I feel like I’ve been running from a monster most of my life. It’s the type of running you see in the movies when zombies are closing in on the humans or when Dustin Hoffman sprints away from the bad guys in Marathon Man. It’s called running for your life. And on day 18 of this hospital stay, half my ass is missing from where cystic fibrosis took its most recent bite.
Today is also the day when I had to let the company I work for know about CF. No more hiding it. I have certain protections now under the ADA, which is nice, but I’d rather not have to deal with it and be CF-free. My denial is over – I have CF. The HR department was very nice about the situation. However, as of today, I’m not allowed to work in the hospital until my doctor provides a letter stating it’s okay. In a way, I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I’ve been hiding CF and my hospitalization for over 10 years now. How many conference calls have I held in hospital bathrooms? It might be nice in the future not to have to do a dance every time I go in for IVs.
So, here I sit, wings clipped, and I can actually take the time to write a post. It’s such an odd feeling not to be working, not to be thinking about work. I don’t like it, but I don’t have a choice. And I may find a way around it. (Fox has many tricks he can share.) I have another call with HR tomorrow and I’ll know more about what I can do and I can’t do. And I realize that from this point forward I’ll be linked to CF at work. That bothers me. I might as well sew a big CF on my chest. It’s not about me anymore. It’s about us – me and my zombie pal CF. Someone send me a sawed-off shotgun, please. I need to blast its head off.