Not quite sure a broken ankle was the break I was after, but being laid up in bed has give me pause to think. Especially as my employer, Faifax, considers whether mine and 40 other subs jobs at the Newcastle Herald are better filled by people in New Zealand.
First things first. How did I break my ankle? At netball, not taking a flying intercept (my playing days are long over) but standing on the sideline coaching my daughter's team. Just a weird fall. Too many crunches and twists. Dislocated, two bones broken, and a load of metal holding it all together. Some permanent, some temporary, but that's it for the details - they make me giddy.
No weight on it for eight weeks, bedrest for at least several.
So here I am, with too much time on my hands, and too much pain relief at my fingertips (seriously, Im stopping the endone today, I love it!!)
Is the universe trying to tell me something? End of marriage, end of job? end of ability to wear high heels? And should I heed the warning?
I've never contemplated redundancy. The thought of rejection is too horrific. I've worked at the Newcastle Herald for 27 years; a fact of which Im neither boastful nor ashamed, it's just with marriage to someone else in the building and kids, that's how it worked out.
Now, as a section head, I probably have skills the Herald could deploy elsewhere, but what kind of landscape would I be working in? Not the one I know and love. I fully understand the media needs to radically innovate, but tear out the heart of a community? Of a paper that has served its community for longer than any of us have been alive, times some? There is an alternative proposal on the table, now, that will save some jobs and keep production local, and I'm hoping it gets over the line. Meantime, tea, toast and pause to think. (Maybe one more endone)
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