Category essay

Flirting with control

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I have no idea what this blog post will say. I’m only writing it because I came home from work, took my blood pressure, swallowed my medication and made a cup of coffee… and wasn’t sure what I wanted to do this evening. But I knew I wanted to write. So here I am.

I titled it “flirting with control,” because I’m looking at my house and my list of phone calls I need to make (check with physical therapist, reschedule Ob/Gyn, schedule annual service and car inspection, see if I can get a rental car from the insurance company of the person who hit my car in February.) Thinking of the chores I need to do. And everything I want to achieve for the business…

And I realize, everyday I am merely flirting with the idea of having control of my own life.

My blood pressure was 115/73, which is excellently consistent. I have to say I had a few times today where I felt off– so I used the EKG function on my Apple Watch and hit the heart rate button periodically. It’s been two weeks since I had my last “high heart rate scare” and today I saw my heart rate jump from 90 (which was already on the high side for standing at my table at work) to 165 in one movement. Not gradual, just BAM, and back again. It did this at least twice. But the watch registered a 176 also around this time that I didn’t notice.

To be on the safe side, I took the voluntary time off offered for tomorrow.

I don’t feel bad. In fact, I feel 90-95% of myself. But I get tired easily, and I often get a weird sensation that I describe as lightheaded, but it’s more like my body internally swaying. And my ears have been ringing for months and my headaches are getting more frequent.

After hearing about my unfortunate experience at the cardiologist, I have been collecting opinions from people. Some requested, some not.

And among the solicited type of advice came this gem: “You might want to get a second opinion from a FEMALE cardiologist. Its known, researched, and documented that female patients have a greater chance of being untreated for cardiac concerns. Just consider.” That person even recommended a doctor, though by the time I got the name, I had already booked a doctor from my own research.

I don’t know if the average person realizes this, but with the modern computerized booking systems, most hospital networks will allow you to schedule appointments online, even with specialists you haven’t seen, because most physicians have an open scheduling block even if it is only a few appointments once a month.

So I researched female cardiologists affiliated with the hospital with which I routinely deal. I scanned their reviews and quickly discovered that the hospital has a women’s heart center and encourages, at least according to the web site, any woman with concerned to schedule an appointment.

And that’s what I did. I won’t see her until August, but by then all the other specialists will have run their tests and hopefully we will have more answers. And regardless, I want to sit with someone and review what has happened to me, what’s normal, what’s not and what of that is concerning. My current cardiologist doesn’t want to see me again for six months, and his schedule hasn’t been released that far out, so I may not even go back.

I told all of this to someone at work, and he reminded me of something he has said to me in the past. The Lehigh Valley sometimes lacks medical talent. And then he added, “and I suppose I can tell you that I always seek out female physicians.” And proceeded to explain that women have a different attention toward symptoms and how they fit together.

In the meantime, I also have a list of other professionals I want to see as I hash out my own plan for how to care for myself. I know I already mentioned a hospital-affiliated dietician, but I also want to talk to the clinical pharmacist at my doctor’s office because I don’t think I should be or need to be on some of these medications together.

Oh and I got a survey for the smug little doctor man. I gave him a 5/10. I wish I would have recorded my comments which went something like this: “I didn’t ask questions because I couldn’t put my finger on it but he seemed dismissive. I went home and read his notes and realized he had come to conclusions about my symptoms that he did not discuss with me and were based on assumptions made because of my congenital disability which contradicted the concerns of my entire care team. That was a shame as he was a charming man and his office is close to my home.”

Reflections on a Range Rover Runner

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I drove to work this morning and got behind a black Range Rover covered with bumper stickers “13.1” and “26.2” and “Run.”

And I looked at the car and I thought, how white collar and/or affluent do you have to be to drive a Range Rover and run that far for a hobby? Now, if it is your hobby, I don’t mean any ill will. More power to you! Enjoy it! I applaud you!

But I think of my dad who spent much of my youth as a diesel mechanic, or I consider my mother-in-law growing up on a farm.

People aren’t meant to be sedentary and then run for a hobby. And the idea that people work in offices or as professionals is a modern construct, before that our lives were physical. We hunted, fished, farmed, foraged. Humanity as a species did not always have a WalMart. They had to make things, not buy them.

We hear all these talk about circadian rhythms, blue light, organic produce and carcinogens where in the past our ancestors worked in coal mines with canaries as the only safety equipment.

So when I get home from work after folding clothes in the Stitch Fix warehouse, my Apple Watch thinks I’ve walked 15,000 steps because that’s how much my arms move in a shift. I’m getting up before sunrise, going to the time clock and standing at a table for eight hours a day.

When I get home, it’s hard to drag myself to the gym. But I do it, because my body requires it. But run 26.2 miles? Never going to happen.

I don’t have the energy, the physical prowess or the financial resources to have that kind of free time.

Smug little doctor man

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I might have to fire my cardiologist.

He’s personable and easy on the eyes, but he certainly had his decisions made without listening to what I had to say. And when I got home and read his notes… I don’t know if I can say I felt betrayed or even insulted. I knew what was happening while I was there. It was a gut reaction and I felt myself shutting down.

He said I was fine, my heart monitor was fine, and my EKG was fine, and then he asked if I had any more episodes. I asked for clarification on what he meant by episode and explained that as of last week my heart rate had calmed by about 20 beats per minute. And that I had two more unexplained episodes of lightheadedness that almost ended in falls.

I pointed out that I wrote everything down if he had any questions about my symptoms and also said that I bought an Apple Watch.

He didn’t seem interested in any of it, only in my episode of a-fib. And then he noticed that my primary care doctor had ordered a tilt table test. “That’s odd,” he said, looking at my record.

“He wants to rule out POTS,” I said.

He gave a little nose grunt of disapproval.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked.

Not that I was willing to ask. Based on how he seemed to be judging my primary care physician there was no way in hell I was asking questions of this man.

When I read his summary of our visit when I looked at my online chart, he blatantly called out my primary care physician for considering POTS and said my symptoms were not consistent with that, and blamed my falls on my poor balance.

I might have cerebral palsy, but I don’t have “poor” balance. It’s not “good” but it’s not “poor” and I have the physical therapy records to prove it. Actually, I was released from physical therapy today. When these episodes happen, I can feel that the problem is not my legs. So my heart looks fine, and I’m very happy about that, but I’m angry that he just attributed the whole stint in the hospital as caused by my poor balance. The night of the accident I had been showing off to my trainer Andrew how well I could stand on one leg.

When I read his notes I got even more upset, because he’s blaming my orthostatic hypotension on dehydration and makes it sound as if I don’t drink water. I said symptoms are worse on the weekend, probably because I don’t drink as much water. I drink about 60 ounces at work alone, which means on a typical weekday I drink about 80 hours of water, maybe 8 ounces of another beverage and 12 ounces of coffee. Subtract about 60 ounces water off that on Saturday and Sunday.

And he also says I drink more now, especially when my blood pressure is low, and what I said was that I keep an electrolyte powder by my bed and mix a portion of that to drink in the morning if my blood pressure drops, as suggested by my primary care physician.

So I looked at my ekg– my heart shows a normal sinus rhythm and arrhythmia.

I emailed my primary care doctor and said the cardiologist is not a match and after I get the next couple weeks of appointments done, I want to follow up with him (my PCP) to talk about my medications. And I’m also thinking of asking about a registered dietician and some nutritional resources.

Today my heart rate is up. My blood pressure is low. I have headaches and everything in my body hurts.

Working for the Weekend—The pluckiness of the modern author

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Happy Monday everyone! I wanted to do a long blog post about Lehigh Valley Space Fest with Nan but I wore out of steam. I used up all the words in my brain on this post over on Parisian Phoenix.

And while it doesn’t detail the fun Nancy had playing with a meteorite and fondling a zero-G Smurf… it at least proves that I do do more than go to doctor appointments.

If you’re a reader, God bless you. You are the butter to the writer’s bread, the sustaining force whom we drive to please. But if you’re an author, …

The pluckiness of the modern author

Have you ever had brain surgery before?

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Today I received a paycheck. I haven’t had one of those in two months. I have been keeping my house afloat on $900 in disability payments (and denied the last $450 I was entitled to because the absence management company keeps losing the fax), savings and credit cards.

In two hours I will be leaving to drive over to my hand specialist/orthopedic surgeon about my sprained pinky. Despite the therapy, despite the time that has elapsed, it’s still tender, doesn’t bend all the way and has a rather distorted knuckle. Monday is my first appointment with my cardiologist.

My heart rate has been normal most of this week. But yesterday was a little rough– heart rate variations and fatigue throughout the day. I had a lot of muscular pain in my right hip, which extended into my back and quad, and worked overtime at the Bizzy Hizzy. So, I ate a lot of snacks, took ibuprofen, drank a lot of water, and ate my sorrow in the form of about 2,000 calories of burger, onion rings and blizzard at Dairy Queen.

My boss asked me if anything had changed to cause my discomfort. And as usual, Angel hadn’t changed one thing but several. I had worked hard the day before and perhaps I overdid it, because I had been behind in my numbers. Then, I went to the chiropractor, and when she touched me, it felt different. She often has to do things to my legs I don’t understand, but that right hip often feels like my pelvic bone is at the wrong angle. And when she touched it, the way she does every week, it burned instead of ached.

After the chiropractor, I went to the gym. And Andrew subjected me to leg-and-core day. Because he loves me.

I had a nice dinner after that of kale, potatoes and chicken. And I was in bed by 8 p.m. (Don’t judge me! I wake at 4 a.m.) At a minute or two before 9, I had to use the bathroom. And these days, I can’t take my chances. For some reason, I can’t always hold it. I have some retrolisthesis, and there is some theorizing that it might press on a nerve occasionally that interrupts that signal.

I stumbled from my bed, entered the bathroom, and next thing I knew I was kissing my ceramic tile and my Apple Watch was having a tantrum on my wrist. The Teenager ran up the stairs.

“Mom, are you okay?”

The shower shelf had started to fall off the wall earlier in the day. I had decided to be proactive and I removed it. I set it against the bathroom wall to rehang. In my evening stupor, I did not have my glasses on. The pale silver shelf blended in with the beige tile and I stepped right on the damn thing.

“Mom?” the Teenager said. “Why is your watch freaking out?”

Apple Fall Detection has received some mixed reviews. But this time it nailed it. My watch progressively buzzed until I looked at the screen and responded to it.

“It looks like you have taken a hard fall.”

And there were two options. “I’m okay.” And a big red emergency button. I hit “I’m okay.”

That’s how I went from 50 days without a fall to one. Sigh.

In the last of the medical update, I’ve been receiving a lot of repeated phone calls that never leave messages. So, I answered one yesterday that looked like an important phone number. And it was 11:22, so close enough to work lunch that I could step off the floor if I needed to,

It was the neurosurgeon. My neurologist had told me she was going to refer me to neurovascular to have my aneurysm checked. Apparently, they call you and ask your symptoms so the doctor can decide if your head is going to explode and if he needs to see you tomorrow versus in a couple months. So, I answered her questions.

“Have you ever had brain surgery before?”

Oh, I don’t intend to have brain surgery at all, I think. “No.”

“Do you have any allergies to the dye used in MRIs or CTs?”

“No,” I said. “I just had my first CT with contrast and tolerated the dye well. But I have a tooth implant, so an MRI might be out of the question.”

(Which is a shame as I would love to see my brain via an fMRI.)

Questions about my symptoms. Headaches? Yes. Vision trouble? Not really. Weak arms? No. But I have a tingling pinky no one can explain. Lightheadedness or dizziness? Yes, but we attributed that to low blood pressure and side effects of the beta blocker. Slurring words? Not slurring, but completely losing. But I have a history of anemia. Incontinence? Lately, yes.

“Do you have difficulty walking?”

I chuckled. “That’s loaded question. I have cerebral palsy.”

“Oh, let me write that down for the doctor.”

“Spastic diplegia if you want to be specific,” I told her.

“When did your symptoms start?”

“Well…”

I told her they found the aneurysm after a CT scan meant to check if blood wasn’t getting to my brain properly after my second fall in March landed me in the hospital. And here we are.

I need this weekend. Badly. And I’ll be taking Nan, my blind friend the space nerd, to Lehigh Valley Space Fest on Sunday.

Scary words

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I almost didn’t write this one. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired, and achy, and cranky. This morning started off-kilter when I couldn’t find my car keys (they were in my pants pocket in the dirty laundry basket), had left my sweatshirt in the car and it was cold, and I should have had more breakfast.

My Apple Watch is doing its job– and it does seem to track significant leaps in heart beat when I rise, 30-35 beats per minute, but I don’t know how long that has to last to qualify as POTS. (And I have a note to call and schedule the tilt table test Tuesday afternoon.) Right now, I am just collecting data. And those numbers tell me when to give my body a minute to right itself. Regardless of what my diagnosis is.

When I got to work, a colleague told me she called the cat rescue and the person she spoke with didn’t know anyone with my name. That was certainly odd.

I started out strong, as I often do in the morning, preparing 8-9 fixes every half hour. But by first break my hip started acting up, which made the day harder and I fell behind. By ONE fix. But of course break is 10 minutes, so then it was four fixes. But by lunch I was only half a fix behind.

I didn’t have many calories with lunch. The portion of hearty vegan barley soup I had left was smaller than I expected. But by second break I was officially at the company numbers, which meant I’d be a little behind when I returned. But I had work that was easier for me, so I was confident that despite my inability to bend, I’d get the job done.

But then I saw a notification from my medical portal. My CT results were in.

Normal. Normal. Normal. That’s what I saw as I skimmed the report. Normal. Normal. Then… “suspected 2 mm laterally directed left paraophthalmic ICA aneurysm. Recommended follow-up with neurovascular service.”I freaked out internally. Started shaking a bit. I was prepared for a lot of things but an aneurysm never entered my mind. Pun intended. Note: I was reading this at work, and I only get ten minute breaks so I wasn’t reading for comprehension. Over the course of the afternoon, I realized this was small. And I calmed down fairly quickly. So this was about surprise. And I told my friends, “Well, now we wait. The faster I get a phone call from the doctor, the worse the news is, right?”

The nerves gave me the energy to finish at my target number to make my employer happy.

I then headed to physical therapy, where I was honest with my physical therapist about everything. And before we got started he fixed my back and hip. Those people are incredible. I noticed while doing my exercises– the clamshells were much harder and the stability exercises… I was falling backwards instead of forward. When I stand on one leg I normally fall forward. I almost fell right off the machine, and backward, which would have been terrible as the physical therapist was with another patient and no one had a gait belt on me.

But remember what I said about lunch? I was starving. And I seemed to be recreating the same scenario as some of my other falls– busy day, discomfort, hunger… if I went home and ate a big meal (which diverts blood into digestion), would I fall?

I went home and The Teenager promised me a big dinner of chicken parm, cheesy garlic bread and brussel sprouts. I warned her that large meals might be part of the fall formula, so she followed me to my room after we ate. She stated that she didn’t like the way I was wobbling.

Good news is I haven’t had any low blood pressure since I ate that entire Little Caesars pizza Saturday night. Bad news is, the binge made me regain the five pounds I lost.

But at least in my dreams last night I had a good time– as I was apparently dating a man with dark hair and a Tesla. I very much enjoyed his company, and he appeared to enjoy mine. This wasn’t our first date, but it was definitely a new relationship.

The sink hole, the medical stuff and the backwards rune

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment
Me, in a chair identical to the one the dog ate, waiting at the hospital

I feel like garbage: exhausted, headachy, ears ringing, like I might come down with some horrible flu at any moment. I just got home from my CT scans, one with contrast, to double check that there is nothing interfering with blood flow between my brain and my heart. And upon attending a follow-up with one of my doctor’s residents today, they want to do a tilt table test to rule out POTS.

Awesome.

I just drank about 16 ounces of water and wolfed down an Abe’s Mom’s Gluten Free coffee cake muffin. I’m pretty sure it was nutritionally void but it tasted amazing. It tasted like the whole thing was made of coffee cake crumb topping.

Work this week has been really good– except for the fact that I was in intense pain Monday, and then I nailed it Tuesday (and discovered the extra energy came from my blood pressure being higher than normal), and then I hurt on Wednesday from overdoing it Tuesday.

I came home from work yesterday, went to the chiropractor, canceled my session at the gym and was asleep by 7 p.m. and I slept until 5 a.m.

Speaking of work… two bits of news from the Bizzy Hizzy. My favorite sinkhole opened again and it got filled again this week. And they were giving out random PVC pipe. Of course, the teenager wanted one.

I used the bathroom at the doctor’s office and I noticed a strange pattern on my favorite jean jacket. It looks like a rune. So, I posted it on social media. And it looks like a potential bad omen. It looks like Raido, “the journey,” backwards.

Mixing business with pleasure

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

I’ve been making friends in the writing community for decades, and collecting artists along the way. One of those writing friends is William D. Prystauk– from a chance meeting at a literary event for Kaylie Jones hosted by Laurie Lowenstein– which had to be 15 years ago.

Bill and I would meet for coffee at Lafayette College’s Skillman Library and talk writing for hours. We’ve even seen Gorbachev together. And he’s nailed my kid in the face with a frisbee, probably one of the first signs she had ADHD. She couldn’t stop talking long enough to notice the frisbee sailing toward her.

Bill is also the author of the Kink Noir series: Bloodletting, Punishment, Debauchery and Bondage. I asked him if he could bring Parisian Phoenix Publishing some inventory for the upcoming April 29 celebration of National Independent Bookstore Day we are holding in collaboration with Easton’s Book and Puppet.

While Bill is not officially one of the Parisian Phoenix authors, he did appear in our 2022 anthology, Not an Able–Bodied White Man with Money. As publisher at Parisian Phoenix, I try to promote the hard work of authors that appear in our books, even if those other works do not appear in our stable. That’s one of the benefits of working with a tiny craft press.

Bill and I went to a new business in my neighborhood, Plants & Coffee. They literally opened last week. Bill and I are whores for good conversation, environment and taste-bud experiences. He tried their mango spritzer, and I went for the lavender rose basil spritzer. I love lavender. I love rose. And the mix… greenery surrounding us, the calming lavender and the exoticism of the rose, which reminds me of the Arab sections of Paris…

The shop itself is in a building where I once toured an apartment that could have come straight out of a 1970s porn set. The commercial space was most recently some sort of discount produce stand, and if I remember correctly had some makeshift arcade for a while, and prior to that what Bill referred to as the best Mexican food he’d ever had in this life at a place called “Garibaldi’s.” I remember it, but I never ate there.

So imagine my surprise when I walk into this gleaming space of black, cream and greenery. Small touches like books, retail items and couches providing so much softness and homey feel.

I will be back.

(Meanwhile The Teenager is at home getting her newly adopted rats situated.) They are fitting right in to the menagerie. She adopted them from the Harrisburg Humane Society.

And we also went for sushi at Jasmine, which I often think is Bill’s real reason for coming to see me.

The mysteries of the week: work, physical therapy, a killer workout and an almost fall

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Author’s note: It’s my normal bedtime. I’ve been up since 4 a.m. I’m exhausted and my blood pressure has fallen to 103/58 while texting an update to my friend M. But if this is a rambling mess– not my fault.

First Three Days Back

That went fast. I truly love my work colleagues. I love our diversity and how we care about each other. I can honestly say that except for a certain someone I have managed to find the bright side of every person I have met in the warehouse. I hit 100% every day, if we got non-production time for the nine minute emergency meeting about dirty panties. Don’t ask. We all know people are disgusting.

It felt great to move and do again, and I took my blood pressure cuff to work so I could keep an eye on changes in my blood pressure. Standing and working and probably the heat in the warehouse do make my blood pressure rise by the end of the day, 128/87 today, 126/89 yesterday and 121/86 Wednesday at 3 p.m.

But by the time I got home and sat down a bit, that went down.

I have been super careful about what I eat, drinking water, consuming caffeine and sugar, taking my various medicines to my muscle relaxers to my anti-histamines.

My walk has been smooth, and today, my body didn’t even hurt like it often does after work.

Physical Therapy

Even with my blood pressure doing crazy things and having given my all at work, I went to physical therapy yesterday afternoon. My physical therapist pushed me, and it wasn’t easy with my right hip aching and being so fatigued. Because I’ve been doing so well he increased the intensity of my exercises, and I still did really well.

And the youngish, teenish girl at physical therapy beside me saw me on the balance machine and asked, “when do I get to do the fun stuff?”

To which her therapist replied, “Once you have the strength.”

My physical therapist let me go without the last new exercise he was concocting because I looked tired. Tired, I thought, tired??? I was beat. Exhausted. Hurting.

Steak Tacos

I’m not a big meat eater. And I was so completely wiped I was really tempted to have a bowl of raisin bran for dinner and call it a day. But I forced myself to stagger into the kitchen and slowly, but surely, brown and season some blackened sirloin and roast some cherry tomatoes for tacos. I sliced some jalapeno cheddar. Heated the corn tortillas by covering the meat with them. And then I stuffed the tomatoes, cheese and meat into the tortilla and put it all in the air fryer, hoping to make the tortillas crispy and the cheese melty.

(Author’s note, again: Speaking of cheese, The Teenager is driving to the Humane Society of Harrisburg tomorrow to meet a bonded pair of rats she has been approved to adopt. They are named Cheetos and Tostito– I suggested keeping the names and referring to Tostito as Toast, to which The Teen replied, “and Cheetos could be cheese!”)

When I took the tacos out of the air fryer, I arranged them nicely on a plate, arranged some potatoes beside them. I topped them with lettuce, herb cream cheese (we didn’t have sour cream) and my favorite fresh salsa. I went to carry them to the table and I tilted the plate and the tacos slid off.

To the floor.

Our very dirty kitchen floor.

I collapsed beside the pieces of my tacos. Then, I moved aside and told the dog to go ahead.

I wanted to cry. I reassembled a couple more tacos, but no air fryer, no herb cream cheese, and everything was cold.

Tonight’s Workout

Andrew at Apex Training worked me hard tonight. We did upper body strength, some cardio and some balance and stability. He even mentioned he order new tiny balance trainer/balls for individual feet because “we might need them.” I love Andrew’s honest desire not only to keep me working out– which is really what I hired a trainer for, to make sure someone made me workout and monitored my form so that I did not hurt myself– but he also works to help me improve my health in addition to my fitness.

All of the guys at Apex Training have been so good to me, and they have been instrumental in keeping me motivated, sane, and committed to overcoming all this crap that keeps coming my way. I don’t bounce back quite like I did when I was younger, and I am so grateful to have these gentlemen on my team. I might not be as athletic as I really would love to be, but Andrew has helped me become the best version of myself I can be.

The Evening and The Almost Fall

The Teenager made “radiator pasta” — radiatori — and mixed in some black olives, some sausage, some mozzarella, and some marinated roasted peppers. I ate too much, but damn did it taste good. We ate about 7 p.m. I took my medicine at 6:20 p.m.-ish. About 7:30 p.m., we went upstairs. I had my hands full and I felt myself sway. But I did not fall. Went about my business, but did check my blood pressure. It was dropping. I hung out with The Teenager and my cat Fog in her bedroom, and while I was walking around her room, I started swaying more insistently. I took my blood pressure again. It had dropped even more.

I showered. Another drop.

I drank my electrolyte drink. My blood pressure raised by five points, top and bottom, but an hour later, by the time I wrote this, it dropped again.

And my pinky has been tingling like crazy.

Walking into a birthday party

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I returned to work today, after a month and two days away from the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy.

My blood pressure started normal– which has been unusual– so I almost didn’t have my morning coffee. But it wasn’t quite 5 a.m. and I thought that I should find out how much caffeine does impact my blood pressure.

I went for my blood test, and my phlebotomist asked questions about working for Stitch Fix, and when I answered them, she initiated a conversation about how striving for a career isn’t as beneficial as we all once believed. She pointed to the medical industry. “It’s not easy. Everyone’s burnt out.”

I’ve said for years that I’m tired of the stress and I’m tired of an employer benefiting from my creative energy. I told her about my little side business and she nodded knowingly.

When I arrived at work, I found my name on the morning head count and went to find my table. My usual table. My boss stopped me and said he thought they changed my table, which another supervisor confirmed, but then someone was at the new table, so I was sent to my regular table.

“Welcome back,” she said. “Some things never change.”

“Well,” I replied, “they did paint the bathroom.”

Much to my surprise, they raised my table to the height I requested so that was amazing. And Southern Candy was across the aisle from me!

My entire day was delightful. It turned out the Bizzy was celebrating its 7th anniversary with a birthday party, pizza and cupcakes. The team got new, vibrant tie-dyed t-shirts and wore them for photographs. A lead brought one to me and I put it on over my existing t-shirt to join the crew.

I made more than 100% on my numbers, which no one expected me to do, and I was pretty proud of that until one little five minute interaction with someone who was “dealing with the rejects.” Now, I’ve had interactions with this person before and it’s the one person in the whole warehouse who lacks diplomacy in her people skills.

And the funny part of what I’m about to type is that in my previous interaction with her, about six months ago, her complaints about my work were quite similar.

She tossed the box on my table. She might have dropped it, but it seemed like she was throwing it with emphasis.

“I’ve had to deal with six of your rejects today,” she said.

I was embarrassed, and running through everything I might have done six times. I’d completed 100 boxes at this point.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Let me see.”

She moves aside and points dramatically at the fix. “Your sticker is off center.”

“I can redo it,” I said and reached for the package.

“I’ll rewrap it,” she snapped at me.

“I’ll be more careful,” I said. “But it’s my first day back today, so I must have turned it and not noticed that it was off center.”

“Well, you have to go slower.”

“If you see anything else I need to be aware of, please let me know,” I said.

And she left.

I don’t like the way she handled the interaction. As a figure in a position of authority, she did not have to wait until six of my boxes had such a rookie mistake to mention it to me. Maybe, if she’d mentioned it at box three, she wouldn’t have been so annoyed with me. I know why it happened– and why I didn’t notice– and I spent the rest of my day being ornery about my sticker placement.

I don’t mind feedback. I love being told how I’m doing. Here’s another way she could have approached it: “Hey, Angel, I’ve been fixing rejects today and several of yours have had off center stickers. Can you address that?”

Words matter.