I spend a modest amount of time worrying that people I meet will not accept me because I am currently not employed due to disability. Because my disabilities are invisible, that I could be disabled brings a look of disbelief to most people's faces. In fact, recently, when asked if disabled for an assistance form, the woman taking the application stopped in her tracks when I said 'yes'. And for the first time, perhaps since being diagnosed, her voice softened, and she put her pen down and was genuinely interested in my story. I felt blessed!
The fact is, that I did work. Unpaid, for nine, and paid for nineteen. Yes, not as much as some, and more than many. Work conditions during the unpaid were emotionally and physically taxing. Work conditions during the first 11 of the paid were emotionally and physically damaging. Had I been treated like a human being, rather than a lowly slave at either of those jobs, I am certain I would not be disabled today.
During my preteen through late teens I worked around the homestead doing whatever chore my parents needed done. Didn't every kid growing up in the 70's? Of course. But my father was an obsessive workaholic, and expected that everyone else was, too. His lists of outdoor chores seemed endless, and on many a summer day, left me with bloodied hands and nasty sunburns...on top of nasty sunburns. And after he meticulously reviewed the work, came screaming in my face proclaiming that I was dumb and lazy because I'd hoed into some onions. And as my teenage schoolmates drove by laughing a waving-on their way to swim-I hoed, and weeded, and harvested that damn garden. Every day, all day. Well, that is, when I wasn't cleaning out the garage/basement, or picking apples, or weeding, or picking blooms off of hundreds of petunias. Or planting them. Or helping him haul 100lb stones to landscape. Or mowing a 6ft hill.
During my late teens and twenties, I worked at the leading insurance company in the area. If you had office experience when exiting school, you worked there or at the factory offices. Unfortunately, this company prided themselves on herding, and treating their employees like cattle. Little support, tons of work, and few kudos. This job would define my future physical state in a matter of a few months. My emotional state had already been defined, but this job sealed it. Emotionally, however, it would also land me in help's lap.
I had only worked there for a year, when I began to feel ill. I had an awful cold, scorching sore throat, and was very tired. I was warned that missing work would get me fired, so I muddled through, feeling worse and worse. During a conversation with my Mom, she noticed a tint. Shocked, she had me stare into her eyes and tilt my head back so she could examine both. Yellow. Eyeballs and neck a sickening yellow. Had no one at work noticed this? I went to the Dr. the next day, and as he lay me back to feel my tummy, he could see my swollen liver. He told me to go home and wait for some tests, but by the time I got home, he was on the phone demanding my Mom to get me to the hospital. I'd had mono for months. Because it was left untreated, my liver became swollen. Hepatits. I spent two weeks in the hospital, and was ordered away from work for two months. In a shake-my-head sidenote, my co-workers were under the impression that I had the mumps. A panic ran through the department as everyone tried to remember if they'd had them. Upon finding out that I had something much more serious, they were relieved. At least they weren't going to get sick. As soon as they found out it was Hepatitis-it turned out to be non-infectious-the pressure to get me back to work began. After just two week home, I got phone calls from co-workers-on behalf of my supervisor-to "get back in here". After several harassing calls, Mom called work to talk to my super. The super had the gall to snipe at my mother about my coming back to work immediately. I was still getting dizzy getting up and around! Two more weeks passed, and because of the phone calls, the doctor was called to see if I could return to work. The okay was given as long as I did sit down work. On day three of my return I was put back on my feet...a six hour trek every day. I blacked out many times, but was blown off when I reported it. You see, mumps everyone understood. Hepatitis they did not. Therefore, it did not exist.
My mother was told that I would never be the same. I'd never have the stamina I'd once had. I might not be able to fight colds and such as efficiently. And I was never the same. Ever again. There was no name for that result at that time. Today they call it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
So, yes, I have worked. Since those jobs I've been a nanny, a warehouse stocker, a carpet salesperson, a water department employee, and several more insurance gigs. Had I not given birth to the light of my life, triggering Fibromyalgia, I might still be working. But, for whatever reason, God has seen fit for me to be at home.
So, perhaps I need to rethink my worry, and wear my disabilities like a badge. After all, I fought long and hard to get them.
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