Recovery

It's Saturday morning. I wake up to my cell phone ringing. It's my husband. We chat for a bit, all the while I am yawning and moving my jaw around in futile attempts to regain hearing in my right ear. It feels as though I've just dropped several thousand feet in elevation.

My ear feels all jammed up and I can't fight to the urge to "pop" my ears.

Popping hasn't happened about ten minutes into my conversation with Brian, so I mention it. He comes up with a few suggestions that I've already tried. I give them another try, but to no avail.

I end our conversation abruptly so I can call the doctor.

"It's not a big deal," I keep thinking.

Since I had just started a new medication to help with migraines, I convince myself that the loss of hearing was simply a side effect.

While waiting for the on-call doctor to page me back, a small amount of hearing returns. It sounds as though everyone is underwater.

After the doctor asks a few preliminary questions to rule out any immediate threat to my health, he refers me to an urgent care physician.

Long story short, my inner ear has a tube that is inflamed. This tube is used for draining my sinuses (?) and the inflammation has caused a backup of fluid. The doctor prescribes some anti-inflammatory pills for the loss of hearing and some anti-dizziness pills for the lack of balance.

The loss of hearing has disabled me from walking a straight line. Distraught, I call my boss to tell her all of this.

She gives me this "Who's gonna cover your shift?" attitude.

I tell her that I'll gladly call anyone on the roster who isn't scheduled today.

She cuts me off with "Everyone is scheduled today."

I pause, then ask, "What would you like me to do? I have a note excusing me from work. I'm not well."

She pauses and the silence seems eternal. Finally, a sigh followed by "I'll take care of it."

I try again to apologize and she says "I have to go, we're busy."

The line is silent.

I'm ashamed to say that I put up with a LOT of this kind of crap for very little $. Her making me feel guilty for staying home with a REAL illness just pisses me off.

I call the other manager I'm scheduled to work for that night and I leave a message with the same information.

I go home, take the pills I was prescribed and promptly fall asleep. When I wake up several hours later, I haven't heard from either manager.

I get all worked up thinking about calling my boss to tell her that my note excuses me from work both Saturday and Sunday.

No one with a clean attendance record should be AFRAID to call in sick.

I'm sick!! I need to rest! Not work!

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that they have always treated me like I was trying to play hookey. I don't play hookey! I can think of three times I was sick enough to call in. And TWO of those three times, the manager made me feel bad enough about it that I just went to work. I threw my health out the window and worked!! Just to avoid the old and tired guilt trip.

I'd decided I'd had enough.

I typed and printed a short and sweet resignation letter, gathered up my uniforms, and asked my brother to drive me to BK so I could drop them and the letter off.

About thirty minutes after I dropped off my stuff, I got a text message from my boss' boss. The text message simply said,

"Loser."

Nothing more. I text him back, saying, "What's that supposed to mean? I don't need you calling me names. Grow up."

Another half hour later, from the same man, I get a text saying "Who's this?"

I respond with "Laura. The person you just called a loser."

I haven't heard anything since and frankly don't care to.

How immature for a GROWN MAN of at LEAST 45 years to call names through a text message?

Good news is, I'm on the road to recovery. The underwater sound has changed to a high-pitched ringing. (I'm pretty sure this is a lateral move.) And now I'm recovering from my hurt feelings.

That text message carried more hate in it than a slap to the face.

The text-man is the father of a supervisor in a similar position who's last day went something like this: He stormed into the kitchen, marched back to the office, slammed his uniforms on the desk, said "No more Burger K*ng for Kenneth" and walked out...calmly. Maybe Texty McTexterson was just angry at his son for casting such a negative light on the family name. He took it out on me.

Or maybe he really does hate me for quitting so abruptly.

I'll never know because I don't think it's in my best interests to pursue the matter.

I'll recover.

Both my ego and my ear will get better. And for how much I care about his opinion, I'm sure my ego will recover much more quickly than my ear.