Rolling Oaks Cemetery

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For What It’s Worth by Dr. Melfi , Ph.D.

I once wanted to be a writer, but I didn’t know that was something I could be. During the time I grew up, most women aspired to be a secretary, a teacher, a hair dresser, or a nurse. All noble professions to be sure, but none that pushed the boundaries of possibilities. I loved to read. I loved that every story brought me in a di erent direction, that I was able to get a glimpse of other lives, and laughed or cried at the characters nal ending. Yet, still, I pursued. I liked helping people.

I became a candy-stripper at a local hospital, and found it ful lling to be attentive to people’s needs. In the end, I thought nursing would be best. Still, I read. roughout school, throughout long hours of studying, and impossible hours, through exhaustion of taking care of patients, I read. If I didn’t like the stories endings, if I thought the author could have taken his character more seriously, or given more attention to the plotline, I recreated the story as I would have liked it to be told. I became a registered nurse. I worked in an ICU with seriously ill patients and heartbreaking odds for survival. During my downtime, I read anything I could get my hands on. I went to the movies to wipe away the reality of my days at work, the sadness of people who saw my face instead of their loved ones, as they said their nal good-bye. O en, I reworked the endings of the movies to suit my fancy, to suit my emotions, and I believed the writers o en shortchanged their audience by leaving loose ends, or not caring about the investment the audience had made into the ctional character’s lives. So, I continued to read, but I also began to write. My work was sincere, but challenging, credible, but amateurish, but I continued on for decades, furthering my professional degree, continuing to read, and polishing my writing skills. If I had known years ago, that I had the creative imagination to become an author, I would have done so immediately a er graduation, but then again, I wouldn’t have had the privilege of walking through the life of others as they su ered, better, walked out of the hospital, or died. I wouldn’t have understood that life was not guaranteed, and relationships were fragile. ere was time gone by, but not wasted. I have nally seen my dreams come true with this column, but also in a novel which I have just completed. got

For What it’s Worth, if not for your kind words, your emails, and your support, I might not have had the courage to complete my book. I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, and I will let you know if I can nd an agent to represent me. Also, in the works, my publisher from this magazine is considering putting a book together of all my articles from the past four years. Please let us know if that is something you would consider worthwhile.