Author Angel Ackerman

Dairy Queen Decadence

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A while ago, The Teenager and I decided we wanted to try a Dairy Queen banana split. That we’d share one. And we decided tonight was the night.

We ordered one using the app, and when we arrived we were faced with two new ice cream options: the churro dipped cone and the end of the rainbow shake.

The banana split was delicious. Their strawberry topping was our favorite and it looked like they put two whole bananas in there.

But then The Teenager wanted to try the Rainbow Shake because it looked like it had the crunchies she loved from the cotton candy Blizzard.

So, she went into the Dairy Queen and ordered one. And the churro-dipped cone.

The shake was strawberry flavored and those crunchies tasted like sugary breakfast cereal.

Meanwhile, the ice cream cone tasted like the bastard child of Dairy Queen and Taco Bell, like someone had taken those cinnamon cream cheese balls they have right now and stuffed them with ice cream instead of whatever that cheesy stuff actually is.

First Day Back to Work

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Art by Gayle Hendricks

I returned to work today– after missing a couple hours Friday and all of Monday and Tuesday. I was nervous about undertaking the day with my strapped up tender fingers and sore body. But, to make the transition easier, today was the weekly safety team meeting and we had a special electricity training.

As one colleague said, the gist of it was, don’t touch an exposed live wire, don’t touch an exposed live wire in a puddle, and do not touch a person touching an exposed life wire.

It was a nice way to spend 25 minutes at 7 a.m.

Then at safety team I had the pleasure of hearing about the two incidents this week in the building, one paper cut at women’s outbound stylecarding and a “first aid incident” where an associate lost her balance and fell down the stairs. Yes, that would be me.

After that meeting, the safety manager who administered first aid on the day of the incident asked me how my finger was doing and I explained what the ortho had said, and that it wasn’t broken even though it looked broken on the x-ray… and he looked rather horrified.

“I had no idea,” he said. “I thought it was just a little cut.”

So did I, I replied, until I worked all day and it swelled to twice its size and turned really purple.

The warehouse supervisor who used to oversee our evening shift (the one present on the day of my fall who looked a tad panicked when she saw me after the fall) asked if she could speak with me after my meeting about my incident and the questions it raised for everyone.

Apparently, there has been some discussion among the management team about whether or not my employer should force me to file a workmen’s comp claim regarding the injury. In the end, they decided to leave the matter to me, assuring me their support regardless of my decision.

Technically, because it happened on their property as part of the work day, they bear responsibility, but because the fall stemmed from my pre-existing condition that also caused two more falls since then, no one on the management team wanted to make that decision for me. Because if I file a workmen’s comp claim, the company then controls the treatment of my injury and, in this case, this would mean my finger. But, because the injury is part of a larger whole, that would mean ignoring my balance and recent pain issues.

“You seem to have a really good relationship with your providers,” she said, “so we didn’t want to interfere with the care you receive from your primary care provider.”

Speaking of my primary care provider, I will be speaking to them tomorrow. And I’m assured that any time I miss due to appointments for this incident will not be included as part of my attendance record, even if that means I need physical therapy or hand rehab. Speaking of hand rehab, they have not returned my call.

All in all, it was a good day. I think I did 102%. But I have been encouraged to take advantage of more FMLA intermittent leave. And they are curious to see what legal will say about a service dog, as to their knowledge, no one in a warehouse has brought up the issue of a service dog.

Three-point fall

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I am so sick of disability-related posts. My goal today is to start the March newsletter for Parisian Phoenix, which I will be distributing via Substack. Yesterday felt like a beautiful spring day and today, today there is two inches of snow on the ground.

I’m tired. And sore. And stiff. I called out from work today, although I’m fairly certain I have no paid time off for it. The Teenager and I have major bills do this week, and they scare me, but I have (and she has) placed every spare penny we have into paying them. And they will be paid.

So, before I back up, and explain exactly what happened since I closed my computer yesterday afternoon, let me say that my plan has been to take better care of myself. To stop pushing myself to keep up with the people who don’t have the same issues that I have. To ask for help. To be honest– not only with others, but with myself.

I have planned to organize regular long weekends every three-to-four months to give my body time to recuperate from the stresses of being on my feet folding clothes all day, and to give myself time to finish larger projects for Parisian Phoenix Publishing. That hasn’t happened, in part because I’ve spent so much time sorting myself out with medical appointments, and also because November through February incorporates a lot of paid holiday time.

I closed my computer yesterday afternoon and The Teenager asked if I wanted to take the dog for a walk.

Now, let’s think about the conditions yesterday:

  • It was a beautiful pre-Spring day and the sun made everything alive.
  • I woke by alarm at 6 a.m. to meet Southern Candy at the diner, where I ate salty food and drank three cups of coffee so my blood pressure was creeping up.
  • I went to the orthopedist, but was unable to get an appointment with the hand rehab people.
  • I was going to the chiropractor in about an hour, for the appointment last week that I had to reschedule because of my fall.
  • I have not gone to the gym in a week because of the fall.
  • My legs are covered in painful bruises.
  • I was a little hungry.
  • I had taken Baclofen* in the morning, but not since.

Interesting side note: CVS ordered my baclofen refill last week, as they did not have it in stock, and I haven’t heard from them since.

I felt good. Nothing hurt. I hadn’t noticed any balance issues. So, although I felt a little wiped out, a short walk sounded good.

The Teenager suited up the dog and put her cat in the cat-backpack and we headed up the street. We made it halfway up the block, cat screaming in fear, when the dog noticed other dogs and got nervous. And I had what The Teenager called “a three-point fall.” I immediately assumed it was a basketball reference but she explained. I stumbled, froze in the air for a second, and then fall. I believe the fall at work was a three-point fall as well. That frozen time she witnessed was me actually making a decision what to do next. That is the second where I have to decide whether to fight the fall and try to regain my balance or use that second to frame the fall and try to control the impact.

In this case, I opted to throw the fall to the left to protect my already injured right hand.

The sidewalk and the meat of my palm met as I aimed for the grass, now a barely visible scrape. The Teenager declared we would turn around. I told her I could turn around and she could keep going, but she promptly declared this was a less-than-ideal experience for everybody.

Now, at this point, I have a new short-term disability claim open with Matrix, waiting to hear when and how often the hand rehab people want to see me. With past experience, I’m fairly certain it will be once a week. But, before committing to returning to work, I would prefer to talk to them and was hoping they would call back and see me today, and then, if necessary, I could email or hand-carry paperwork to my PCP to decide whether we would pursue the new STD claim for my hand or amend my intermittent leave parameters that cover my cerebral palsy.

My claims examiner is confused, and since I have not received all the information I need to make a decision, my answers are rather wishy-washy.

Also, the weather is calling for snow. And I have this nightmare of me leaving my house in a snowstorm when I already have mobility and hand issues.

I head to my beloved chiropractor, ready for her insight and her physical therapy knowledge. Meanwhile, my neurologist/physiatrist who I had had a brief texting conversation earlier in the day, texted and asked if anything else could be happening in my body to cause these issues. I’m typing the list of answers: lack of chiropractic care, lack of gym, lack of Baclofen, bruises on my legs, high blood pressure. I am scheduled to see her in early April.

And meanwhile– we still don’t have an answer for why my quads were burning a couple weeks ago and why my “normal” issues in my hip joints seem to be moving into my sacrum.

So when Nicole the Chiropractor gets her hands on me she declares that my hips and my sacrum are all locked up and my lower body is stiff. She gets everything moving and pushes everything around. And I stand up feeling like a jelly fish, so loose it takes me a while to remember how to walk.

I haven’t heard from the hand rehab people. The neurologist has probably finished her day. My right side is starting to ache a bit. I drive The Teenager to the post office and we stand in line behind a Karen who criticizes every customer in front of her for not using the post office correctly, gets to the counter, and very promptly gives my favorite postal clerk a hard time when she discovers that Priority Mail box she has packed her materials in is a Priority Mail box and will cost $17.10 to mail. Even before she hears this news, she badgers the postal clerk about how much it will be, and he’s confused because it’s a medium flat rate box so it’s $17.10. And she then snapped that she had to text the person receiving the package because that person will have to pay her back. The postal clerk suggests maybe she buy a different box from the postal supplies station in the lobby and then he could mail it for $10. But she grumpily agrees to pay the flat box rate.

We return from the post office– having mailed cookies to a friend of The Teenager who has joined the service– and I head into the house and realize I left my glasses in the car as my prescription sunglasses are on my face. I head back out to the garage and walk down the narrow cement steps to the car bay. Half way down, my ankle gives out, twists underneath me, and I somehow manage to lower myself to the ground without falling down the stairs.

I pick myself up. Everything feels solid. I text the neurologist. I return to the house. The Teenager expresses concern as I took too long to walk to the garage and back. I explain what happened.

She orders me out of the kitchen and she says she is going to make dinner and I am going to sit. I use the time to email my supervisors and call out for today, because I think it would be best if my body had some rest. I email my claim examiner and tell her to cancel my hand-related claim, because this whole incident is definitely something we have to deal with as a cerebral palsy issue. And I tell her if I need to contact my primary care doctor and have my intermittent leave parameters amended I will.

I ate a pile of peppermint kisses, a moon pie, and a rice krispie treat after dinner and washed it down with Diet Coke. Despite that, my weight is down more than two pounds this morning and my blood pressure is fine. My lower back and right side of my lower body hurts, but I’m hoping my morning dose of Baclofen will reduce the stress on my joints. My arm still hurts from my Tdap booster.

I don’t know what will happen next.

Monday visit with a new hand specialist at OAA

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I can’t believe what a magnificent, crisp and sunny March morning today has become. I spent the weekend working on the final tidbits of Thurston Gill’s devotional coming out this month at Parisian Phoenix Publishing, visiting the Lafayette College Store to purchase Echo City Caper books for an upcoming meeting, delivering marketing materials to author Larry Sceurman and his wife Barbara, writing how-to instructions on how to leave book reviews online (do you need instructions like that? If so, read them here.), and proofreading the latest anthology from self-published author, R. (Rachel) C. Thom(pson). In between these activities, I did laundry, vacuumed my room, continued a book rearranging project, and stripped/remade my bed.

All with my pinky in a cumbersome splint.

Southern Candy came to visit yesterday afternoon. We played three wicked games of Uno with the Teenager. I won two and The Teenager won one. It felt good to laugh.

Southern Candy and I both had doctor appointments today that kept us out of work, so we met at Bethlehem Diner for breakfast before I headed to OAA Orthopedic Specialists on Centronia Road, behind Josh Early Candies, on Hamilton Street in what I think is South Whitehall Township with an Allentown mailing address. [Note on the diner: speaking of Rachel, I’ve dined with her at that restaurant before she moved to Florida and looking at the dessert case, I must go back for coffee and baked goods.]

The finger is looking and feeling much better. Discoloration and swelling has greatly reduced. The bruises on my leg look worse than and feel worse than my finger.

I saw a new doctor today. While waiting in one of the exam rooms at OAA– the same practice that treated my mallet finger last spring– I noticed a framed newspaper article on the wall by someone I know. So I texted her. We had a brief exchange and that was a wonderful reminder of how small the Lehigh Valley can be.

My new doctor informed me that the OAA offices recently had a ransomware virus and they traced it to a fake xray disc, so now they have to be very carefully how they look at images. It makes me wonder if soon we will be going back to the days of oversized manila envelopes and transporting films.

He then very kindly and patiently described my injury in a way that I wished I remembered better. He believes I almost dislocated this pinky, and probably bent my ringfinger back. The momentum probably caused ligaments to pull, and dislodged a scrap of bone like a piece of dirt clinging to the roots of a weed when you’re cleaning the garden. That’s the exact description he used. It looks like a fracture of the phalanx but it’s more like a chip off the bone where the ligament was holding on. So it’s a sprain.

He saw the mallet finger in my file from last year, and we talked about the folks at the Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity rehab, because he wants to refer me there and follow up in two months. He ditched the splint from urgent care, and said all that will do is make my finger stiff and increase the chances that my knuckle will get swollen and bulbous.

Instead, he wrapped my ringfinger and pinky snugly together with some velcro so my ring finger can be the new splint. “Wherever the ringfinger goes, the pinky tags along,” he said.

I told him the hand rehab people did a fantastic job overseeing my recovery from mallet finger so I am happy to visit them again. He pointed out that people often underestimate the importance of the pinky, and don’t realize it’s role in overall grip strength. And that injuries like the mallet finger and the one I have now have much better outcomes with swift and proper treatment, but too often people let them go a week or two before seeking care.

That made me feel a lot better, because I felt a little silly seeing a fancy hand specialist for a pinky. But, as I told him, as someone with cerebral palsy, I’m a little too aware of how quickly one injury can spiral into different complications.

88%, a gut feeling, a pizza and some Stitch Fix fans

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It recently came to my attention that March is Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month, in addition to Women’s History Month. So as a tribute, I fell down the stairs leaving work on March 1. Seven cement stairs.

I have a massive bruise on my thigh, a knot of a bruise on my left calf, a swollen pinky that looks like a dog bit it, and wounded pride. As many injuries do, my finger throbbed and ached most of the night.

At work, I was frustrated, cranky and tired and moving so slow. By my calculations, I did 110% on Wednesday and now 88% on Thursday. WTF? I asked myself. Meanwhile I hear my blind friend Nancy Scott’s voice in my head, “Angel, you did too much.”

Several managers came over to ask how I was, I said I was okay but my finger was swollen and would not bend. They all mentioned I might see the safety manager later in the day. I didn’t. The person checking in on me most was my process lead, who also has a disability, and I told him I knew I wouldn’t finish at 100%. But apparently he didn’t know I had thrown myself down the steps.

The conversation went something like this:

“What happened? Did you miss a step?”

“I was on the landing and I lost my footing, and I had that split second to regain my footing but there wasn’t enough room on the landing so I thought I could gain my balance by kind of trotting down the steps but I missed the first step.”

“So where did you end up?”

“At the bottom.”

“So you fell down ALL the steps.”

“Yeah.”

I think I had 24 boxes of refix yesterday so that meant I dealt with a lot of carts, which slowed me down further. And my neurologist warned me that any injury might short circuit the relationship between my mind and my body. My brain and my legs don’t have many communication skills as it is and anything going on with another part of my body will muddy up the whole situation.

My leader assured me that we could come up with a plan, but that still frustrated me, because I’m already on a probation of sorts (which stemmed from a work-related cerebral palsy “flare-up”) and I see this as an endless cycle of me doing my job and then falling behind and getting in trouble. And the more they push me, the more rapidly the situation will repeat. Another friend who used to work for a big local employer in administration said she’s glad this happened because it might make my disability more real for them.

But anyway, after work, I had a lovely conversation with Thurston, our Parisian Phoenix author who has a devotional coming out this month when a certain publisher gets herself sorted, about his book and the future.

When I got home, I removed my final band-aid of the day and had a weird gut feeling something was wrong. Like this needs a doctor wrong. So, bribing The Teenager with a pizza from one of our favorite pizza places that she forgot existed, we went to Urgent Care. Between her ear infections and my injuries, we spent a lot of time there.

The doctor seemed a little perplexed that I broke my “middle phalanx” of my pinky falling down seven cement steps. They expected more damage. What can I say? I have skills. And that friend I mentioned above? She broke several ribs falling down the stairs in her house and ended up as an inpatient in the hospital so she’s jealous right now.

So, once I get a tetanus shot and a splint, we head out. We stopped at Antonios Pizza and Ice Cream at the 25th Street Shopping Center and order a pesto pizza. We haven’t been there in 2-3 years because… Covid… life crazy… lazy… Dominos is cheap and easy and there is an app.

They recognized us! They recognized us, our order, and to prove it they pointed to the booth we used to sit in as a family.

And they love Stitch Fix! The Teenager opened the box and ate a slice in the pizzeria while we pointed out what Stitch Fix clothes we had on our body. And then I had to show off and fold my sweater into a 9×9 square.

It was the kind of small town encounter I love about our urban corner of the universe.

The ticking time bomb dove down the stairs

Angel Ackerman 3 Comments

When I worked at the Lehigh Valley News Group and The Teenager was a tot of two-years-old we referred to as “the wee one,” I stumbled over the cart return at Wegmans after doing some grocery shopping on the way home from the office. The Wee One was with me, as she attended day care literally next door to my office. I would appear in the doorway after nap time, have snack with the kids, and return with her to my office around 3:15 where she would play on the floor beside my desk for about an hour before we went home.

I clearly remember I paid $770 a month for her to attend daycare, where I dropped her off around 7:45 and, as I mentioned, picked her up at 3.

In the Wegmans parking lot, I had removed the Wee One from the cart in the cart return and turned to return to my car– my only new car I’ve ever had a 2000 Saturn SL2. I had wanted a Saturn since they came out, and I was very pleased to finally have one after my series of mid-1980-something Ford Escorts.

I had tripped over the metal rail that supports the cart return and banged up my elbow pretty badly. (My elbows sustain a lot of damage in my falls.) I put the Wee One in the back of the car in her seat, and got into the drivers seat, and turned on the car and the air conditioning. That’s when I started to pass out.

With black spots before my eyes, I dug frantically into my purse. I couldn’t see, so I was merely feeling around for my phone. It was my Nokia flip-phone in the pre-iPhone days. I found it, but couldn’t dial. I hit the recent calls menu and dialed the first number on the list.

It was my friend, Gayle. She called the store, and I still remember the flood of cart attendants and managers that stormed into the parking lot looking for the woman and the toddler in the running car. I stumbled out. They took me, the Wee One, and the groceries into the store and called my in-laws to drive me home. The manager asked if I needed anything and without missing a beat, the Wee One said, “Ice cream.” They didn’t hear her, and she got very annoyed that she didn’t get ice cream.

That was circa-2006.

I tell that story because that was the scariest fall I ever had. The second scariest was when I broke my ankle outside the old Maier’s bread factory and almost passed out sitting on a fire hydrant waiting for my husband to arrive with the car. I was going to say today was the third scariest, but then I remembered the time when The Teenager was in kindergarten and I fell on a bad patch of sidewalk and spit out a tooth.

The most exotic fall I ever had was in Yemen.

The most embarrassing was when I fell in the middle of the Halloween parade in front of the whole damn town. That was a year ago.

But today was another first. My first official fall at Stitch Fix. If you are a regular reader, you already know I’ve been struggling with pain recently. I woke up feeling pretty mobile today, and I was even able to touch my toes at 4 a.m. so I skipped my morning dose of baclofen. I was instructed by the neurologist to take the medicine as needed, and when I saw her last, she encouraged me to take it more. I found myself wondering if the baclofen might be somehow connected to the muscle pain I’ve had.

I had a great day at work. I had another observation with my direct supervisor, which came in at 104%. I laughed loudly with my friends at breaks. I brought Thurston a hard copy proof of his book launching in a couple weeks. I may have eaten too many honey roasted pistachios, but pistachios are delicious. I finished the day at something around 110%.

I gathered my possessions, grabbed my coffee cup, and slung my purse over my shoulder. I trotted toward the door, eager to see my chiropractor at 3:45 pm and hear all about her trip to Vegas for a work-related convention. I stepped out the door, said goodbye to the security guard and took another step across the landing. I stumbled forward. I didn’t have enough space on the landing between me and the stairs– the concrete stairs– to regain my footing. The situation swirled for a minute and I tried to use the momentum to trot down the stairs and regain footing that way.

I failed. I dove down the stairs. Thank goodness my possessions broke my fall. Everyone rushed to my aid. Someone offered me a hand. Someone gathered my metal coffee mug which had rolled away. I reorganized my purse and asked everyone to give me a minute before I stood up, that I was fairly certain I was fine, but I wanted to catch my breath before getting up.

People starting asking the why and how of my fall. I assured them nothing but me made me fall. This is life with cerebral palsy.

My friend Sassy, the same friend who accompanied our colleague who had a heart attack to the hospital, was suddenly there. I notice blood. Sassy helps me find it on my pinky. Our safety manager goes to get me a band-aid. Another leader forces me into the building to file an incident report. I’m annoyed because… well, I was hoping my chiropractor Nicole Jensen could help me figure out my random intense muscle pain.

I sit down. Sassy is with me. One of our managers from second shift is there and looks concerned when she sees it’s me. The safety manager stays. My supervisor comes in. I start to get sweaty and lightheaded. This freaks me out because I’m barely hurt. I try to text my daughter to have her call the chiropractor and I can’t. My former second shift manager does it and we just end up calling The Teenager.

Sassy fans me and brings me a cone of water, but I’m too shaky to hold it. She brings me a water bottle and fans me as I joke and the safety manager delicately cleans my finger and puts on a bandaid. My supervisor starts the incident report. Thurston comes and takes my blood pressure. I’m feeling myself.

They offer to arrange an Uber for me, and to send an Uber for me in the morning.

“I’m okay,” I tell them. And I thank them for bringing me back into the building, because otherwise, who knows what might have happened on the road.

I left with the nurseline phone number. I promise to email my boss and text Sassy when I get home. Once I arrive, I shower. Luckily, no more blood. But there’s a chunk out of my finger and I think my thigh will have a massive bruise tomorrow.

It’s been eight weeks since my last fall. I had falls in November, December and January, so making it eight weeks is good. But I have no idea why it happened.

The update on life, service dogs, what it feels like to live with cerebral palsy, and other things I know at least one faithful reader is waiting for

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I haven’t written in a while. Again. I’ve wanted to– I’ve started blog entries and not finished them. I’ve posted on Parisian Phoenix’s web site. Please, if you haven’t subscribe to the mailing list over there or on Substack. Or buy a book. From Parisian Phoenix directly or wherever you prefer to buy books. We have an affiliate shop on Bookshop.org, that’s another option to consider.

Meanwhile, forgive the cornucopia of prepositions in that title.

And I think it’s time to give another work friend an official nickname. I’m going to christian another work friend, the one with the stylish purple glasses that really complement her skin tone, as “Faithful Bizzy Reader.” She is one of my tribe, one of us who has migrated from Midnight Society to the Sunday cohort to traditional day shift at our Pennsylvania Stitch Fix warehouse. Those transitions, as brutal as they’ve been over the last 16 or so months, have made us a raucous bunch. At least, that’s how we behave at our lunch table. She’s noticed my sporadic posts, and today I admitted that my physical health has drained me to the point where I have nothing left to write.

The disability/cerebral palsy/dog stuff

As I’m sitting here, my Goffin’s cockatoo is grooming me, and I’m trying to get her to trim my hangnail. She’s really good at hangnails and splinters. If you never heard the story of the raisin that fixed my gait and how Nala the Goffin removed my splinter, you can read that story here.

I have dealt with various levels of pain on and off for more than a week now. I prayed that it would end with my chiropractor appointment last week, but it didn’t. It went from an eight to a two, so I was happy with the improvement, but then cycle of vacillating between slight and excruciating burning continued for days. My glutes, my lower back, my quads and sometimes my knees scream horribly. And when an “attack” comes upon me, standing there takes all my energy and makes me want to vomit. The burning sensation never goes away. My quads and lower back are throbbing with about a two of pain right now, seated in this chair at my desk. And my calves are pulsing. Maybe even spasming.

I tried taking more muscle relaxers. I tried exercise. I tried rest. Nothing seems to make it better or worse. I even brought Sobaka with me to the gym. (If you look at the photo on the right, that’s Greg who founded Apex Training with our neighbor princess dog who has been staying with us this week. Also, my name is very close to the upper left hand corner on the chalkboard wall.)

Interestingly, my trainer Andrew said my posture in some of my core related movements looked good. But man, every exercise was a struggle. Even the “pop-squats” he asks me to do, merely sitting down and popping back up as soon as my butt hits the bench required a lot of concentration. And I honestly don’t know how I survived hamstring curls as my legs haven’t wanted to cooperate with things like basic walking or stretching out my quads. But I did it. I was really hoping the extra blood flow would help.

But it didn’t. And after so many days of inconsistent pain, I just want to sleep for a week and stream TV.

My toe and my Morton’s neuroma have not been bothering me, but I did order my latest pair of shoes a half-size bigger.

And in positive news, I received an email from Susquehanna Service Dogs that they received my post-CTE (canine therapeutic evaluation) paperwork and will be reaching out to schedule a home visit. The final step between me and the waiting list for a service dog. “Both you and [The Teenager] provided awesome, valuable feedback in your emails,” my coordinator in the program wrote. “I’m glad that you had yet another chance to work with Miss Katydid– she is spunky!!”

The Stitch Fix stuff

I’ve been struggling at work. Luckily my stats, even at my worst days have remained around 100%. I’ve been on a downward spiral ever since I got sent to work in inbound processing for a day. That day, working on the back of a line on a table forcing me to pass baskets pretty far forward and to my right, shifted something. I don’t have an injury, but ever since that day, the pain I’ve grown familiar with in my hip has moved into my tailbone and quads. It’s nice that my femur no longer feels like it’s poking a hole through my pelvic bone, but now my muscles of my lower body always feel like they are overtaxed.

Anyway, whatever is happening in my body caused me to miss metrics three days in a row and now I’m in the middle of a probationary period of sorts known as “focus,” a first warning where Stitch Fix, my supervisor and myself work together to discover how Stitch Fix can “support me” because four rounds of “focus” can lead to termination.

Or I’m guessing will lead to termination.

I don’t know what to think– and once again I find myself placed in a situation where I need to be more of an advocate than I ever wanted to be. I enjoy my job. I love the people. I find the wages and benefits fair. But will it come to the point where I have to argue that 1. Their lack of following my approved medical accommodations during that day in inbound may have caused this whole situation (and I did not advocate enough for myself at the time, because I didn’t know it would f*ck me up) and 2. I have worked for the company for nearly two-and-a-half years and I have always experienced periods where I just cannot perform like the average person. Their recent change in metrics have placed me at a disadvantage, and I still have the capacity to do just as much work as the average person over longer periods of time, I just cannot do it every day. And the two days a month of grace they allow us does not fit my body.

So… keep in mind… yesterday I did 136 fixes, which is 105% of the daily minimum expectation of 130 fixes. I could have done 140, but I slowed down toward the end. In the old system, those extra fixes would have cushioned my numbers. Today, I did 130 while fighting nauseating pain and fighting for balance. I could have done 131, but again, it won’t matter. But in the old system, had I done 140 and 131, that puts me 11 fixes ahead for the weekly average, which means if I only made 120 later in the week, I would still hit my numbers.

I understand that they need consistent performance, but if you know an employee is giving 100% and that employee has a documented disability, that employee deserves a little bit of leeway.

I have a lot of questions about this “focus” concept. But, if once I get out of my focus period, how long do I have to perform at 100% before I end up clear of my record of first focus, because it’s only a matter of time before my body can’t do it. So, how long do I have to last before receiving a second focus, versus another first focus?

The fun Stitch Fix (fashion) stuff

There are several items in the Stitch Fix inventory I have wanted for a very long time. One is the Papermoon ember sweatshirt in dark gray that reads, “Weekend.” I love the cut of the Hiatus t-shirts. There is a Lagerfeld ruffle, striped tank top. Some Liverpool plaid pants. I could go on…

And since I received my discount back from The Teenager, I went on a bit of a shopping spree and bought some sale items. But, meanwhile, I kept thinking of the Skies are Blue Hannah modal blazer in magenta. It’s normally $88, incredibly silky, and the perfect color to represent Parisian Phoenix at events. Don’t confuse this with the Skies are Blue boyfriend blazer in magenta– the Hannah blazer is sleeker, softer and less boxy.

I earmarked the blazer as a favorite in my Stitch Fix account. It popped up in my proposed looks, as it does in the photo to the right. I already own that bag. I love that bag, the Urban Expressions utility tote in mustard if memory serves. I love the dress, but my middle-aged saggy mama belly couldn’t pull it off, and I would certainly wear those boots. But seeing this look made me cave and buy the blazer. Thank you employee discount! It headed out from the Breezy in Atlanta and should be here Friday.

The boring stuff

Finally, in household stuff: I still need to finish my local and state taxes, and pay the per capita tax. My drivers license renewal form came. I cleaned the air purifier in my bedroom (primarily caked with that chalky white bird dust) and must do a deeper than usual clean of the two cat boxes in my bedroom because I’m smelling ammonia in there. The Teenager had chicken quesadillas on the menu tonight. And I have a library meeting on Zoom at 7 p.m. I serve on the board of trustees at my local public library, the Mary Meuser Memorial Library.

So, there will be no sleeping for a week or streaming TV. Instead, I will attend my meeting and collapse in bed in exhaustion and get dressed out of the laundry basket in the living room because I just don’t have the strength to carry it up the stairs.

Chill out, have some coffee and open some packages from Stitch Fix and a pinch of medical stuff

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

It’s been six days since I touched base. My friend is home from the hospital and probably climbing the walls. I’ve been doing a lot of work on Parisian Phoenix stuff– getting the Substack off the ground, editing material for clients and my authors, and sending packages out.

Normally I go to the gym Monday, Wednesday and Friday but this week I haven’t felt well. Even after my chiropractor appointment on Monday, I still struggled with body pain in unusual places. My chiropractor confirmed that I was feeling more issues in my sacrum as opposed to my normal troubles in my hips. My quads bothered me for a while after that and the drop from warm weather to icy wintry mix made my knees burn. That was new. All of these sensations led to my right side feeling rubbery and unstable.

I’ve also had a lot of commitments recently and not enough down time, so that didn’t help.

Wednesday night I ended up skipping the gym because of pain and a meeting for the Lehigh Valley Book Festival that ran until 6 p.m., which meant I didn’t even get to my town until 6:30 p.m. and exercising in pain and hungry did not seem smart. You can read about my visit to Let’s Play Books on the Parisian Phoenix blog, here.

And when I got home, The Teenager had purchased cheese steaks at Joe’s Steaks in Phillipsburg. My standard order is a hot cheese steak, no onions, and an order of pizza rolls. She did not remember the pizza rolls.

I actually asked my boss to use two hours of my intermittent medical leave to come home and take a nap yesterday, because supporting my own weight and balancing was exhausting.

Best. Nap. Ever. I still feel achy today, but much better, probably because I had an appointment with my primary care physician. I thought it was for my annual physical, but apparently it was a six-month follow-up. Follow up for? Be darned if I remember. My mallet finger and the resulting leave from work because I was all out of whack?

I noticed while waiting for him that I was wearing two different shoes. They are the same shoe, but two different pairs in two different sizes. Interestingly, I put the smaller shoe on the smaller foot. Because it turns out my left foot is a size eight, but my right is 8.5.

He approved of my blood pressure numbers, didn’t say anything about the roller coaster of my weight, wondered if I had my anxiety under control, and asked about my service dog application. He thinks I have a cataract starting in my right eye, that I’m salt sensitive and that I need to take care of myself and (my words not his) calm the fuck down. Oh– and lay off the caffeinated beverages.

And as soon as I left the parking lot, I went to the Dunkin a block away and bought the new chocolate caramel cold brew. Even though I had chocolate in my coffee. But I figured this would be a candy bar, and I was right. My lunch consisted of cold brew, pistachios, apples and a KIND breakfast bar.

I returned to work, finished lunch with my friends and went out to the warehouse floor where I might have hit way over 100% thanks to the buzz from the coffee. I took the early release/voluntary time off and came home to packages!

We got two Freestyle packages from Stitch Fix, one from the Dizzy (in Dallas) and the Phizzy (in Phoenix) which The Teenager recorded me opening.

Our Little Dog Neighbor Sobaka is staying with us this week. So The Teenager and I took both dogs for a walk.

Hospitals, dinner party, friends and games, and happy endings?

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I haven’t had much time this week to eat, or rest, or even go to the gym, so I haven’t had time to read books, report on podcasts, or blog. And that’s a shame because I’ve seen some silver linings recently.

My friend in the hospital is doing well, and the staff on the cardiac floor seemed appropriately mortified at how her case was mishandled on Sunday. That doesn’t fix the long-term damage to her heart, but at least now she has the team to move her care forward in the future. And our coworkers have paraded into her room literally one after another, including her direct supervisor who turned up before she had emerged from the ICU. That makes me proud to be part of the team with whom I work.

She’s coming home from the hospital later today.

I visited my friend on Thursday evening, and again Friday after work. The Teenager had a dinner party and game night planned for the evening. My job was to stop and augment the alcohol offerings. I still need half-and-half after running out last week. Three trips to the store have yielded no such milk product. I have had tea. I have had terrible coffee at work. I have drunk my peppermint tea black. And I have resorted to, with great desperation, coffee with two percent milk. My father preferred his coffee with milk, and it’s something I just can’t adjust to.

I stopped at the new Weis market in Bethlehem near the hospital, purchased several single-serve-type bottles of various wines and a cold six pack of Sweet Baby Jesus chocolate peanut butter porter. I love a good porter or stout and DuClaw’s Sweet Baby Jesus is a solid one, though not as smooth as Samuel Smith’s Organic Chocolate Stout. That is my favorite.

I also grabbed a half gallon of Weis-branded ultra pasteurized half and half, dated March 23. Let me skip ahead to this morning and alert you that my half and half, after I freshly popped the seal, was spoiled. But, at the time of my arrival home, I felt like a successful warrior queen.

The Lovely Teenager and I received a package from Stitch Fix yesterday with our Freestyle goodies. You can see the unboxing here: (The Teen is wearing a Stitch Fix sweater from a recent fix.)

The Teenager invited a couple over for dinner and invited more friends to join us for Ransom Notes, a blend of Cards Against Humanity and a magnetic poetry kit. I didn’t take any photos of the evening, as I was distracted laughing, enjoying a beer, and socializing, something that has not happened nearly as much as it should. The Teenager expertly prepped and executed a menu of homemade mac and cheese, steak, and air-fried asparagus, with box brownies for dessert. Knowing one of our guests was vegetarian (and relieved he was not vegan), she prepared one very large standard mac and cheese, based on the recipe from the never-let-you-down Betty Crocker Cookbook. But being the carnivore and bacon whore she is, she made a second, smaller mac and cheese with bacon.

When your bird is distressed by all the commotion in the house, you show her what is happening. Photo by Joan Zachary.

Conversation flowed freely. The Teenager’s father arrived next, bearing the essentials for rum and Cokes. Our artist friend Maryann Riker followed with some Yellow Tail. Somehow Uno became the first game as choice as poor Maryann had never played this classic.

Brilliant photographer Joan Zachary arrived next with her partner, who immediately made friends with The Teenager’s extra long cat Oz. Joan joined us for a round of Cards Against Humanity, and did impressively well for her first time playing. I did not win a single black card. But I laughed my ass off.

And it was Uno we returned to to end the night, never quite reaching into the box for Ransom Notes. I guess that means we may need to host another game night.

Also, my cat Fog has been sleeping with The Teenager against his will. But they seem to be developing a relationship. Meanwhile, foster tripod Louise has permanently become my snuggle buddy, sleeping in my arms every night.

Fog
Tripod Louise

The highs and lows of 24 hours

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I write. It’s what I do. I got a random text last night from a colleague of a friend who I think would mesh with me on a personal level. We’re scheduled to have lunch on Monday. She texted last night– she’s a fellow journalist– hoping I could review her application for a special project. Let’s just call it a grant.

I needed that last night. I received a text from her this morning. She’s never requested my professional skills before, and I didn’t really think about that before I agreed to help her. I just heard, “I need someone to look at my thoughts.” And the former managing editor/grant writer in me just kicked in. She was on a tight deadline, and I was close to bedtime. But I did what I could.

Her text this morning said, “Holy shit. You’re good.”

But let me back up… and let me tell you why I’m struggling to digest the 24-hours of my life that started with 3:30 p.m. on Valentine’s Day and ended after work yesterday.

Happy Valentine’s Day, The Teen!

So, The Teenager considers the hamburger chain Fuddruckers one of her favorite restaurants in the world. Which is funny when you consider her favorite, favorite restaurant in the world is Kachapuri in Moscow. And mine, too.

We had a Fuddruckers a few blocks from her grandparents house for a couple years when she was in preschool. Her connection to this place goes back that far.

They closed it when she was about four. The two closest Fuddruckers now are in Hershey (1.5 hours away) and in New Jersey (1 hour away). We drove by the exit for the Hershey Fuddruckers during our service dog appointment Monday. But I wasn’t hungry, and at this point I can confirm that poor diet spikes my blood pressure.

Somehow, we negotiated a trip to Fuddruckers in New Jersey for Valentine’s Day. But a wrinkle came to the plan when her car’s service appointment took longer than anticipated, and more money than anticipated. But we decided to go anyway. Because at this point, the poor kid is miserable. She got nailed with owing federal income tax, her car insurance has doubled and her car is an enormous money pit that might be a ticking time bomb. Really, the transmission might be next. But we’re working on manifesting luck and joy. Hamburgers, it is!

I locked up the house and I discover an envelope in the incoming mail. The design of the envelope itself ruins the surprise of what’s inside. These kids today, they have all the tension stripped from their lives.

Now, our trip to Fuddruckers was officially a celebration.

And this Fuddruckers, according to the Teenager, is way better than the Hershey Fuddruckers. We’re apparently connoisseurs now.

Note to self: my bacon bacon jamburger was amazing.

Conversations in the car got a little heavy as conversations in the car normally do, and I went to bed missing my family. But that’s another feeling for another day.

Wednesday, February 15

I performed well at work on Tuesday. Perhaps too well, at 132 fixes. My official observation was nearly 107%. I felt the warning creaks in my body Tuesday night that maybe all the car rides and the full day at work might have stressed my lower extremities.

This story takes a turn, and could have ended in tragedy, but it didn’t. But it’s a lot of emotion and a friend nearly lost their life. So if that doesn’t appeal to you, stop reading.

There’s a crew of us at work. We all used to work second shift together. Then we moved to the 10-hour Sunday cohort, Then we moved to day shift. When they rearranged to break schedule to make larger lunches, we gravitated together. And I’d like to believe we have a bond.

One of us went to the hospital Superbowl Sunday with chest pains. This person has a history of past heart attack. And the hospital, from what we understand, tested for hernia, gall bladder and gave an EKG but never did cardiac enzymes. They sent our friend home. This person has been in intense chest pain on and off since Sunday. This person forces themselves to come to work on Wednesday, because we all need to work. We’re not living lives of leisure and passive income.

We’re sitting at our normal morning gathering spot in the breakroom, and we had seen the car of the person in question, but this person had not arrived in the breakroom. We figured this person needed to talk to supervisors. Makes sense.

I receive a text. “Are you at work? If so come to my car.”

I do.

My friend was sitting in the car, tears streaming, clutching at the chest, stating there was pain in the arm. My friend was about to throw up from the pain. Apparently, my friend planned to drive to another hospital after a supervisor offered to call an ambulance. We went into the building, where my friend went into the bathroom. Another colleague had to escort her out of the restroom.

This is when another friend declared that an ambulance had to come and told our supervisors to call. And our security head monitored vital signs.

Our most confident and bossy colleague went to the hospital and we’re told she kept the staff on their toes.

Our friend had a heart attack in front of us.

Our friend received the care needed, but THREE DAYS after first going to the ER.

THREE DAYS.

I’m angry at the system. And I feel guilty for not pushing harder for better care sooner.

But right now, we’re all solemn and grateful that we didn’t lose a friend.

ADVOCATE for yourself and your loved ones.