The Rita Louie Story (Ch. 2): A Big Secret, Tough Times, and Personal Tragedy.
Women in the workplace…and the stuff that happens to us…
After that first day on the construction site, my enthusiasm was renewed to extreme heights. Jim said it wouldn’t be easy to transfer me to a different department, but if I still wanted to be in construction, he would work on it. I knew I had a 50/50 chance of this happening, but still had hope.
Cubicle life was not yet a common thing in the early ‘80’s in corporate offices and, as the only leasing analyst in the department, I had my own office for privacy. I knew my job was important, and I was learning so much about the commercial leasing and development industry every day, without even realizing it. Having an office made it easy for me to slip in and out without anyone noticing. I needed that because I had a secret--one that I have never revealed to anyone in the past, until now: I was secretly going to college at night to finish up my degree.
One of the requirements for my job was to have a college degree. So, to get the position with the development firm, I had indicated on my resume that I already graduated, knowing that I still needed four more credits. I would sneak out of my office a little early 3 nights a week to attend urban law and oil painting classes to fulfill those remaining credits. It was so stressful carrying the weight of that lie; it almost broke me. Adding to that pressure, I became pregnant with our first child.
Oh, did I mention that I got married along the way? Yes, in the middle of working up to 90 hours a week at Skadden and attending school at night, I also planned a wedding and moved into a new apartment with my husband, which I took great joy in painting, decorating and furnishing.
One of Rita’s paintings while she finished college.
On nights I was not in class, I often worked very late to make sure I never fell behind in my assignments and leases went out on time. One night I was working at my desk at about 8pm and the unthinkable happened. I suddenly had a sharp pain in my abdomen and felt a rush of heat in my pelvis. I was in extreme pain and did not know what to do. Thankfully, that old phone system had a very user-friendly intercom system. I was able to dial just one number to reach any of my colleagues. After the third try, one of my bosses picked up. Thank God he was there.
I said “Dave, I need help”
He said, “Wait, Rita? Where are you?
I responded, voice cracking due to the pain:
“I’m in my office. I’m in trouble,”
“What are you doing here so late?” He actually sounded annoyed and then caught himself.
“Oh, ok, I’ll be right there.”
When Dave appeared at my office door, I tried to stand up and saw that a pool of blood stained the entire office chair. I must have passed out because the next thing I remembered was waking up on a gurney, while being rolled into the building elevator. The EMS rushed me to Bellevue Hospital with sirens blaring.
The miscarriage was horrible and I was given time off to recover. My husband and I went to a small hotel in the mountains to recover, emotionally, for a couple of days. I was filled with guilt. Was it the stress of the lie I was carrying? Was it the turpentine and linseed oil fumes from the painting class? Was it burning my candle at both ends that caused this tragedy? In retrospect, it could have been all of those things, or none of those things. I went on to have three more miscarriages after that before actually having my first child in 1987, so, who knows?
When I returned to work after two weeks, I was petrified to walk into my office, having the memory of that office chair, the blood, the gurney, the excruciating ride through the streets of Manhattan in the back of an ambulance and the horrified look on the face of my boss, all replaying in my head. I actually hesitated at the office door and slowly looked around the desk at the chair. Of course, they had it cleaned and/or replaced. Like nothing had happened, a perfectly normal office chair was in the place of that horrible memory. I let out a deep breath of relief, sat down, and got back to work.
Two weeks later, word came down that I was, in fact, being transferred to the Construction Department. I really think my boss was having trouble facing me after what had happened, as he barely spoke to me when I came back and never came to my office. That could have played a part in expediting the move, but I’ll never know.
Whatever it was, I could not be more excited…I was going to the Construction Department!
Contributor: Rita Louie