![]() That doesn't erase the disappointment when I call in sick or in pain, once again. Everyone I speak with understands that I've been through hell and back, and that I need special understanding when it comes to showing up for work, etc. Three surgeries have equaled nearly nine weeks of missed work, and I am still dealing with the fallout of having gone under general anesthesia three times in six months, as well as two of my digestive organs being removed (ZERO immune system, but that's just my own speculation). I've had an unforgettable year, health-wise. And worst of all, disappointment in the little boy I care for. Unbelievable amounts of understanding, compassion, and friendship, yes.but disappointment. Yesterday, however, when I arrived at work feeling under the weather and talked to the family I nanny for about going home, I felt that unmistakable feeling of disappointment. I'm lucky enough to have built a flexible career that I love, if not always what I had envisioned for myself, it works. ![]() Granted, I work my butt off to be the best friend/daughter/wife/cousin/sister-in-law/employee I can be, but however kickass I might be when I do show up, my absence is remembered far more intently. To all my employers, friends, family members, however, those days mean something: I can't count on Kelsey. "Oh, you shouldn't feel that way! You couldn't help it!" That's easy to say when you understand the disease, or are reading about it in your office while you snack on whatever was in the break room. All the days I called out sick, cancelled with friends, didn't show up to a birthday or bridal shower, spent the day hopped up on pain pills and screaming in my bed.those days are remembered by the people I let down. However, my dependability that week is a mark on my record, so to speak. That day is gone, as much as any major day can be. Sure, it's an important incident to mention to doctors, but that cyst and kidney stone are no longer in my body, nor do they throb from time to time. Living my life today, Wednesday, November 5th, 2014, that episode of excruciating pain that first landed me in the hospital nine years ago (though permanently etched in my brain because a super hot EMT (sorry, Jimmy) had to look at my *ahem* sick *ahem* in the bathroom before lifting my only-wearing-a-tshirt butt off the hall floor (while my cat was climbing all over paralyzed-by-pain me) doesn't necessarily have a lot of significance. I've been living with this disease for 16 years, and have had more episodes of pain in my life than I could possibly recall (not that I'd want to). "Whoa, we got a unique thought here!" you might say to yourself sarcastically, but seriously. ![]()
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