There were times when I think the world’s a little blurry.
And then I think about the life between Time-In and Time-Out.
Lately, we’ve had an increased patient census in the hospital. There were days when patients needed blood units. We would call the blood bank, and after one unit had been transfused, they would need another.
Eight hours of collecting samples, processing them, and releasing results.
There were days with a high sample volume, and there were days when the duty was relatively benign.
Whenever I wake up and prepare for the day’s work, I think about the workload waiting for us—the critical cases, the urgency of every request, and the responsibility that comes with every specimen that reaches our laboratory.
But whenever I remember that I have colleagues I can rely on, friends who inspire me to grow and make even the difficult shifts a little lighter, I find myself grateful.
Because somewhere between time-in and time-out lies the reality of every shift: the toxicity of the workload, the tests we run, the results we release, and the countless specimens we examine under the microscope.
And quietly, we hope.
We hope the results will be favorable. We hope the prognosis will be good. We hope that somehow, behind every request form and every specimen we process, there is healing waiting on the other side.
For more than a year, I’ve been working in healthcare. I’ve met people from different walks of life, each carrying their own stories, diagnoses, fears, and uncertainties. I’ve performed countless laboratory tests and released results that carried different diagnoses and prognoses.
Being entrusted with providing reliable and accurate results is a heavy responsibility. It is a role I have never taken lightly.
And now that I’m also working as a financial advisor, there is a different kind of lightness in my chest whenever I think about the lives I may be able to help secure through financial planning and insurance solutions that genuinely fit each family’s needs.
I’ve messaged friends, acquaintances, and relatives. And somewhere between composing each message, pressing “send,” and checking whether they’ve seen it or replied, my heart beats a little faster.
There is hope that I’ll become someone they can trust with one of the most important decisions they may ever make. But there is also a different kind of anxiety that comes with waiting for a response.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the hours between time-in and time-out.
For more than a year, my life revolved around navigating my career as a Medical Technologist while quietly writing my poems, letters, stories, and reflections.
But now, another role has been entrusted to me.
Another opportunity to serve.
Another chance to make a meaningful contribution—not only to society, but to every person and family who chooses to place their trust in me.
The world’s a little blurry, but somewhere between time-in and time-out, I find clarity.
There is certainty in the life I live within the four walls of the laboratory. There is purpose in the work I do, even when no one sees it. There is meaning in knowing that the results we release may help doctors make decisions and patients receive the care they need.
And beyond it all, I still return to my quiet nights of writing.
Crafting poems. Finishing reflections. Rearranging sentences until the right words fall into place. Hoping that, together, they can paint a picture beautiful enough for someone else to see a little bit of themselves in it.
Perhaps this is what my life looks like right now: moving between different kinds of service, different responsibilities, and different dreams.
A Medical Technologist.
A financial advisor.
A writer.
A daughter.
A sister.
A friend.
An employee.
And somehow, I believe that none of these roles are separate from the story God is writing for me.
Everything I do today—in between time-in and time-out, through the work, the messages, the writing, the late nights, the sacrifices, and even the exhaustion—I believe the Lord is writing the greatest plot twist of my life.
I don’t know exactly what the ending will look like.
The world is still a little blurry.
But I have a hope that one day, all this hustling and grinding, the work, the late nights, the sacrifices, and even the exhaustion will lead me exactly where I have always dreamed of being.
To become a published writer.
And I think I’ll get there.
Because every single day, I’m working toward it.
Perhaps that’s what matters most—not knowing exactly when I’ll arrive, but knowing that I’m still moving toward the life I have always hoped to live.
And for now, I’ll keep showing up.
Time-in.
Time-out.
And everything in between.
