I don’t have a plan for this (as is tradition (can it be a tradition if this is only the second time you’re doing it (at what point does a pile become a heap?) not at two) look it’s way too early to be getting sidetracked, it’s a tradition if I say it is), but I’ll tell you now this story has an unambiguously happy ending.
And then other stuff happens.
The video will make more sense later.
Never have I been so aware of my body
and of how little that helps.
a paragraph block in here, finally. Phew, let me just stretch out a second. Ok, so, where’d we leave off? Right, so the nerve study in May didn’t show anything, but I was still improving. By June I was starting to be able to do things without the wrist braces on. By August I was feeling about 90% better, like I could do pretty much everything I could do before, just with a little more pain. When I told the hand doctor that I was ready to return to work full-time, he said, “Ok, but I want to see you again in a month,” to which I replied, “…Why?” Months of frustration with the medical system were finally able to override my social anxiety and willingness to just go along with whatever the doctor says, and I had absolutely no desire to have another useless (and expensive) appointment with a guy who had no idea what was wrong with me or what to do about it. That was, I figured, the end of that.
It’s the week before Christmas, I’m at work, and I start to notice my hands feeling a little swollen. It’s disturbing but also I’m in denial about it, because I’m not doing anything that should be re-triggering the injury, and because it’s not like it’s as bad as it was, and because frankly I cannot afford to deal with this right now.
But it gets worse, and by the weekend I’m in full panic mode. I cease all non-essential activities and start taking dangerous amounts of ibuprofen again, but it’s not enough. I call out of work on Sunday, which is especially stressful for reasons that would be distracting here but click the arrow if you want to know more, and by the afternoon I can’t tell the difference between my symptoms and my anxiety, and I’m googling “hotline for when you’re not necessarily suicidal just really anxious.” It turns out there is one! It also turns out they kind of suck! (Again, arrow for more.)
I don’t really sleep much that night, but I’ve resolved to go into work on Monday even if I have to crawl. I manage to use my normal forms of transportation but my hands hurt the whole day and are on fire by the time I get home, so I make an appointment with my doctor (the primary care doc I met with once earlier in the year) for next Thursday, and decide to take the rest of this week off.
I spend Christmas feeling my absolute Scroogiest emotionally, and my absolute Tiny Tim-iest physically. I don’t go back to work the next day, and pretend that maybe the weekend will see some improvement.
Ok, so here’s the lowdown on how time off works for me: I get up to 10 unexcused partial absences and up to 6 unexcused full day absences a year. Barring complicated paperwork, for an absence to be excused it either needs to be requested through proper channels ahead of time or you need to apply sick time to it (I get 40 hours of sick time a year). Oh, and the third way is to claim “respiratory virus symptoms” (basically, most symptoms), which will get your absences excused for up to 5 consecutive calendar days (meaning, days you’re not scheduled still count), even if you’ve used up all your sick time.
Now, obviously I used up all my sick time at the beginning of the year. But the “year” in question when comes to sick time allotments is not actually the calendar year, it’s my anniversary year, meaning each year starts on the day I was originally hired, October 2nd. So by this point I should have plenty of sick time to spare, yes? Well, unfortunately, just a couple weeks after the reset I was sick for a week. Not Covid, I mean can you imagine getting Covid for the first time in 2024, that would be ridiculous, just a bad cold, but I could still use the “respiratory virus symptoms” policy, so no problem right? Ah, but see the company would really prefer you be actively dying if you’re going to get any bonus time off, so even though the “RVS” policy would excuse an absence without sick time, if you have sick time, you still have to use it. If that seems unfair to you that’s because it is.
Thus, I had no sick time left when I called out the Sunday before Christmas, and it felt at that point like it was pretty much inevitable I’d have to get a doctor involved, if only to excuse my indefinite absence from work. But I had no confidence that a doctor would be able to help in any other way, because they hadn’t yet, so even that would just be buying me pointless, unpaid time. I felt completely lost and hopeless.
So I called the National Mental Health Hotline and they yelled at me for wasting their time. See, they asked me why I was calling, which I thought meant I should say not just that I was having a panic attack, but why I was having a panic attack, which meant explaining the whole injury thing. But in the middle of that the guy interrupted me and was like, “Do you have a mental health problem?” So I tried to speed up my explanation, and then he interrupted me again and tried to set me up with a therapist (like, make an appointment for some nebulous time in the uncertain future) and I was like, “I guess I was hoping to talk to someone now,” and he asked which state I was in, gave me a number, and hung up. Sorry my mental health crisis got in the way of your busy schedule…working at a mental health crisis hotline.
Anyway, to his credit (I guess), the number he gave me was for the Oregon Warmline. and that turned out to be exactly what I wanted. I talked to someone for about 20 minutes, they were incredibly sympathetic and understanding, and were able to comprehend the idea that mental issues are not in fact entirely divorced from the physical realm. They encouraged me to make an appointment with my doctor and just do what I could until then, and they invited me to call again at any time if I need to. 10/10, would call again though I’d prefer not to.
By the way, even if you don’t live in Oregon you can call the warmline, you’ll just be limited to one or two calls a day (the 20-minute time-limit applies to everyone). The number is 1-800-698-2392. Tell them I sent you! Seriously, they asked me some survey questions at the end, they’ll want to know how you found out about them (nonprofits need lots of data when they’re applying for funding). If you do call them and they’re busy, though, be sure to press the button that lets you leave a callback number and hang up, because their hold music is legitimately some of the most anxiety-inducing music I’ve ever listened to, whoever selected it really missed the mark.
- The Week After Christmas
- I did not improve over the weekend, so I make the—in retrospect—terrible decision to take the rest of the week off until my appointment.
- Based on how things went last time, I thought I’d have more time before HR started bugging me for paperwork, but I forgot that last time I hadn’t already used up all my sick time and earned leave. So HR says I need to fill out the same paperwork I did last time, and while I can probably just wait and get my doctor to fill it out I’m at maximum stress and would like to do something, anything, so I decide to go to urgent care to get the paperwork signed and maybe they’ll also prescribe a more effective anti-inflammatory than ibuprofen or something.
- Urgent care doc says he can’t fill out the paperwork for the time I’m going to take off, only time I have already taken off, which doesn’t seem worth the administrative headache of having to fill it out again later. He does prescribe a different anti-inflammatory for seemingly no particular reason. I really gotta stop thinking urgent care can solve my problems.
- Turns out it doesn’t even matter that urgent care couldn’t fill out the paperwork because work emails me to let me know that actually I can’t fill out that paperwork that they just told me to fill out because actually I’ve used up all my available time off under that policy, so instead I need to fill out one or both of two other types of paperwork, one of which will let my doctor establish restrictions upon my return to work (e.g. how many hours I’m allowed to work, what I’m allowed to do, etc.), the other of which will let me get paid for the time off, and either of which will excuse the time off so I’m not in violation of timekeeping policy.
- I feel overwhelmed. I say so. HR is actually surprisingly helpful in breaking down exactly what each form will do (which I already did for you so you’re welcome), but can’t tell me which one(s) I should go with. I decide to just try to use both and see what happens.
- At my doctor’s appointment, I find out I’m officially fat enough that it’s the first thing the doctor brings up even though it’s not relevant to why I’m there.
- After a particularly tense conversation in which I start crying while trying to explain that I would like to figure out what’s wrong with me and hopefully keep it from getting worse and also not get fired so could you please just help me do that, he does eventually fill out both sets of paperwork, so the time off will be excused and I’ll even get paid, which is great because it would suck if I only got paid for like two days while also having to pay off all the expensive and, need I remind you, almost entirely pointless medical bills I’m continuing to accrue.
- That takes care of the not getting fired part, for now, but as to the figure out what’s wrong with me part we’ve got bupkis. The doctor does start me on an anti-inflammatory diet (though specifically he prescribes a FODMAP or Whole 30 diet, which are not the same as an anti-inflammatory diet or as each other so it kind of seems like he just doesn’t give a shit, and also they’re way too complicated for me to handle right now, but later my roommate talks me down from my panicking about them and helps me figure out some easy but significant changes I can make without stressing about every little thing.)
- I’m also going to get an MRI on my right wrist, because the doctor still thinks there’s something there even though I have been extremely clear that I am experiencing pain, heat, stiffness, and swelling in BOTH of my hands (and my feet, though at this point they haven’t been as bad as they’re going to get because I haven’t been going anywhere). He also refers me to physical therapy (and by refers me, I mean he brings up a Google Maps search result for physical therapy and tells me to pick a place and then apparently never actually sends them a referral) and to a rheumatologist who he says probably won’t help. The after visit summary says they’ll contact me with information about all three of these referrals but obviously that’s a lie because doctor’s offices don’t have object permanence and if you’re not on the phone or in the office you don’t exist, so I make a note to call these places next week. In fact it takes a few weeks to actually get these on the books and then there are issues with insurance and the timeline is a little hazy so I’ll just spoil it now and reveal that I did not end up keeping either the physical therapy appointment or the rheumatology appointment, which I only just now remembered to cancel but it’s fine because it wasn’t until June (this line landed harder when I wrote it in April).
- So, starting next week I’ll be going back to work full time, with restrictions on how much I can lift and how much time I can spend doing work requiring fine motor skills. “And if my symptoms get worse at what point should I be worried?” “They won’t get worse.” God I wish I could be as confident as a doctor who doesn’t know what’s wrong with you but knows it won’t get worse.
- Oh, and when I get home from my appointment I check the mail and find out I’ve got jury duty, which I have to admit is pretty funny. I have a good chuckle. I want to die.
WHY ARE HIS FINGERTIPS HOOVES??? 
I actually bought this one, the last game is called “Slippery Hog.” 
Published by my dad’s church, which makes this the second time I’ve found a book published by an organization he belongs to in a used bookstore. 
I don’t even remember what book this was, I was so distracted by “with the aid of high technology.” Also that website doesn’t exist anymore. 
I actually just liked some of the poems in here, nothing weird about this one. 
I think I also liked this one although I honestly can’t remember. 
Given that “Neil Young” is the only one on here without an explanatory identifier, I’m guessing he’s just some guy named Neil Young. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe. 
Turns out the Take-Two CEO is also a “get shredded at 60 in 4 simple steps plus the millions of dollars I won’t acknowledge” grifter.
For my first week back at work, I’m mostly processing books, which basically means sitting at a desk, grabbing a book off a cart, scanning it, doing some data entry, and putting it back. Even as I struggle to minimize my fine motor usage, the strain on my shoulders and back from doing this all quickly starts to cause problems (even months later I find it significantly harder to hold a guitar, particularly in my right shoulder.) In the 2nd week I make a point of trying to do more of the going-through-shelves-and-finding-books work so that I’m upright and mobile for parts of the day—which is when I find out that my feet are doing way worse than last time and I’m starting to get blisters. The last couple hours of the day are excruciating, so I reach out to my doctor to get him to approve reduced hours.
The day before my next appointment with my doctor I find out that he filled out some of the paperwork wrong and I’ll only be getting paid for two of the days I took off in December. Good thing I didn’t just have a really expensive and completely pointless test done! Needless to say, I’m not very happy with my doctor at this point. Or really doctors generally.
CHAPTER 5: ANSWERS AT LAST
The doctor takes one look at my feet and says I have chilblains, which means I probably have Raynaud’s Syndrome. I’m overriding the block randomizer here because this is gonna need some explaining.
Raynaud’s Syndrome is a circulatory issue, where your extremities don’t get enough blood and then when blood returns they start to hurt. They might also turn red. And feel hot. And even swell. Does this. Sound familiar.
So best as I can figure it, way back in February of 2024 I did, in fact, injure my wrist, causing, probably, tendonitis. Things like keeping my wrist cold and not moving it much was great for inflammation, but terrible for Raynaud’s, as cold and lack of movement both reduce circulation, so I start getting symptoms in my other hand and my feet (all of this not helped by me going back to work a poorly heated warehouse in the middle of winter). But there was no way to tell that that was happening because the symptoms of the inflammation and the symptoms of Raynaud’s were indistinguishable, and because the inflammation was a known quantity (they did a blood test the first day I went to urgent care, so the one thing we ever knew for sure was that I definitely had inflammation at that point) it was natural to assume that the same symptoms had the same cause, even if we couldn’t figure out how.
The inflammation was probably pretty much healed by April, but at that point I was just giving myself Raynaud’s attacks instead. Finally it got warm enough that summer that the Raynaud’s symptoms died down, at which point I stopped aggressively treating the inflammation that I assumed was dying down. When it got cold again in December, I thought the inflammation was coming back, and to try avoid another period of debilitation I started aggressively treating it again, causing severe Raynaud’s attacks. For some reason (and this will probably remain a mystery), it was extra bad in my feet this time around so I treated my feet extra aggressively (I was dunking them in freezing cold water by this point), which led to getting chilblains, which caused those sores I thought were friction blisters (because I also had friction blisters.)
I’m literally having this revelation in real time while I’m sitting in the doctor’s office, and I’m so excited (and sure, fine, grateful, ugh) that I don’t even have it in me to be mad at him for being just as confident about this correct diagnosis as he was about his incorrect diagnosis.
And what is the treatment? Some blood pressure medication to help with circulation, and wool socks (and fingerless gloves for my hands, which I’d been doing for the last few years when it got cold anyway, because the warehouse I work in gets really cold in the winter.)
This is Wednesday. By Saturday I’m feeling significantly better. It’s amazing how fast you improve when you stop doing the exact opposite of what you should be doing to treat your condition. My roommate asks me if I want to go to this screening he got invited to and I’m like, “Fuck yeah, I’m high on life, I’ll do whatever,” instead “Eh, maybe? I’ll probably be too tired,” which is what I would normally say. We get burritos and horchatas and they’re very good. The movie, Boys Go To Jupiter, is also very good, I recommend you watch it if it ever gets widely released. My feet do start to hurt in the non-circulation-friendly theater chairs after a bit, but that dulls my enthusiasm only slightly. The next two days at work I’m excitedly telling everyone about my miraculous recovery and how now I get to actually enjoy my extra two hours every day (my doctor decided to keep me on reduced hours until our follow-up appointment and who am I to argue?)
To this day, I have kept wearing wool socks and fingerless gloves, and have not had severe Raynaud’s attack since (or chilblains, though my feet did take a while to fully recover.)
So, like I said at the beginning, an unambiguously happy ending.
You know, I’d planned to go through the whole Covid saga, which believe me, is a saga: I started the Paxlovid a day late because insurance, then it made me so nauseous it was worse than the Covid, my roommate also got sick, while he was urgent care our sink backed up and nearly flooded our apartment, and when I went to urgent care for the nausea both the nurse and the physician (if he was a doctor I’ll eat his diploma) were so bad that I’ve actually sworn off urgent care forever (she had her mask around her neck the entire time despite knowing I was there for Covid-related reasons, and also is the only person I’ve ever seen have to redo taking my blood pressure; he prescribed a nausea medication “that works in about 10 minutes” except no it absolutely does not, and recommended taking 3 Emergen-Cs a day to get extra zinc.)
But I don’t know, I feel like that’s its own story. I mean I had to include it here after all the foreshadowing, but the point of this was to wrap up the questions from “WRITING FACTS,” and I do believe we’ve done that, though with way fewer philosophical tangents on the nature of writing and constraint and for that I apologize. The thing is, if I’d known how poorly this was going to turn out (compared to the last one, anyway) I probably wouldn’t have written it—and that’s kind of the point, right? “Essay,” from the French “essai” meaning “attempt.” To quote Dr. Josh Foley, “The essay is a kind of techne. In a romantic, etymological embrace, the essay is an attempt: to try to do something. But as the form is employed most regularly, the essay is a distinctive way of achieving something known in advance.” What both of these pieces have been attempting—if you’ll pardon the pun—to do is to harken back to that “romantic, etymological” sense of the word; that one attempt was more or less successful than the other is, I hope, worthwhile in itself.
Would you look at that, a philosophical tangent on the nature of writing and constraint, just in under the wire.
Certain of Eventual Failure 