Monday, September 19, 2005

Monday, monday

Spent the first part of that day calling doctors' offices, trying to make an appt. for D, then driving him to the doctor, waiting, driving him to the pharmacy...and keep in mind that when D is in serious pain, he's a serious pain in the ass: grumpy, loud, angry. Not my usual sweetie-pie. When I hurt, I go curl up in bed or in the tub and cry. He storms around the apartment kicking walls and swearing. It's exhausting, honestly; I was happy to go to work. It's times like this that make me remember why I never became, say, a nurse. I half want to hug him and half strangle; it's so hard when there's absolutely nothing I can do. (My inner Jewish Mother is dying to make chicken soup. Again.)

The doctor said it was not so much a pinched nerve as a herniated disk, and prescibed anti-inflammatory instead of muscle relaxers, hard-core painkillers, and thrice-weekly physical therapy. He goes back to work tomorrow.

Re-reading my two blogs from yesterday made me realize that what I really needed was to be away from this for a little while. I had spent several days in virtual seclusion with D and was irritable and small. A few hours out--at a bookstore, at my parents--left me refreshed and happy, ready to be back here again. The poor guy is all out of whack; he just went to bed and asked if I was coming. I said "in a couple of hours probably" which shocked him: he thought it was after 11:00 (it's 8:30.) D is the night-owl here but his body is all confused from the pain, the medicine, and from not working.

I only worked a half-day--5 hours--at the bank, which was strange to me. I guess I've finally adjusted to being full time. It was uncomfortable because one of the new girls, A, is on final warning already for being late all the time. I personally have no sympathy here--how hard is it to be at work on time? But since we were closing together, she confided to me that she was unhappy and probably going to leave soon if she wasn't fired first. She complained about the write-ups, claiming that, you know, stuff happens. I know I'm supposed to say- yeah, I know what you mean, 2:00 just sneaks up on you- but it's hard. I'm not much good at bullshit. If you want to keep your job, show up when you should. If you don't want it, quit. Last Tuesday, her excuse was this: "I lost track of time". So she doesn't just have a bad work ethic, she's uncreative! How about: traffic, laundry mishap, pet emergency, family problem, alarm clock broke, power outage, bad hair day, forgot my schedule, thought it was Wednesday--there are a million ways to say sorry, I tried to be here, it won't happen again (soon). She just can't be bothered. You can always tell the kids who still live at home and don't have rent or mortgage to pay. I won't miss her too much when she's gone, and she'll be happier somewhere more relaxed than the bank. I mean come on: it's a bank! Where all the rules are!


Benjamin said...

Poor D must be in a lot of pain. I think that we men tend to suppress our pain with roaring and growling and kicking the wall. I guess everybody's got their own way of dealing with it. There's nothing wrong with crying. But there IS something wrong with being consistently late to work. Time for that kid to get a job at "Hot Topic" or some place fast and loose. Not ready for a bank job just yet.

Benjamin said...

I hope to see you Thursday. Or do you have to work?