If It Weren’t For Bad Luck…

…I’d have no luck at all. That’s how the song goes.

Back in 2005, my life was a lot different. I didn’t know my son was sick then. I was in a rut at my job with the newspaper, but still had a great job, and I was getting published a lot. My husband was doing well in his career with heavy machinery. We thought we had it all planned out. We were clueless. 

There is no way I could have prepared myself for the ass-kicking we would take after the newspaper closed. I wouldn’t have believed life could do such a 360 degree turn. First my job, then Dylan’s diagnosis, and then my husband’s job relocated to Ohio. The year of being apart was hell, being back together still weird, all the while trying to help our son get well.

So now is the first week of 2008, and I am already using a personal day. The lab seems to have lost my son’s paperwork, so we have to go back and have his blood drawn again. Thanks to the answered prayers of many, he was approved for a program that will provide Humira at no cost to us! Sweet! We were just about to reach the cap on what our insurance will pay for prescriptions. It will be delivered early next week… and we have an appointment on Thursday so he can learn to give himself the shots. I’m sure he’ll do ok — he is brave and stronger than most. My biggest dread is the side effects. I wish it was me instead.

At work, everyone seems to be taking vacation before we close down. Almost no one showed up today. Honestly, it is all I can do to drag myself in there… there is just a black cloud of hopelessness hanging over us. We have around two months left. I know I will probably use most of my vacation time in doctors’ offices: Dylan isn’t the only who needs to go. As a matter of fact, I wish I could work part time for some good family health coverage. In our situation, insurance is the same as a salary.

I know I’ll be saving one of my personal days for my birthday, so I can be alone and think about life, or mourn the passing of my youth. This year, I’ll be 42. I don’t know where I expected to be at this age, which is probably a good thing. That way I am not disappointed in all the stuff I haven’t done yet. At one point, living in my car, I didn’t know if I would even survive to be this old. So kids, the moral of the story is not to have goals. That might lead to midlife self-scrutiny, and who needs that? 

Before ADT decided they didn’t need us anymore, I liked my job. And I know after being downsized in 2005 that I will miss it. I’ll miss the people. The routine. Feeling productive. I already know how I’ll feel because I’ve been through it all this before. It is insane. A good friend and former coworker, another casualty of the newspaper closing, is also looking at her second downsizing in 2 years. What the hell are we supposed to do? I say go to Florida for a week this summer. Stay drunk. Maybe find a couple of younger men. I don’t think I have relaxed in over two years. Surely I can still fall asleep in on the beach…

Then there’s the part of me that says no way. The last two times I was in Florida with Dylan he was too sick to enjoy it. He barely went to the beach… how could I go without feeling guilty? I wonder if I will ever be able to allow myself little things, like my toes in the sand, without thinking about him? I hope not. After all, he’s my son. I can only hold on to the hope that one day, when he feels better, we can fall asleep on the beach together.

Some Wisdom For Working Women

OMG, it’s like, so hard to take orders from someone who is, well, so inexperienced and immature. It really is.

When I started working at age 19, the “boss” I have now was about 5 years old. I feel the fact that she is a woman in an office of mostly women may bring out certain social issues, but I am addressing my experience alone.

Even though I have never been in management, I have 23 years of watching co-workers screw up, seeing the cluelessness of supervisors and making plenty of mistakes myself. I learned the hard way…. So for my sisters in the workforce, especially those going into management, I share this advice.

One word for women in the workplace: discretion. Very important. Especially if you are in a leadership position. And if you have a husband at home and a boyfriend at work it’s really essential. My supervisor hasn’t figured that one out yet. I used to wonder “why don’t appearances occur to her?” but I guess now I find it slightly amusing. Eventually, she might choose to keep the drama at home, but it will probably take a few dramatic scenes, a divorce and ten more years of bad decisions.

Another important trait of the working woman, especially in management, is keeping your thoughts to yourself. At one time, my manager expressed her intent to stop working since she had enough staff to carry the load. It upset the employees who heard about it, and we lost some of them. Karma was in full effect when she found herself back working late.

A sorority-like atmosphere prevails in our office. In meetings, our supervisor will often reprimand us for gossip or catty behavior. It is almost funny, because in the office, she is right in the middle of the sewing circle. Her friendships with certain employees are obvious, and not handled in a professional manner. It is clear who she favors. Certain employees don’t have to take vacation or make up time they missed. Others do. Some get first dibs on vacation days. The rest take what is left. A good manager would never let that happen.

Since I am older than most, and do not tolerate bullshit, I am liked and probably disliked (strong women usually are disliked by someone.) In our office, I know who my friends are. But I don’t really pay close attention to the childish behavior going on around me. It is like being back in 8^th grade. Only now I am 42 and couldn’t give less of a f*%k.

The sharing of personal information no one needs or wants to hear is another no-no that I’ve experienced a lot. I have worked with several people in their 20s who didn’t know that talking about their sex life, hygiene, or other “didn’t need to know” subjects is tacky, inappropriate, stupid and also laughable (as soon as they walk away.) It is really hard to listen seriously to someone you have heard crying on the phone to her Mom, or watched as she freaked out in the parking deck after work.

I doubt that anyone higher up in the chain of command is even aware of what is going on in our office. Since our department is scheduled to be closed, and we will be gone, no one really cares about us. People leave and they aren’t replaced. People who were promised raises or overtime aren’t getting them, and they are intimidated into working extra hours. As long as we get the work done, we are just waiting on the end, whenever it may come, like terminally ill patients. There won’t be any extra measures taken to save us.

I would gladly pull the plug right now. I’m tired of 8^th grade.

Disability, Downsizing And Hope

Next Tuesday my son will see a specialist in Crohn’s disease. In the past two years, he hasn’t responded well to any of the medications he has tried, so surgery is the next logical step. He is so tired of being sick that he wants to try it. I’m hopeful. I’m also terrified. He is 16, but he is still my baby.

This illness has changed me – because it has changed him. Helpless isn’t even the word for how I feel watching my son, only 104 lbs. at 6 feet tall, hurting whenever he eats. The surgery gives us a little hope. Hope for some relief. Hope that someday he will be able to have a normal day out in the world, working and being happy, taking everything for granted like the rest of us. But we have to take small steps to get him there. Just this week, I started the application process for him to receive SSI disability benefits.

He isn’t going to school anymore and doesn’t miss it. He claims working with a tutor decreases his stress level, and I believe him. Crohn’s patients do not respond well to stress, which will often cause a “flare-up.” That basically means a lot of cramping and pain. He is too tired for a regular schedule, anyway. Crohn’s comes with a host of symptoms, including extreme fatigue.

My son sleeps a lot. While my husband and I work all day, he sleeps. He will eat some rice and take pills. Maybe he will do some school work, and gets on the computer for awhile. If he feels well enough, he may go outside or empty the dishwasher for me. Eventually though, he always goes back to bed. His days are broken up by constant pain, meals that often cause cramps, taking medication, bouts of nausea, other bodily functions and naps. He manages to get his school work done, but always seems behind. It is no wonder.

Every day, when I leave for work I feel guilty, wondering where my priorities are. I curse a system that makes me work, not for money, but for health insurance. On our own, no matter much money we had, we couldn’t afford Crohn’s disease. And a mother shouldn’t have to be away from her sick child just so he can get better. It is a twisted paradox. It is just wrong.

Meanwhile, the downsizing at work is hanging over me, weighted down by inefficient management rife with uncertainty. First, we heard we might close in November, then it was January. Now I should have a job until March. I could have learned to love the job, but morale is low because it is coming to an end. And while I don’t let myself like it or hate it, I am there for the duration. The carrot of a bonus dangles in front of me.

This is a blessing because I have a few more months of great health insurance rates. It is also a curse because I can’t move on. Looking for another job is impossible when you have no time to interview and can’t even say when you can start.

I’m not even sure I want another job…I know I NEED one, but I can’t think about it. I already spend my work days completely distracted. My son is sick. What if he has surgery? What if he doesn’t? What if he needs me? My husband’s health insurance is expensive, but affordable. It will be there when my job ends. That is the only thing that is certain, and I’m thankful for that.

But everything else is a huge question mark.