Calling In Sick

Let’s talk about work.

What are you doing right now?

Are you happy? Are you satisfied? Do you feel you’re doing what you were called to do in life?

Could anything be different?

July 2012

I remember the day I got hired for my job – a leasing agent for property management. I was walking on the levee when the phone call came in, and I became so excited that I started running. I was so thankful to finally have a real, full-time, decent paying job.

I was considered fairly young for the job, but I made sure to prove myself till I had the respect of the owners themselves. I never called in sick. I took every bit of overtime that was available, and I trained for every new position that was offered to me. I even walked or rode my bike around the property for the first two and a half years until we could afford a second vehicle. I absolutely loved my job.

I was almost five years in when I had my first child, and I was back to work as soon as my six weeks postpartum was over. I missed my baby, but it felt good to help provide for him. It felt good not to worry.

The complications with the epidural had left a couple of aggravating side effects, such as my hearing being messed up, but I was able to work through it – for a little while at least.

Then the dizzy spells started. I tried to ignore them as I stood there with clients, feeling like I could fall over any second.

But I was a professional. I knew professionals did not take their personal lives to work with them.

So when I started waking up every morning with my body aching as if I had the flu and dizzying whooshing noises rushing through my head, I knew I had to fight through it. I was already young. I could not give anyone the impression that I was showing up to work as if I had a hangover. I had to hide it till it passed.

Then my back began to ache to the point where it felt like it could collapse. I assumed I must have been doing something wrong physically. After all, I had been carrying my baby in his car seat, his bags, and my bags to and from babysitters so that I could keep working. I would just have to be more careful and make multiple trips. I couldn’t let that pain stop me.

Meanwhile, I was scheduling doctor’s appointments for my off days or lunch breaks. I had used up all of my paid time off for having my son, and I couldn’t afford to miss any extra time.

July 2017

One day, that flu-like aching didn’t go away. Instead, it worsened. I tried to work through it. I made it through most of the day before I couldn’t take it anymore. For the first time in five years, I left work sick. By evening, my back was hurting too bad to even hold my baby.

As if leaving work didn’t bother me enough, I had to call in sick the next day as well. I couldn’t even understand what was wrong to be able to explain it well enough to my boss. Thankfully, my five years of loyalty paid off, and they trusted that I was not just playing hooky. Still, this wasn’t me.

That next day, I was back to normal. My ENT appointment scheduled me for a CT scan and referred me to a neurologist. This was the beginning of missing more and more work.

Days later, the episode returned. This time, far worse. Medicine wasn’t helping, and the back pain was now wrapping around to my stomach. I was nauseated and couldn’t eat or drink. My brain was pulsating, and the whooshing in my head wouldn’t stop. And I went to work.

But on this day, I couldn’t hide it. When a client assumed the pained expression on my face was just a lack of customer service, I knew I could be of no help. I took an early lunch break to lie on the floor of an empty dark office. By the end of that thirty minutes, I was in tears. My boss had already called a replacement for the day, and I was sent home. I had failed.

This wasn’t me. I didn’t even know what it was, but I had no control over it. I was being forced to make decisions I didn’t want to make. I was being forced to bring my personal life to work, and I knew better than to do that.

Over the next few months, I only spent more days at the hospital seeing doctors and having tests run. The episodes only grew more frequent, and oftentimes I would have to run home on my lunch break to take a shower to help relieve the pain. I would have to walk the property in hopes of keeping the pain at bay with exercise. I would have to take breaks in the back room to see if the pain would pass or not.

February 2018

One year after the epidural, I was hospitalized. I missed almost two weeks of work before I felt well enough to return. And foolishly, I did.

I had worked too hard for this job. I couldn’t stop now. I was in the middle of transitioning to a new promotion of being a bookkeeper. I would have my own office. I had to keep fighting. I had to work.

This was my last day.

Following this day, I became sick with another episode. I was hospitalized again and had no choice but to go on medical leave. This sickness seemed to be unending.

For months I fought my husband on when I could go back to work. Even God tried to show me not to worry, that He would provide. But in my mind, I thought I was fine. I refused to accept reality that we still had so much work to do.

What job wants a person who could call in sick at any time and for any length of time? How could I work if episodes could hit at any moment, regardless of what I did? The condition only seemed to evolve.

Still, I couldn’t let go. Going back to work was always in the back of my mind. Even while unemployed, I was constantly asking myself if I was well enough to work or if it would have been another day of calling out. I tried to force myself to realize my body wasn’t ready, even though I felt I was.

To make matters even more difficult, my job didn’t want to let go either. Although my medical leave had ended, we stayed in touch with the hopes that I could get everything under control. I couldn’t. For months, we tried to figure out how we could make it work. We couldn’t.

January 2019

Eventually, when our money ran out, I felt I had no choice but to go back. Except this time, as if God Himself had had enough, I became sick again almost immediately.

It had been almost a year since I first left, and it took that long before I finally realized I had to let go. I made the last call to my job that I was not returning. I could no longer keep that hope in the back of my mind. It was over. It was time to focus solely on getting better.

Once I had committed that decision in my heart, with all ties cut, I felt as though a novel had just been closed in completion. I could almost hear the book shut. And instead of feeling longing and regret as I put that book away, I felt joy and freedom. I was finally ready to see what plans God had in store for my life. It was time for my hope and future.