. My Chiron sits at twenty-eight degrees. In my case, the degree matches the age at which a significant event occurred. This was one in which an oppressor interfered with how I made my money by bringing into question my identity as a trustworthy and competent nurse.
I’ve already talked about how I graduated from nursing school at nine months pregnant. And because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving my newborn for long periods of time, I didn’t go to work as a nurse until eleven months later. Instead, I kept taking classes, many of which were online. I did this so I could get and live off the pell grant along with my food stamps. So, I was twenty-seven by the time I got my first job as a nurse.
At twenty-eight, I was fired from that same job. I was heartbroken beyond words. I feel very confident in saying that I worked harder for my nursing degree than did the majority of my classmates. It was through sheer will and determination that I got through nursing school. I had even lied repeatedly and on purpose just to get accepted into the program. And direct lying, as I’ve already explained, was very hard for me to do. And so the hit of being fired from my first job out of school came extra hard.
In retrospect, I can see how I did it to myself. Hidden away from the world during my cult childhood, I was never properly socialized and thus I didn’t understand the rules of peer interaction such as those about which Robert Green writes. I told the truth entirely too much. I talked too much and I was too open. Also, not understanding that they were mostly there for illusionary purposes, I followed as many rules as I could.
The other nurse, with whom I split the hall, would call up to the nurse’s station every Friday evening. It was the only day of the week I worked without her. Without fail, while I was trying to chart, I would pick up the ringing phone at the nurse’s station and hear her voice. With slurred and sometimes tearful speech, Veronica used me as her own personal crisis line. Sometimes though, she just wanted someone with whom to giggle.
One Friday afternoon, the lady from HR stopped by my med-cart. She wanted to know if I had ever suspected Veronica of working impaired. I had only recognized signs of being under the influence as her slurred speech and extreme emotions which I’d noticed only during the Friday night calls. And that’s more or less what I said in response to the HR lady, who didn’t know of course, that even at twenty-eight, my pattern recognition for intoxication was under exposed and thus underdeveloped.
Back then, I didn’t understand that confidentiality was just another illusionary concept. And I wouldn’t realize until after I was fired that either the HR lady or someone who overheard us, had repeated my words back to Veronica. Or, maybe someone that the HR lady told such as the director of nursing, told it back. Either way, Veronica played it cool until she was ready to strike and exact her revenge.
It was a Sunday night and I was counting off my cart with the night nurse. As we counted the narcotics, it became like something out of a horror scene. There was a ridiculous amount of pills missing along with an entire physical prescription bottle and a handful of hard scripts. And there were only two people who could be guilty, me or Veronica. But either way, even if Veronica was found guilty, I too, was guilty based on a technicality.
Before I explain, let me say this was back in the day when we did paper charting and cameras were the exception not the rule. In nursing home culture, at least there and back then, two nurses shared a hall, and often one of those nurses would run out to pick up a to go order. So on that particular afternoon, I handed my keys to Veronica and out the door I went. When I came back, she gave my keys back to me. The rule though, everywhere and at every facility, is that when a nurse accepts keys, the narcotic count must first be verified.
But I had quickly learned this was one of those illusionary rules. I had realized there was this sort of insider trust that was expected among the group. I also concluded that the only real reason anybody counted off at the end of the shift, was to catch any discrepancies which indicated they simply forgot to sign out a drug in the narcotic log. So I adapted to their way of doing things and Veronica and I never counted off with each other when one of us left the building on our break.
She took only narcotics which weren’t due until the next shift. This ensured that I wouldn’t realize they were gone until I was counting off with the night nurse. The director of nursing was reached by phone and Veronica and I were told to come back the next morning for interviews and drug tests which we both passed. During my interview, I again admitted that I didn’t count off my narc drawer with Veronica. I was then presented with my third write-up, the only valid one of the three. But since they practiced the three strikes and your out rule, I was fired.