I Am Having A Very Bad Day.

We had a departmental meeting on Tuesday. Knowing that people talk, and knowing that some of my co-workers in other departments have the potential to be assholes, I thought I'd do the decent thing and let my colleagues within the department know that there was an explanation for my drowsiness lately, in case someone made a comment about it. I said "I just wanted to let everyone know in case someone says something to you--I'm dealing with some medical issues right now, so if anyone outside the department says something to you about 'Gladys is sleeping' or whatever, to talk to BossMan and he'll explain it." And that was all I said. It took about ten seconds, UberBoss said "Okay," and that was that. From his reaction, I wondered if maybe I'd made a mistake, but I put that behind me.

Evidently I was right to wonder.

This morning I got called into H.R.Chick's office, where UberBoss and H.R.Chick were waiting, and I was asked to explain what had happened in the staff meeting. I said that I'd felt that it was necessary to inform my colleagues, because people talk and I wanted them to have the correct information in case someone made a crack about it. I was then told by both UberBoss and H.R.Chick that I shouldn't have said anything, especially since I'd made it clear to H.R.Chick that it was a sensitive issue and that it was confidential. I replied that the NATURE of the issue was confidential, but that since the effects of the issue were out there for everyone to see and comment upon, I thought it would be best to acknowledge them. This didn't cut any ice at all.

Throughout the conversation, which took about 10 minutes and featured at least three apologies from me, H.R.Chick was taking notes. As I left she said, "I'll put this in your file...it's growing."

Nice.

I also told them, during this discussion, that one of the reasons I'd felt compelled to mention that there were medical issues behind this problem--that it was not just me being a slacker--was that several weeks ago, someone had gone into our departmental trouble-ticket software and changed my job description. Instead of "help desk", I discovered that some wag had changed it to "professional sleeper". I changed it back when I saw it and didn't tell anyone--I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, because a) I was embarrassed, and b) I knew someone was just being funny and I didn't want to be seen as the office tattletale. But if I'm going to get called on the carpet for making a factual statement about my own situation, I'll be damned if they're not going to know why I felt it was necessary for me to do so. UberBoss told me that I should have told him immediately when I discovered the change, and said that he's going to investigate, which involves going into the backup tapes to see when it was done and possibly by whom. He wanted to know when it had happened; I gave him my best guess, but I'm sure that will be wrong too.

The funniest thing about all this? The problems themselves are actually improving. They've lowered my dose of both Prozac and methadone; I've started taking my methadone early in the evening wherever possible; I've cut out all obvious sources of sugar during working hours; and I've tried to get enough sleep at night. I've been keeping a log while at work, detailing how much I slept the night before, everything I eat, and how I feel from hour to hour. So the situation is improving, but now the repercussions are getting out of hand. I feel completely discouraged, stupid and embarrassed and incompetent. I hate being the focus of this kind of attention, and I hate that people see this as some sort of personal weakness on my part, something it's okay to laugh at and make jokes about, yet when I defend myself or try to explain the situation I get in trouble. I hate that I'm trying to do something POSITIVE for my health, yet I feel like it's jeopardizing my job.

They want me to get a letter from my physician answering all these questions about the problem--how long it's going to last, what's causing it, what are the symptoms, what parts of my job does it affect. I've answered all these, in the LAST letter I brought them. I don't know how to give them any more of what they want. And have these people never heard of a prescription drug interaction? Because that's what this is, boiled down to its essence; I have two prescriptions which are interacting to make me sleepy, and the adjustments that will fix that problem will take a little bit of time. The only accommodation I need from them is a little bit of understanding and patience! And all this bullshit they're putting me through is NOT helping matters. I'm trying to resolve the problem on my own, it's slowly improving, and frankly I don't need the knock to my self-esteem of feeling like there's something wrong with me. I was feeling BETTER before all this; tonight I just want to go home, get into bed, and cry for a while. I do not need this kind of extraneous bullcrap.

One of my close co-workers tells me that I'm not the only one going through bullshit on account of their health; apparently, one of our colleagues in the tech department is getting all sorts of hell because he has a lot of physiotherapy and specialist's appointments during work hours--for an injury he SUSTAINED at work, no less. She tells me this to make me feel better, and I guess it does, almost. But then again it doesn't; there's no stigma to a shoulder injury. People don't see you as weak or flawed or defective because you tore some ligaments. Nobody wonders about your fitness for your job, or your psychological stability, or your character. They just give you a sympathetic look and ask you how you feel. He doesn't have to hide his discomfort, or feel embarrassed about it, or keep it a secret from anyone. And I'll bet if he mentioned it obliquely in a staff meeting, no one would think anything of it.

I've got my resume together, though there don't seem to be too many jobs being advertised within my niche at the moment. I can't afford even a few days' loss of income; I'm not even making ends meet NOW. I feel like my independence is threatened, and I don't like that feeling--not at all.

Next time I think I ought to speak up about something, I'll keep my mouth shut. And next time I'm tempted to keep silent, I'll speak up. I feel like a female George Costanza: all my instincts are completely wrong, and no matter what I think I ought to do, the right answer is to do the opposite.

I'm sure that will serve me well when I'm living in a cardboard box on Lower Wacker Drive.