Category fitness

Pregaming Thanksgiving

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

If you miss my ridiculous banter, you may want to visit ParisianPhoenix.com because most of my activities now relate to the publishing company because I’m trying to develop enough business to make a living now that Stitch Fix has closed its Bethlehem warehouse.

Speaking of Stitch Fix, one of my friends who has gotten fixes religiously since I started with the company got an email today that whatever warehouse shipped her fix instead of ours did not scan the package as it left the facility so neither Stitch Fix nor the carrier has a record of it. Therefore, if she does not receive a fix today or tomorrow, she is to let them know as then they have reason to believe it is lost.

Yup. Did I ever mention that we were the most efficient, safest working warehouse in the network?

Random Cat Photo:
Touch of Gray

Anyway, back to my day. I started my day assisting the Teenager with course registration at her college. She is studying BS psychology and had a good plan. She had courses and backup courses and I planned on catching up with my NaNoWriMo word count (if you don’t know what NaNo is or you have opinions about the NaNo controversary, my take is here) before meeting Nan and a poet friend.

She could not get into ANY of her classes, nor ANY of her backups, nor ANY classes at all in her department. With my help, we found Intro to Women’s/Gender/Sexuality studies, Theory of Religion and Intro to Sociology. She’s also hoping– but probably doesn’t have a chance–to get into astronomy. The professor was on of her pet-sitting clients.

With this new course load, I think she should apply for an interdisciplinary major of her own design, the new BA in Cult Leadership.

I managed to pull 500 words for my novel before heading out to get Nan.

I decided to give Nan her “Christmas present” early. I put that in quotes because I would have gotten it for her regardless of the season. It kept popping up on the available Amazon Vine items that I can review. If you’ve heard about Nan enough, I probably don’t have to tell you she LOVES NASA. She has followed the space program since before man landed on the moon.

Nan won’t go out for the day if there’s a NASA event going on. She has cable simply so she can watch NASA TV.

I got her a decorative desk piece that has an astronaut on the moon with some sort of moon lander or rover. And the space suit has a ledge where you can place your cell phone and the lander thing is a pencil can. The most impractical gift for a blind person. It’s a sculpture you can’t see, with features for items you don’t use.

I’m relieved to say– she loved it. She loves that she can put her two pens that she keeps for sighted friends on her desk. She loves that the sculpture has enough detail that she can look at it. And she loves that for the first time, she has something space-themed she can display.

We took it up to her room and arranged it on her desk and headed to our appointment. We had made arrangements to meet a new friend, we’ll call her the Italian Poet. We were workshopping some of her poems.

Now here’s some motivation/inertia for you: If you write, paint, photograph, whatever, you must find others who share your artistic sensibilities and draw from their energy. Sometimes you share feedback, sometimes you seek inspiration together. Sometimes you learn, sometimes you teach. But the union of people in a space can build spirits and keep you going.

And after Italian Poet encouraged me to pursue my educational goals and I prodded her to finish her Ph.D., Nan and I embarked on our annual tradition: Gobbler bowls at Wawa.

We live a simple existence. Then we taste-tested a peppermint watermelon sparkling water. Nan did not approve. I did. But, as Nan says, I do seek out the weird stuff.

The Teenager used Nan and I for a photography project.

I went to the gym for leg day where I squat 120 pounds on the barbell for eight solid reps. Definitely liking that!’

When survival means blending the personal and the professional

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This week I have been laid off for two months. It’s hard to believe how the time slips by so quickly. I look at my calendar, perplexed at how it can always be so full and wondering if it will ever yield anything of note. And perhaps it doesn’t even matter.

I haven’t offered much in the way of personal blogging recently. I have been piecing together clients, hustling to make a buck, volunteering and showing up more than I should in order that I might build relationships that go somewhere. I hope some of the ties I have forged in the last eight weeks will create the kind of ties that yield interpersonal rewards even if they don’t present professional ones. Because in the end, if you foster the personal relationships, people trust you with their business.

But I realized yesterday, that I spend probably 8-12 hours a day reading, writing and/or editing and my poor brain never gets a break. So, I called Southern Candy and invited her over. She brought our favorite doughnuts (ours meaning she, myself, and The Teenager; flavor, sour cream) and despite the fact that I had a discount milkshake from Sheetz for lunch, I had a dougnut for dinner.

It looks like I gained back every ounce of weight I had lost since the gym initiated its Christmas resolutions challenge. With about eight weeks to go, my hopes of reaching my goal had dwindled thanks to free Big Macs and too much Dollar Tree snack products.

My mobility has been rocky. When my gait is stable, my pain seems high. When I’m not in pain, I tend to fall. Since I’m unemployed, I applied for medical assistance and if approved, maybe I could do some physical therapy. I can always use physical therapy.

As if reading my mind, I received an email today from my caseworker at Susquehanna Service Dogs about creating my Personal Placement Plan or my P3. I scheduled that Zoom meeting for the end of the month and have to say it’s exciting to think about what my service dog might be able to do.

It’s also interesting to see how different people react to a lay-off. I’ve had people seem as if there’s something wrong with me that I haven’t found a new job yet. I’ve had friends and clients ask if The Teenager and I are financially okay. And I’ve heard some interesting news that some people think they know and influence my financial affairs even though they haven’t spoken to me since before the lay-off.

The holidays are coming up, with Thanksgiving kicking off the season next week, and with so many family members who seem to have disappeared, including my mother and stepmother who don’t reach out to me anymore and I don’t understand why, I’ll be trying to create my own traditions and my own sense of what I want my life to be. But sometimes, and lately more often than usual, I miss my family.

100 by Christmas

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Yes, that’s Andrew and I

My trainer Andrew announced that he thought I could bench 100 lbs by Christmas. This was after I benched 80 lbs for three solid reps. It was a new personal record for me and another reinforcement that I have regained strength in 2023, despite the health issues.

I told him that after the Christmas season challenges we already have listed on the public goal board at the gym, we need to add the next goals for my birthday in late May and another set for my 50th birthday in 2025.

But, even while my strength increases, my stress eating continues. Now, I aim for 1300-1500 calories a day so that even if I “binge” I don’t do too much damage. Nowadays, I often hit 2000 calories only on a bad eating day.

Today for breakfast I did not go for my usual bagel with cream cheese, avocado or even more decadent brie. I had one serving of Cabot cottage cheese (it’s very decadent and smooth), a golden kiwi, about a cup of raspberries, and a cold matcha latte, my style, made with sweetened matcha powder, unflavored whey powder and unsweetened, organic coconut milk that was delightfully hearty and robust. The breakfast came to 400 calories– including the cup of coffee with half and half I had four hours earlier (and come to think of it, I never finished it. Not only did it have lots of satisfying fat to tide me, but it also had 27 grams of protein.

I have a networking event I plan to attend later in the day, at a brewery, so I had lunch at 2 p.m. and decided to stay with the high protein low cal effort. I used a whole wheat tortilla to hold almost a cup of chopped romaine lettuce and a serving of Penn Valley homestyle chicken salad. I added a small glass of diet Ocean Spray ruby red grapefruit juice and a dessert– Chobani zero sugar Greek yogurt. That meal was a little more than 400 calories and also 27 grams of protein, but I did not finish the yogurt.

Tomorrow I have a working interview, my second, for a job where I would need black pants. So, yesterday Southern Candy, The Teenager and I went to the thrift store. My four pairs of pants came to about $8, and three of them fit.

The Reunion Dilemma

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Tonight is my 30th High School Reunion, scheduled in the casual and amazing environment of Richmond Brewing. Our classmates own the establishment and have agreed to let us assemble and celebrate without a lot of formal to-do.

But I don’t know if I’m going to go.

I was on the reunion committee. I love the food and the beer at Richmond Brewing. It should be fun.

But I’m stressed and if I’m honest, I’m scared. And I think this is probably the first time I really wished my service dog was already here. Because having that dog would relieve some of the physical barriers to attending, which might help my emotional issues.

I’m already showered and dressed and ready to mingle. But I’m struggling with my own mobility today– which if you aren’t a regular reader I have diplegic spastic cerebral palsy which means I have issues controlling my legs. Last weekend I took a medium fall. I didn’t do any permanent damage, though I did damage my expensive glasses, probably delayed healing of my sprained right pinky, and got myself some nasty bruises and bumps on the head.

But today I fell again. This is is going to sound ridiculous (my trainer Andrew can probably vouch for me here, I think he’s seen it happen) but I can’t pick up my feet today. Primarily my right one. It’s dragging. It got caught in the cracks between the sidewalk and down I went. No damage, my Apple Watch didn’t even alert.

Which is probably a good thing as I’ve been enrolled in the Women’s Heart Health and Mobility Study at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Massachusetts and when I fall and my watch registers it, they call to check on me. I talked with them for a half hour on Monday.

I fell on the way to the gym, and my workout went fine, although at the same time, I struggled with some muscle control.

I went over to the Christ United Methodist Church for their craft and vendor fair where Joe Swarctz, our fearless illustrator and the creator of Echo City Capers, was selling the latest in children’s books. I didn’t fall, but every bump on the sidewalk or imperfection in the floor challenged my balance.

The Teenager has to work tonight, so I’ll be on my own for the reunion tonight. And I’m scared. It’s about 30 minutes up there, and with my recent layoff gas money is tight, plus I won’t be able to have a beer. And it would have been my father’s 75th birthday today, if he were still with us, so that has me in a horrible, dejected mood.

If I had my service dog, I would feel safer. I would at least feel more secure about my ability to navigate walking. And I would know that I would have another living thing there that could help me if something did happen. I know that all of my classmates at the Reunion would be helpful, but there’s a certain comfort from those who already know what you need and how to help. Because it’s a dreadful feeling when you have an accident in public, and people want to help and no one quite knows what to do or they do too much or the wrong thing.

I’m not sure what to do, but I know the choice is stressing me out.

But if my balance is already significantly compromised, I don’t know if traipsing around an old barn is a good idea.

4 months and 1 day

Angel Ackerman 3 Comments

I want to keep this one short. I spent a couple hours on a Substack newsletter for Parisian Phoenix (read that here), handled some business, watched some TV, did some job applications and folded some wash. I’m starting a new project for an important client tomorrow and attending some classes on websites, Google and SEO practices.

Yesterday, I attended the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group meeting, then ran up to Stroudsburg to support William Prystauk’s horror novel release for The Hanging Girl. From there, the teenager and I stopped at Wawa for a snack before heading to The End: A Bookstore to meet up with Ralph and Joe of Echo City Capers fame.

Speaking of fame, Joe made an appearance on Channel 69 Weekend Edition of the Morning News.

But then, upon leaving The End, the Teenager hopped over a tiny pile of stones to avoid going the long way to the parking lot. I followed. And my good/stronger ankle went out on me, causing me to slip in my slightly healed walking boots, and somehow I bounced off Joe’s parked car, narrowly avoided a concrete parker marking with rebar sticking out of it and smashed my right hand, nose, glasses and face into the macadam.

It’s been four months and a day since my last fall.

My gait was perfect. My blood pressure has been trending higher, but remains in the neighborhood of 120/70 vs the former 110/65. My heartrate and EKG are fine. I just fell. Tired from overbooking, stress from losing my job, awkwardness because of the rain, or all of it who knows. Life with cerebral palsy. Heading home with a fat lip and a bloody nose.

I did take a chunk out of my expensive glasses. The metal frame of the bridge cut up my nose. And the hand I f*cked up when I dove down the steps March 1 at Stitch Fix, it’s set back a ways on recovery. It’s torn up again.

But sometimes you have to remind yourself to be grateful.

Speaking of grateful, if you follow my Instagram you may have seen this fabulous hot lunch of Maruchen Teriyaki noodles, peas, Lightlife tempeh and fresh spinach I made for The Teenager and I at a cost of about $2.50 per serving. And 30+ grams of protein.

I am also grateful that Giant has a store brand version of Bush’s Vegetarian Baked Beans as the family size can of Bush’s was on sale for $3.09 and the generic was $1.69. The Teenager says the generic tasted exactly the same. I can’t give it that much of a rave review, but I can report it was a successful substitution. What disappointed me though was the honey beans I bought on clearance at Grocery Outlet.

Fifteen people who don’t matter & an advocacy story with an unhappy ending

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This week was hard. I thought it would be different.

So, last week 100 people got laid off. There was fanfare. We left at 9:30 a.m. with pay for eight hours. Supervisors, process leads and managers lined the walkways and wished everyone (even those returning to work on Monday) goodbye by name. There was hugging and frolicking, crying and laughing.

This week, because they laid off 100 people last week, we had to work every second of the 40-hour work week unless we took voluntary, unpaid time off Friday. And how much time depended on your department, whereas the week before everyone in the building left at the same time.

So a lot of people from support left after 9:30 a.m., returns left at 10:30, inbound left at 11:30, and QC left at 1:30. And leads and supervisors just disappeared throughout the day. One manager wished me well and said goodbye at 7 a.m. Which was rich, considering what happened at 6:30 a.m. But I will get to that.

There were only 15 of us laid off yesterday. I know numerically why 15 people are significant, but when 100 were let go the week before and then 15 each week for several weeks following, it really (in my mind) makes a statement of how impersonal and how meaningless each person is in the eyes of the company. Why not make it another large group? The psychology of realizing you are one of 15 people that the company picked to leave on this Friday, it’s awkward.

Because you’re singled out of a large group.

Now, imagine you’re me. I know I speak up when no one else will, and I know I have challenged the thought process of my leaders. I try to frame everything with logic, to explain why I’m challenging what I’m challenging, but in the end, some people don’t don’t like to reach beyond their comfort zone. And often they just don’t know what to do to fix it, or they feel helpless or they feel attacked.

Yesterday I reported to my assigned station, which has been changed over the course of the week because with the reduction in staffing we have new work patterns. And I told one process lead that I didn’t care where they put me for the week, as it’s only the last week and I don’t feel pressured to challenge my physical capabilities to meet metrics. Most people had stopped meeting their numbers on purpose.

So, on Friday morning, I reported to my table– which for the record, is a table I hated, but no one asked and I just sucked it up and did my job– and I noticed… No one else came near me.

It was my last day. And I think I might have been the only person in my little unit leaving that day (that didn’t take the day off) and now… I realize… there is no one else on either side of my line. I have no shipper, there’s no work for others. They moved everyone else and just left me there. This means all of my work will just sit on the empty line until someone moves it.

Probably because they know I have issues physically and struggle with table changes and more importantly, I have a big mouth.

I feel completely on display. I feel singled out. And at this time, other people are looking at me wondering why I am standing in the middle of a closed line. In the middle of a wide open space. Like there’s a big open field and I’m just standing there. By myself. On my very last day with the company.

And I’m thinking to myself, “See– even on your last day, you’re not part of this group. No one cares about you. You’ve seen how they treat their friends. You are an outsider and you always will be.”

My heart rate is 150/beats per minute. I’m starting to cry. I email my supervisor (although I know what needs to be done, and I will do it, but I want their to be a record, even if fleeting and electronic, a written record of the things that have happened to be because I have a disability).

I walk back to a process lead, and I said, while trying not to hyperventilate or scream or cry, “I know you probably think you’re being nice, and helpful, by not making me move, but do you have any idea how it feels to be isolated and on display on my last day here? I don’t care if it’s high or low, on the left or on the right, please find me a new table. Any table. With the group.”

And I told them– because now a group had assembled– that I would be back after I went to the restroom to collect myself.

I was told to pick any table available, and I said I would grab the first one I saw. And I did.

And that’s where I was when the boss walked up less than an hour later to say goodbye and said she hoped I felt better about everything about talking with everyone throughout the week. And I said no, I felt worse and I just wanted this day to be over. And that I didn’t blame any people, but that as we all know, every company has room for improvement and this is an area where changes should be made and I had hoped to advocate for that change. But I failed.

Or perhaps more accurately, I ran out of time.

This is why more people don’t speak up and advocate for themselves, because it’s hard. And it drains you more than you think. I only did it, at first, because my employers made changes that made me fear I would lose my job if I didn’t.

But I lost my job anyway.

Let’s return to the story about departure. Most people VTOed (accepted the voluntary time off without paid) except for those of us who knew this was our last paycheck and we needed every dime. And when we left– there were no supervisors, no leads, no managers. There was no fanfare. They just let us walk out the door.

Because the critical mass had left the week before.

And we were just a handful of random people that didn’t matter.

87% and placated

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Tomorrow is my last day at the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy. Tomorrow is my last day, as I told my cat Fog, that my alarm will go off at 4 a.m.

Today, I am tired. My blood pressure seems to have come down, but my ears are ringing and my chest is tight. My workout last night worked out the kinks, and while I am stiff, very stiff, I don’t have any pain and my right leg which was giving me trouble yesterday has improved.

Speaking of my right leg (and hip), I managed to get off the floor from my knees leading with my right leg and not putting my hand on the ground not once but THREE times at the gym yesterday.

But what I really wanted to right about was the fact that yesterday at work was worse than the day before. I was back to table 33, which was the table I didn’t like on Monday. The line itself on 3B seems to catch in that area, so I spend much of the day fixing other people’s boxes as they clog the line. The support post for the line is immediately at my left, which means to put my box on the line, I need to lean forward or back. And every time I need a box, I have to wiggle it around the line.

On top of that, we’ve had a couple weeks of short days, so my body has forgotten how to work eight hours. And I don’t mean that as some sort of funny statement. My body relies on routine, because my lower body muscles can’t relax (that’s what spastic really means) and my brain can’t properly communicate with them (that’s the cerebral part of cerebral palsy; the palsy is the paralysis). So this is like starting a brand new job physically (which reminds me of all the terrifying parts of starting a new job).

On top of that, my meeting with the one person staying with the company that was supposed to talk about disability advocacy within Stitch Fix and how accommodations need to be consistent and fair… Well, while I adore and respect the person I met with… I got the feeling it was about placating me and not making change. The meeting was scheduled for 15 minutes (and is not an amount of time for meaningful dialogue). He listened and performed all the good listening skills. But he didn’t write anything down. He did not suggest a call for action. He did not even say what he could or couldn’t do.

He just basically said I was right and if I needed anything to let him know.

And then his phone buzzed. He got distracted. And he kept looking at his watch. Then he apologized and explained he had another meeting and had to go.

So my requests to write a letter to corporate have been ignored. My requests to discuss this with our human resource department have been ignored.

Needless to day, I went back to my station discouraged and a tad devalued. But that’s how it goes when you’re just a cog in the wheel and in this case, the wheel has been removed from the car and the car is trying to run on three wheels.

(Yes, I know my grammar is bad today with some truly admirable run-on sentences but it’s not even 5 a.m. and I’m exhausted, stressed and emotional.)

My Stitch Fix neighbor has been moved to table 68, so I don’t have her to offer any confirmation that this stuff is happening. And I keep stationed near all the pregnant women who get to request different help based on how they are feeling each day, while I have to advocate for my approved accommodations at least once a day.

I literally left the floor yesterday and went to the break room early when the same person who style carded my fix wrong (if you want to see the video of me tossing the whole fix in the return envelope unwrapped I’ll link it) took my empty cart and replaced it with another, which IS NOT HER JOB, and did not adapt the cart to match my accommodations. She then, seconds after, went to her pregnant friend behind me, emptied the bottom four shelves of her cart which IS NOT HER JOB and is not the accommodation I’ve seen done for anyone before, and then proceeded to help her fold her fixes.

Now, remember Sassy or Spicy or whatever her nickname was? She returned to the medical field, but she was part of our second shift crew. There was a day shift girl struggling after working hard all day. So Sassy helped her. She folded some clothes and gave them to her to scan and box. Sassy was chastised and told IT WAS A GROUNDS FOR TERMINATION. But, apparently, if you are friends and pregnant the rules are different.

Look– I have no issue with these people on a personal level, friends should do nice things for friends. BUT at work, in a large group setting, these small acts of friendship or kindness when not offered to EVERYONE around you regardless of how well you know them, especially if performed by a person in a position of authority, are favoritism. And allowing peers to treat peers differently based on personal relationships is also favoritism.

And favoritism can also be referred to as discrimination, and discrimination against certain groups, like say… the disabled… well, that’s illegal. On the federal level.

I really hoped if I were polite, and filled out all the paperwork, and kept asking, I could get them to listen. I can’t believe at my age I can be that naive.

I did 87% yesterday. And I busted my ass to do it. I almost asked to use my leave, but then I remembered numbers no longer count and it’s my final days of any income. So I suffered. And left in a lot of pain.

But my process lead made me laugh which lowered my heart rate which had been elevated all day. And then Gong Obsessed threatened to take a certain returns binner and his poorly performing peers into a classroom to tutor them in how the alphabet and numbers work, because “it might help them in their next job.”

And I got a craft paper dispenser to bring home, which they gave craft paper away a few weeks ago so I’ve been waiting.

More unintended advocacy and nursing a bruised soul

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Three more days.

Three more days and Mercury comes out of retrograde.

Three more days and my tenure at the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy comes to an end.

I had a job interview yesterday that led to a second interview Monday.

And yesterday was the two year anniversary of Parisian Phoenix Publishing, and I found out yesterday that Parisian Phoenix did not make it to the finalist round of the Innovative Voices program of the Independent Book Publisher’s Association.

What do all these things– well, everything but the whole Mercury retrograde thing– have in common?

Me. Still talking about disability.

I’m struggling. Change happens. I get that. But I just feel like everything I’m trying to do becomes a pile of various obstacles, so am I on the wrong path? All summer I felt like maybe I was finally headed toward new beginnings and small successes, but now I have my doubts.

And even things that should be success feel like delayed failure.

I’ve gone over the finalist list for the IBPA Innovative Voices program twice now, and I asked The Teenager to take a look. And she confirmed what I thought. Every finalist is a person of color/BIPOC or representing the gay/LGTBQIA+ community. Not a single disability voice among them. And then the teenager said it, “Well, Mom, color and sexuality are how most places do their DEI.”

It has taken me 40 years to accept and embrace my disability, and now that I have not only accepted it but worked to be a voice of advocacy, I open myself up to a whole new level of hurt.

Which brings me to work today.

Monday my table got moved. Today it moved again. But surprise, surprise, I liked today’s table (even though the air was stale and hot). And then… it happened. Because I was on a different line, I had different support people. And the support person on my line did a very sloppy job of presenting my work. Meanwhile, on the other line, a different support person presented someone else with similar medical accommodations a cart that was tidy.

It might sound petty. But because the company allows each individual to work such situations out with their peers, this leads me to feel like the person who brought me my cart resents having to help me.

And so I went to my supervisor. And I reminded him that all I wanted was to be treated the same. This other person has a temporary (and technically voluntary) disability that has lasted about six weeks. I have been dealing with this for more than a year. I have been disabled and will be disabled my whole life. The person with the temporary disability gets fawned over by her peers– including one peer who literally marches up and down the aisle telling all of us to help her.

So today, she gets the work from the bottom of her cart placed into boxes with pack slips placed neatly on top, and I get my work thrown on top of the boxes which are placed on their side on the top of the cart in a great big heap.

And once again, I ask my supervisor to help me find out if Stitch Fix has a policy in place to promote consistency between disability and medical accommodations. He promises me a chat later.

I go back to my table. A lead brings my next cart, and she doesn’t address my accommodations at all.

When the outbound manager walks by, I mention this to her.

And in the afternoon, I sit down with my supervisor and a manager and we discuss again:

  • how my accommodations have been inconsistent and I don’t receive communication about how or if they will change.
  • how other people with what appears to be similar accommodations receive “better” or “more” attention than I do.
  • how too many people are given the power to make decisions about how their peers will be treated
  • how disability is an issue for any workforce, whether a person has a disability, ages into a disability or has a temporary disability.
  • how Stitch Fix’s approach to inclusion for disability (and their ‘communities’ to support such efforts) focus on mental health and neurodivergence
  • how Stitch Fix has made it difficult for me as a person with a permanent disability, especially since I was moved from the job I was hired to do and they changed how our job performance was measured.

Tomorrow I am sitting down with the health and safety manager for our facility, as he will be moving to the Phizzy in Phoenix. Whether you call it favoritism or discrimination, my experiences have been frustrating. The company maintains that medical accommodations are extremely personal, cannot be policed by leadership, and rely on relationships between peers which assume people will do the right thing.

So, what if they don’t?

I have been working with the same people for more than a year. They know. And I feel like this work-it-out-amongst-yourselves approach has led to people claiming medical accommodations when they don’t actually have then.

Random Thursday nonsense: a trip to the neurologist, strange items brought home from a warehouse, the start of goodbye… and caramel apple coffee.

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I feel a little guilty right now because The Teenager has a sore throat and what appears to be the start of an ear infection. It’s a common occurrence for her and nothing says “back-to-school” like an ear infection on a 95-degree September day.

I had a good day, and despite my ongoing sensation of exhaustion (none of us who work at the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy sleep well these days) I am experiencing an emotion I think I recognize as joy. It is bittersweet as I had to say goodbye to two work friends today, and many more will go tomorrow.

Speaking of the warehouse closure, I’m starting to feel unsure whether we are closing a business or a preschool. Today’s free pile included lanyards, insulated branded lunch bags, gift bags, inflatable guitars, bingo cards, and raffle tickets. Yesterday I brought home stickers, pipe cleaners, serving trays made out of cardboard-ish, egg carton material and I almost had a collapsible storage cubby but a random elderly colleague came over, took it out of my hand and said, “excuse me, that’s mine.” I handed it over because 1. I’m not acting petty over free things and 2. I was taken aback (but not surprised) by the gall.

My neighbor whose nickname I can’t recall had the other cubby and she offered hers to me, but I declined. She picked hers up fair and square. And really, I don’t need more random stuff.

I’m going to bounce around in this blog post, but I’ll try to use subtitles.

Sharing my words

So I went to my neurologist/physiatrist today and I gave her one of the Parisian Phoenix books, Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money. We had talked about it the last time I saw her and she told me to email her the info because she wanted to buy it. No one has ordered that book since the last time I saw her, therefore I thought it was safe to bring her a copy.

She started flipping through it right away. She teasingly chastised me for distracting her, and I told her that next time I would save books for the end of the visit. She also mentioned she had a patient whose wife was considering approaching a breeder about a mobility dog prospect for her husband, and she (my doctor) wanted to know the name of the program where I am on the wait list.

My doctor believed it would be too much expense and too much of an undertaking for this couple to buy a dog and have it trained as a service dog, especially since they don’t even seem confident that a dog is right for them. My doctor suggested looking for a program, and I offered to speak with them if they so desired.

When I left the office, I discovered organizers of the Artful Dash on the Stirner Arts Trail here in Easton reached out via Instagram to ask if they could use photos from my blog to promote this year’s 5K. I, of course, gave them permission.

Medical stuff

Today was my last specialist appointment before my benefits change. My team and I seem to be on the same page, and they appreciate the fact that I pay attention to my body and try to implement lifestyle habits to counteract any health issues.

My gynecologist, primary care physician and my neurologist/physiatrist all agree that some of my current stiffness and bladder issues may stem from a combination of stress and change in exercise habits. Now that my increased sodium intake seems to have eliminated my orthostatic hypotension and decreased my fall risk, I am working on losing weight (ten more pounds off by Christmas I hope) and paying more attention to my urination issues. My current management of my potential incontinence symptoms includes using a toilet every time I see one, and honestly, unless I start having recurrent issues in public I’m not concerned. It could be, my neurologist said, that my theory that my days of bad spasticity means my bladder might be having spasms, too.

And the random tingling limbs so far is not a cause for concern. But, as always, I have a list of symptoms to watch for.

Random Caramel Apple Iced Coffee

We received Wawa gift cards at work last week and I stopped yesterday and got a caramel apple iced coffee. Now, I don’t normally like Wawa’s iced coffee. It’s too weak for me. But the cold brew was a $1 more and I’m cheap.

It was delicious, though I do wish the coffee were stronger and they never put enough ice in there so it’s always warm by then end. Because I don’t normally drink sugary coffee I was buzzed by the time I got to the gynecologist.

7 more days

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I wake up at 4 a.m. It’s ridiculously early, but it allows me a bit of writing and thinking time before delving into my day. And the reality is here that I only have to do it seven more times. Some of my friends are leaving Stitch Fix this week, one is done tomorrow. We are all human so some people leaving tomorrow I won’t miss, and many I’ll never talk to again.

Every job loss experience is different– and no matter how much warning you have or how prepared you think you are, it takes a toll.

People will offer advice, or enthusiastically recommend avenues of employment that won’t work. Some people begin to critique your finances, which isn’t any of their business, as they gently suggest maybe you shouldn’t have taken your daughter to the movies last week. (We saw Strays and the Barbie movie, because both have some significant statements on society’s behavior while maintaining humor and also, well, being a certain level of amusingly dumb.)

My daughter started college at Lafayette, and I wanted to celebrate this milestone with her, but we both have more commitments than time and sense. So to sit in the dark together and laugh seemed a good use of our time and money.

My doctor sent me a note that he’s concerned about my elevated cholesterol, total 183, “bad” cholesterol 107, which has me a tad perplexed because it’s been at this level for three years and we all know my diet needs work and has had some recent challenges, especially when I’ve used fast food to quickly raise my sodium levels.

I reviewed my food diary from this summer and there were only two instances all summer where my daily cholesterol was more than 200 mg/day, when the daily recommendation is under 300 mg/day. I think as I focus more on returning to a better weight, as I work to improve my mobility, this situation should improve. Probably more than half my diet is plant-based.

Speaking of health and mobility, Susquehanna Service Dogs sent me my paperwork for my six month check in. Everyone on the wait list must check in every six months.

Today I go to the gynecologist for my annual. Tomorrow I have my final check-in with my neurologist/phsyiatrist before losing my insurance. (We’re going to discuss my increased stiffness and recent reliance on my chiropractor and my urinary issues.) And Friday I visit my chiropractor.

I also received my first shipment of products through Amazon Vine. Amazon contacted me since I tend to leave reviews on the products I buy and offered to make me an official product tester. They asked me to test a purse organizer, which seems a strange product to offer, but The Teenager has put the item to work. We also received a pair of pet nail trimmers, which were very nice, and a bird toy which the cats loved but Nala is not so sure yet.