I actually wrote this in Sept 2019! I never published it, because after this my life got “interesting” and I was trying to keep up, and that was even before the covid pandemic that proved my point for the rest of the world. But recently people have been telling me to write again, and I thought I would start with this to set the scene, and then follow with the rest of the craziness. So cast your mind back to that time, before covid, when Trump was the centre of media attention, and we all knew what “normal” looked like…
A year and a half ago, I realised I had no future. I was trapped.
I hated my job. The mismanagement and lack of understanding about what good testers actually do had meant I was punished for my efforts to do my job. I was terribly bored, unable to advance my professional training, and shut down in every effort I made to change things. The company was floundering: there had been layoffs, and several of those were definitely political (the new CTO didn’t like women who stood up to him). I was actively looking for another job, and kept running into walls: ignorance about the role of testing is quite common, and I believe my demographic also didn’t help. It’s not so easy to get a job in tech when you’re both over 50 and female. The last straw was when I was turned down for a job at my dream company, because I didn’t have the level of skill they required. I had gotten stale in the 2 years I had been stuck.
It was only a matter of time before I was “made redundant” from my job, and I had no options for paying rent or surviving when that happened. Even if the expected redundancy didn’t happen, I did not want to be stuck in that job until my retirement, and then be in the same situation… of course, assuming the world continued as it had in the past, and that climate change, economic change and technology changes didn’t impact my life before my retirement. Yeah, right. Taking those things into account, I thought a 7 year plan would be barely feasible. I honestly believe that anyone getting themselves into a 20-30 year mortgage to buy a house in the current state of world insecurity is delusional, and I totally understand why a lot of Millenials are deciding not to have children.
Except for my lovely flatmates, I hated the flat where I lived. It was a damp, dark, mouldy, poorly constructed basement flat. There was no insulation between us and the wooden floors above – hard heels at 4am was a common occurrence. The landlord and their agent were only interested in making money: within 6 months of us moving in they had tried to lie to us to justify increasing the rent. From there the rent increased as often and as much as they legally could do it. Work done around the place was shoddy and cheap, and I had to invoke the Housing Commission to stop them abusing our rights to privacy. We had looked for other flats, but there is a housing crisis in Auckland. I had started thinking about getting a tiny house (a moveable home was my solution for the anticipated effects of climate changes), but how do you get it made when most of your money was going on rent, and you had none spare?
So I acquired a loan, bought a housebus and moved into it. I thought I could find the necessary employment for 3 years, to pay off the loan, even if I got “made redundant” and had to work in something like construction. After 3 years I could move on, living rent free. My 3 year plan.
Then I got a contract position at my dream company. It paid less than my crummy ex-job, which made the loan repayments and bus maintenance tougher, and was for less than a year, but I thought I could get my foot in the door, and maybe things would work out.
Half a year ago, one year into the 3 year plan, I was struggling to pay for my bus, deeply in debt, happy in my job but for how long? Then I found the lump.
My new employer had been saying they liked me, and wanted to keep me, but they weren’t in a position to give me a permanent position at the time. They extended my contract to keep me on. When I learnt that the lump was probably cancer I told my boss “I really want a permanent position here, and I might have a significant medical event coming up”. He said that wouldn’t change my chances.
So much for the 3 year plan. How would the lump change my life? Would I have months to sell my bus before I was too sick to live in it? Would I be unemployed, homeless and sick all together? At least I didn’t have to plan for what might happen with climate change et al for a bit.
Then a thought: what was that insurance I got a while back?
In about the space of one month my life went like this. It was cancer. I found that out at about the same time my job gave me a permanent contract. The insurance I bought years ago included trauma cover: I had made a bet with my insurance company that something horrible would happen to me, and I won! I have never had so much money in my life. As I was making the final preparations before going into surgery I paid off my bus. The surgery, done on the one year anniversary of me starting my dream job, was very successful. They removed a slightly less than 1kg tumour, and that might be the end of it.
Six weeks on from there. I invested some of that money… for a year, because I might be able to arrange my life for that long. I now no longer need to work, but I do so because I like my job and I was always planning to give them 3 years, at least. I use my pay to help out good future-proofing causes, and friends and family, many whom are seriously struggling with housing issues. I am not. I will have yearly checkups for 5 years to see if the cancer comes back – 50% chance, but the possibility doesn’t bother me, because I have no idea what will happen tomorrow…
Next instalment coming soon…
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