my health is more important.
At the end of July, I stopped taking daily allergy medication. I've taken it for years to manage allergies and asthma, but something in the budget had to go. A lot of things had to go, actually, but that was a big one. I felt okay. I woke up a few times with swollen eyes or stuffy sinuses. Oh well, right?
That's the mindset I've had my whole life because healthcare has always been a luxury.
During the last two weeks, I dealt with what I thought were bad allergies. I had to use my inhaler regularly, for the first time in...I don't even know. Tuesday I felt fine. Wednesday I awoke at 3:30am, gasping for air through a sore throat. I drank some water, took some tylenol for the pain, used my inhaler, and returned to sleep with a mental reminder that I had to be okay for work.
I slept through my alarms. I woke up at 7:58. My workday starts at 8. I panicked--this would be what makes me lose my favorite job.
That's yet another mindset too deeply ingrained. At most jobs in the past, I only took time off if I couldn't hide my symptoms. Usually I could--because usually no other option existed. One past employer (a dayschool) was so strict about employees not missing work that a friend of mine had to work in her classroom while suffering through RSV while pregnant. Frankly, that's bullshit. I once went to a job and laid in the back room with the lights off unless I heard someone else walk in, fearing that it would be a supervisor. We are taught that our jobs are our priorities, above and beyond anything else.
I used all of my acquired sick leave on Wednesday.
After calling a doctor who prescribed the only antibiotic I'm not allergic to, I felt confident in my decision to say no to the steroids he recommended. They're a typical course of treatment for asthmatics with respiratory illnesses, but I don't like the side effects. I also didn't want to have to cut something else from my budget to buy them. Some readers might scoff at that, especially when I reveal that both of my medications (I called back yesterday for the steroids) only cost $12 total thanks to my insurance. First of all, I never had insurance prior to 2018. My mindset still relies on what I know: the out-of-pocket cost at pharmacies who don't care who can or can't afford to live another day. Second of all, any amount of money is significant. I don't live a life with disposable income. I can't go out to dinner just because "they have a good special." I can't take trips without planning them far in advance, and even then the risk of having to cancel is all too high. I had to cancel a trip for next weekend because I had to take yesterday off unpaid.
The worst part of all this is that my struggle isn't obvious.
Those with asthma will understand. Sometimes I feel fine; I forget that my lungs have flaws. Other times though, especially when I'm sick, a simple task like standing at the stove while cooking will leave me breathless. Walking up or down stairs feels like running a mile. Carrying anything leaves my muscles weak and aching for oxygen. But nobody can see that.
When I worked on Thursday, I knew I shouldn't have been there. I should have been resting. I tried to do so. But once people start with the, "are you sure you can't," questions, it's game over. When I left, I sped to my apartment and put together the nebulizer I've rarely used...ever. I used it twice that night, then woke up the next morning and used it immediately. Walking was out of the question. That's what people don't see. That's the physical struggle.
More than that is the frustration that comes along with it. Yes, I wanted to do my job per usual. Yes, I wanted to walk from one office to the other without feeling sharp pains in my chest. Yes, I wanted to have a conversation with a family without having to focus more on my breathing than their words. None of that was a choice.
Listening to a person's needs is.
Thankfully I do have a job that allowed me to take the time off that I needed. I also have a few coworkers who checked on me and supported that I need to focus on myself. That's not what I see as normal.
When I lived in DC, a staff member in New York quickly became a mentor and stepped in when I needed anything. She always asked about my health, both physically and mentally. For the longest time, I didn't trust it. I didn't tell her as much as I now know I could have. In the end, I revealed everything. I shared my intern struggles, my health concerns, my low points with life in general. She sat at the other end of the video call furiously taking notes, sighing in dismay, and nodding her head. At the end of that call, when she said, "Take care of yourself, Lacee," I finally heard the importance of those words.
I reminded myself of them this past week, and I hope to do so until I form a habit.
That's the mindset I've had my whole life because healthcare has always been a luxury.
During the last two weeks, I dealt with what I thought were bad allergies. I had to use my inhaler regularly, for the first time in...I don't even know. Tuesday I felt fine. Wednesday I awoke at 3:30am, gasping for air through a sore throat. I drank some water, took some tylenol for the pain, used my inhaler, and returned to sleep with a mental reminder that I had to be okay for work.
I slept through my alarms. I woke up at 7:58. My workday starts at 8. I panicked--this would be what makes me lose my favorite job.
That's yet another mindset too deeply ingrained. At most jobs in the past, I only took time off if I couldn't hide my symptoms. Usually I could--because usually no other option existed. One past employer (a dayschool) was so strict about employees not missing work that a friend of mine had to work in her classroom while suffering through RSV while pregnant. Frankly, that's bullshit. I once went to a job and laid in the back room with the lights off unless I heard someone else walk in, fearing that it would be a supervisor. We are taught that our jobs are our priorities, above and beyond anything else.
I used all of my acquired sick leave on Wednesday.
After calling a doctor who prescribed the only antibiotic I'm not allergic to, I felt confident in my decision to say no to the steroids he recommended. They're a typical course of treatment for asthmatics with respiratory illnesses, but I don't like the side effects. I also didn't want to have to cut something else from my budget to buy them. Some readers might scoff at that, especially when I reveal that both of my medications (I called back yesterday for the steroids) only cost $12 total thanks to my insurance. First of all, I never had insurance prior to 2018. My mindset still relies on what I know: the out-of-pocket cost at pharmacies who don't care who can or can't afford to live another day. Second of all, any amount of money is significant. I don't live a life with disposable income. I can't go out to dinner just because "they have a good special." I can't take trips without planning them far in advance, and even then the risk of having to cancel is all too high. I had to cancel a trip for next weekend because I had to take yesterday off unpaid.
The worst part of all this is that my struggle isn't obvious.
Those with asthma will understand. Sometimes I feel fine; I forget that my lungs have flaws. Other times though, especially when I'm sick, a simple task like standing at the stove while cooking will leave me breathless. Walking up or down stairs feels like running a mile. Carrying anything leaves my muscles weak and aching for oxygen. But nobody can see that.
When I worked on Thursday, I knew I shouldn't have been there. I should have been resting. I tried to do so. But once people start with the, "are you sure you can't," questions, it's game over. When I left, I sped to my apartment and put together the nebulizer I've rarely used...ever. I used it twice that night, then woke up the next morning and used it immediately. Walking was out of the question. That's what people don't see. That's the physical struggle.
More than that is the frustration that comes along with it. Yes, I wanted to do my job per usual. Yes, I wanted to walk from one office to the other without feeling sharp pains in my chest. Yes, I wanted to have a conversation with a family without having to focus more on my breathing than their words. None of that was a choice.
Listening to a person's needs is.
Thankfully I do have a job that allowed me to take the time off that I needed. I also have a few coworkers who checked on me and supported that I need to focus on myself. That's not what I see as normal.
When I lived in DC, a staff member in New York quickly became a mentor and stepped in when I needed anything. She always asked about my health, both physically and mentally. For the longest time, I didn't trust it. I didn't tell her as much as I now know I could have. In the end, I revealed everything. I shared my intern struggles, my health concerns, my low points with life in general. She sat at the other end of the video call furiously taking notes, sighing in dismay, and nodding her head. At the end of that call, when she said, "Take care of yourself, Lacee," I finally heard the importance of those words.
I reminded myself of them this past week, and I hope to do so until I form a habit.
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