“I don't know, Doc,” I huff. “Things have been kind of stressful at work since the merger. I'm getting more fatigued each day, just getting out of my hospital bed and into my manual wheelchair. I'm even having more trouble typing fast. I'm juggling these new accounts and—”
“—I think you need to take some time off,” she interrupts. “Does your company offer disability leave?”
“Come on, Doctor. I don't want to hear that. I've been working since I was fourteen! I've been loyal to this company for ten years. I don't want to stop working yet. I can keep going.”
“I'm not telling you to stop, John. I’m just suggesting you take some time off. Relieve some stress until you feel better, and then go back to work when you're ready. I'm telling you it will be good for you. My patients do it all the time.”
“Okay, I'll think about it,” I whimper.
With my head down, I roll myself out of her office in my manual wheelchair and go to my Nissan Frontier in the parking garage. I pick up my wheelchair and push it aggressively into the back cab of the truck, and then I scream an echoey scream while ‘hand’ walk myself against the side of the truck, unlock my door, and swing myself into the front seat.
“Damn it!” I yell, banging on the steering wheel. This is the second time my neurologist has told me to go on disability leave.
She’s seen me through all my stages of my Multiple Sclerosis (MS) progression from using my gold snake-head cane, to my red souped-up walker, and now I'm trapped in this stupid manual wheelchair. When's it going to end?
And it's so annoying that she says it like it's no big deal—but it is! Working is my livelihood, and my identity. It’s something that people ask about when you first meet them. I’ve worked so damn hard, even with my MS progression, to get to where I'm at. I don't want to tell the world the disease is winning if I go on disability … but maybe she's right.
I go home and immediately call my parents about what the neurologist said, and together we weigh the pros and cons. I'm starting to reconsider. The company I work for has been very accommodating, especially during the merger to a larger company. They’ve given me an underground parking space at the downtown office and let me work from home a few days a week to conserve energy, but I'm still having trouble keeping up because the damn MS is slowing me down. I'm not sure how much more I can push myself.
By the end of the conversation with my supportive parents, I decide that at the end of the week I'm going to tell Glenn, my boss, that I'll be going on disability leave. It’s something I've been dreading and too ashamed of to move forward with, until today.
When Friday morning rolls around, the yelling seagulls from the Ship Canal wake me up at the crack of dawn, which gives me time to get ready. I slowly get myself out of bed and transfer into my manual wheelchair. My goal is to dress myself up so I can make an impression and have more confidence.
I meticulously put on a button-down long-sleeve red shirt, and a blue tie with swanky brown leather shoes. If I'm going to go out, then I want to go out in style for the last time.
Driving myself to the downtown office, the grey clouds cry misty tear drops onto my windshield. I try to psych myself up by blasting NOFX punk music, and I think of what I'm going to say to Glenn and wonder if disability will pay all my bills. I hope this isn't a mistake.
I go up to the sixth floor and pump my wheelchair to my side cubicle with a window view of a new apartment building next door. I say hello to everyone but they're quiet and don't answer.
When I load up my computer, the first thing that pops up on screen is a message window from Glenn:
Come to my office ASAP.
That's certainly unusual, I think, Good morning to you too, Glenn.
I was hoping to speak with him at the end of the day, but I just want to get this over with now. Besides, I'm kind of fired up from my drive in, and I’ve been practicing what I’ll say all night. As I roll into his office, my gut starts tying itself up in knots as I drum up some more courage. There is still an uncomfortable silence as I go to his shut door. I get an uneasy feeling.
“Good morning, John,” Glenn greets me as he opens the door.
I go inside and pull my wheelchair up to his desk, with my head up high, feeling good about myself. Before he sits down, he looks out the window at the view of Puget Sound and we watch the seagulls soar around the buildings for a moment.
“Hey, Glenn,” I say. “Great to see you this morning. I've been meaning to talk to you about something.”
“Stop talking, John,” he interrupts. “Out of all the days to come in, why did you choose today?” He shakes his head.
“What's going on, boss?”
“The company is doing layoffs today. Unfortunately, you are one of the people we’re laying off. I have Cindy from corporate HR and she'll explain everything.”
He pushes a button honest desk phone and puts her on speaker.
“You there, Cindy?” Glenn shouts.
I halfway listen to her spiel as she explains why the company is going in this direction. I've heard this crap before, when I got laid off at my first job. Now I'm the one shaking my head, looking at Glenn, knowing my fate. My life is changing so fast. I'm relieved that I don't have to tell him I want to go on disability, but now I don't have a job at all. I was so loyal to this company and now they’re dumping me like last night's trash. What the hell am I going to do now? I'm just really pissed right now.
“Did you get all that, John? Do you have any questions?” Glenn asks when Cindy hangs up.
“So, everything's in the packet?” I somberly ask him without making eye contact.
“Yes.” He pushes a bundle of papers closer to me. “Listen, John. I didn't know this was going to happen until this morning. I'm so sorry. Hopefully your condition will stabilize.”
“I hope so too, Glenn. Looks like I'll have more time to take care of myself. Do you want to hear something fucking crazy? The main reason I came in today to tell you I’m going to start disability leave.” I pause. “So, now what?”
“I’ve got to walk you out. Let's get you down to your truck.” He gets up from behind his desk and opens his office door for me and we walk down the side hallway through the office towards the elevator. This is utterly humiliating; nobody is even coming out to say goodbye to me. I thought I was friends with my coworkers. With my head down again, I do the ultimate roll of shame, saying goodbye to the receptionist for one last time before going down to my truck in the parking garage.
“Nice working with you, Glenn,” I tell him when we get to the truck door. I struggle with the keys before I open it and then slowly lift myself up into the front seat. “Would you mind throwing my wheelchair in the back cab for me?”
“Oh, yeah. No problem, John. Good luck to you.”
“Nice knowing you, boss,” I tell him as I shut the door. My eyes swell up.
Looking in the rearview mirror, I see him open the canopy of the cab and place my manual wheelchair in the back. I put my hand up to wave goodbye, start the car, and the punk music blasts through my speakers. I smile, but tears are dripping down my cheeks.
Author: John J. Mistur