Monday, September 4, 2017
Kerr’s Residence

On Monday morning I decided to walk to our house and visit with Alex.  It was Labor Day weekend and she said she’d be home, so I took the opportunity to catch her before going out with friends.  As always, I went into the house, looked around for anything that needed to be done, like laundry or dishes, and went through the collected mail.  Since I’m the person in the family that manages our finances, I like to keep on top of incoming mail.  Alex mentioned that she put yesterday’s mail on the kitchen table.  She said the Postal Worker gave her a package and some mail yesterday.  Mail on Sunday?  I got suspicious because mail isn’t delivered on Sundays unless it’s Christmas Eve.  I know Amazon does Sunday delivery for packages, and maybe the Post Office for them, but it was usually just packages. I had already gone through all the mail on Saturday, so this was new mail.

I found a letter addressed to me from my company.  I open it up and it’s a notice of disability. My company was giving me disability pay for being out of work. Now that is odd because I didn’t apply for disability.  How did this happen?  Technically I had been gone from the “office” or offline since August 26, so I’d missed a week of work.  I’m sure people were wondering why I wasn’t online the last 5 workdays, and certainly my boss would be mad that I hadn’t checked in. I wasn’t really sure what they thought had happened to me.

It isn’t that I ignored my work, it’s just that so many other crises were happening that I didn’t have time to think about work or really mark that passage of time.  During the long weekend I was concerned about getting my assignments done and preparing for a business trip. But after the release I was so exhausted and tired, that I let myself sleep. Then Wayne took me to the psychiatrist and flipped his lid, dropping me at my parents’ house. And the deluge from my sisters. When I mentioned work, they would say don’t worry.  Wayne would say don’t worry.  That sucked up a day or two. When I did decide to call I didn’t have my phone with my manager’s number. Wayne had my phone. And the number was on a sticky note, on my laptop, locked in Ben’s room, which Wayne told me to leave alone.  Then the Labor Day holiday. Yep, I guess I hadn’t gotten around to calling work. I meant to.

I decided to ask Wayne about the paperwork. “I just got notice of disability.  Do you know anything about this? I haven’t even talked to my manager.”

Wayne said, “I had to inform them that you were out. I called your boss and told her that you were under a doctor’s care, and we don’t know how long you’ll be out. And I had to send your stuff back.”

“What stuff?” Nikita asked.

“Your laptop and all your papers and stuff.”

“Seriously? It’s not in Ben’s room? I can’t even work now.”

It had been 10 calendar days since I logged into work.  I’d been out of the hospital and “home” for about 5 days and hadn’t seen any signs of him packing up my stuff. Which means that he probably packed and shipped my work stuff while I was in the hospital.  I didn’t even have a diagnosis or prognosis and he had rearranged my work life.  I was paralyzed by all these changes happening around and to me, feeling there was so little that I could control.  I needed to get my laptop back and hope my manager wasn’t ready to fire me. Yay. Another thing to resolve.

Then it dawned on me.  While I was in the hospital he told me he had misplaced his mobile phone and wanted to borrow mine.  I gave him the password for my phone.  He must have gone through my contact list to find my manager’s name and called her on the weekend. At home. He tricked me into giving him access to my phone to call my manager.  Having seen how he had shared my situation with people, I feared he had relayed the worst scenario possible.  I staunchly protect my privacy, so this was devastating. I felt naked and exposed. I wasn’t sure how I could face people again without them thinking I might go crazy.

My manager had probably called HR to let them know I was out for a while.  Then they waited the 5 days and based on what he told them, they proceeded to process me on a disability leave. I’m not sure what they specifically thought the disability was, or how they completed the paperwork for the disability without me. Clearly I had to do some damage control.  And I still didn’t have my phone. He had kept it.

I can’t explain how all this made me feel because no words can do justice to the amount of shame, embarrassment, sadness, futility and confusion that I felt.  I so much wanted to avoid ever having a conversation with my boss about my “absence” and why I was on disability. I cringed every time I tried to imagine what Wayne would have said.  I had to dig my way out and rebuild my reputation.

I was also despondent about the way Wayne was treating my medical situation.  Years ago, when he had a medical emergency, I only EVER cared about maintaining his dignity and privacy. And yet he threw those common decencies out the window at every opportunity when it came to me.  His disregard for my privacy and dignity was painful.

Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Parents’ House

When I woke up on Tuesday I had a sense of apprehension.  I hadn’t slept well wondering what people at work must be thinking about my absence.  I shouldn’t be in this situation. I should have been thinking about this.  I suppose I had, but only in abstract terms, like something that was far off.  The time had come. I needed to call my manager today, to clear up the request for disability.

I rose early (as usual) and took advantage of some time outdoors to wake me up, clear my mind, and collect my thoughts before calling work. I walked to the coffee shop for some much needed caffeine.  It gave me time to think through the strategy of my phone call. I wanted to be clear to my manager that I was very capable of doing my job, that I had been out “sick”, and that I was eager to return to work.

Before being out sick, I was worried about my job. The company was going through organizational changes and looking for efficiencies.  I didn’t need to give them reasons to eliminate my position.

Talking with my manager would be tough. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was when your manager hears that you may be crazy. Would she treat me like I might explode on her?  Surely once we started talking she would hear that I wasn’t crazy.

As I thought through my objectives, I determined that I would tell her my husband over reacted to my medical situation, but I wouldn’t give more details.  I didn’t legally have to share my medical situation with her, so I resolved to be sketchy or vague. I would inform her that I was no longer ill, that I would like to use my vacation to cover my time off, and take the rest as unpaid leave. I’d like to return to my job soon.  I would like to get my laptop mailed back to me in order to do my job. And I needed to insure that my work was all covered.  As I thought through how this might go, I assumed she would be confused, maybe mad that I hadn’t called to resolve this sooner.  I would say that Wayne called before I had my prognosis and it turns out that I’m fine.  And I hoped she wasn’t annoyed at the administrative mess this was.

I felt a sense of urgency in needing to clear up my disability before any more time has passed because I was afraid this would be considered fraud.  I wasn’t really disabled and I didn’t think that I met the criteria for disability pay since I was fully able to work.  I did not want the company thinking I was faking an illness or that I wasn’t competent to do my job.  I was anxious to find out what I missed and see how mad she might be about me being absent for so long.  I could feel my mind clicking back into work mode.  I wondered about the list of assignments that I had left unfinished, and who was going to cover my business trip.

As I call my manager, I’m extremely nervous.  I hope I can be articulate and clear without breaking down into tears.  I’ve worked for this manager for a year or so, and don’t have a friendly rapport, but rather a business relationship.  I wanted to find out what my husband had said and correct the record.

“Hello Roshni, this is Nikita,” I said.

“Hello Nikita. How are you?”

“Roshni, I just wanted you to know I’m so sorry to leave you without coverage on my assignments.  I’ve been ill, but I’m better now and ready to return to work.  I’m sorry my husband called you. I hope he was clear that I was just out temporarily,” I said.

Roshni said, “Nikita, yes, your husband called to let me know you would be out.  Human Resources did process you on disability based on what he suggested.  I can’t really talk more about that, you’ll need to contact Human Resources directly and they’ll give you details about what needs to happen for your return to work.”

“I’m so sorry that I’ve been out.  I will definitely get right back to work once I get my laptop back. I believe my husband shipped it back to you?”

“Nikita, yes, he did mail it back.  I don’t think I’ll be able to give it back to you.  We can talk more about that once you’ve cleared your return to work with HR.”

“I’ll call HR immediately after our call.  But, I really need to get my laptop back as I have many files that are not on the server due to the sensitivity of the data.  I need to get that work product back.  Should I call you back after my HR call to arrange the laptop shipment?”

“Ummmm. Well. I believe your laptop was corrupted when it came back.”

“Corrupted? How could that be?  It worked fine the last day I was working. Did it get damaged in shipment?”

“Well no.  According to IT there was some corruption in the operating system due to the last software update not going smoothly or not being installed correctly.  Since the cost to restore the laptop was estimated to be about $2,000 dollars, we would prefer to provide you with a new laptop. But we’ll talk about that after you’ve cleared your absence with HR.”

“I’m confused about what happened to my laptop, but yes, let’s talk further after I work with HR on my return. “

We discussed the coverage of my assignments and ended our call with me informing her that I’d call her as soon as I got clearance from HR to work out the laptop details.

I ended the call with, “I’m sorry that I’ve been gone, but I’ll work to get back ASAP. “

Our conversation was cordial and polite, and she seemed respectful of my privacy.  I don’t think she was mad, but I couldn’t tell if she thought I was crazy.  Did she push me off to HR because she had to, or did she just not want to deal with me?  I just need to get to work, be a superstar, work my ass off, and this might blow over.

Dealing with HR to get back to work, took quite an effort. Much of the company’s Human Resources function was outsourced to a 3^rd party company that managed the disability claims and it took some persistence to get my claim canceled.

Normally, disability time off is a result of being out sick for 5 days, then being put on disability with a doctor’s note. Like for knee surgery. To return, you need a note from your doctor signifying that you’re healed sufficiently to work.  As this whole thing was a mistake and I didn’t have a doctor to sign me out on medical leave, it wasn’t clear who would qualify me to get back in.  There was no way I would have the Behavioral Unit release any information to the company. I did not want anyone to know about the trumped-up 5150.  According to HR, I needed Senior Executive management level approval to cancel my disability.

The whole process took almost 3 weeks.  I got them to reverse the disability, use up some vacation time and take a chunk of days with no pay.  Of course, that meant that my management would have to address my “unsanctioned” leave.  I was told there would be “actionable consequences”. I would be formally written up and put on an improvement plan.  I was also expected to work in the office until further notice.  This translated into an hour commute for me, each way!

I took these actions by the company extremely serious. I had never had less than stellar performance in my career. I worked like a dog to ensure that people loved my work product. I had a huge work ethic that was acknowledged by everyone who knew me.  To think that the company would have me on record as someone who “faked” her time off and tried to “pull a fast one” or worse, disrespected the line of authority, was humiliating to me.

I had mixed feelings about work at this point. I was excited to return to work and be productive. Work was a large part of my identity, and I needed to feel good about something again.  I was pleased to have the extra 3 weeks to make progress on family issues and get squared away with the psychiatrist.  I was unhappy about having a long commute after years of working from home.  I was definitely nervous about seeing people in the office who might know about my leave.

It was very frustrating to realize that my long weekend shredded my professional reputation.  Years of hard work, dedication, devotion, and sacrifice were gone in an instant. Now people would see me as the crazy woman.  I’d need to talk with Wayne about maybe not “helping” me so much in the future.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Kerr Residence

During my time off of work, I would usually try to be at our home during meal times so I could spend some time with Wayne and Alex.  I made a point of being at the house the day after I talked with my manager about returning to work so I could give Wayne an update.  Wayne worked close enough to home that he would come home during his lunch break.

“Hi honey. Are you home for lunch or for the day?”

Wayne replied tersely, “Lunch.”

“Go sit down and relax, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Wayne looked like he wasn’t pleased, paused before replying, but said, “Ok.”

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.  Good news!  I am going back to work”, I said cheerfully.

I could see Wayne sitting on the couch in the living room, reading the news on his tablet. His head was down, left hand rubbing his temple and occasionally twiddling his fingers through his hair absentmindedly.  Even as he heard me, he kept his chin down, only moving his eyes to peer upward at me.

“Do you think that is a good idea?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be? I should have never been out of work in the first place and there is absolutely no reason for me to be out now. You always said I was a workaholic and couldn’t balance my work and family time.”

Wayne was still playing with his hair, reading on the tablet, looking down, but peering at me.

More sternly this time he asks, “Again, I ask do you think that is a good idea? Are you ready to go back to work?”

As I walked into the living room balancing his plate with his sandwich, cut fruit, and chips, and a glass of iced water, I was thinking to myself, “Absolutely, because I have to clean up the mess from the long weekend and the days afterward, to save my job, to save my family….”

But what I said was, “Yes, I am! And as you recall, the company is undergoing a lot of change and they are counting on me to have my boots on the ground to support them.”

Wayne tosses the tablet aside, grabs the plate from me, and balances it on his (beer belly) stomach.  The plate on the gut thing might be convenient, but it’s not a good look, and I try to ignore it.

“I’m not so sure that I am onboard. What about the agreement we had to do it My Way?”

“Wayne, work has always been important to me.  I like to work. I need to work. So, I am going back to work, for me and for our family.”

Wayne starts to eat his sandwich, but looks at me like a parent does to their defiant child.  He scoffs.  He gives me that look of disappointment and says nothing. It’s the infamous silent treatment.

Looking back, my husband’s effort to “help” me, started a chain reaction that would change much of my life.  By telling everyone that I’d had a mental breakdown, or was psychotic, or suicidal or becoming schizophrenic, he’d put labels on me that weren’t easily brushed aside. Once stuck, the labels were hard to remove, leaving a residue that would mar more facets of my life than I could realize.

Welcome to all and thank you for your visit ! ツfromPixabay

Episodes are based on a true story, written anonymously under the name of Nikita Mears.

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