This week presented many challenges. Monday I was hurting, probably from too much computer work during my 10-hour weekend editing sessions each day. I survived Monday, but barely, only to learn that Tuesday I would be moved to a different station in the Stitch Fix warehouse.

Change is never easy– but in this particular instance, as a person with a documented disability and doctor-derived medical accommodations, I struggle in my normal environment to perform at the same level as an ordinary employee. And that’s my job, to do the work, with a reasonable amount of help.

The main consideration used by management to determine assignments on the warehouse floor is table height. Is the work surface the appropriate height to match the ergonomic needs of the employee? In my case, my performance also relies on which side of the line I am on and who is “on support” that day. I work on “the B side” which does not mean I am not a radio song. It means the conveyance system that moves the fixes to the next stage of the process is on my left side.

I rely on my left side for balance. Therefore, to minimize potential issues with my hip and ensure my balance and stability, I need to work on the side where I turn to the left to put my boxes on the line.

My original table assignment for Tuesday was on the right, or the A side.

Requesting a B-assignment got me moved from line two to line four, which meant I would no longer have my regular support team. (That’s the role of the people who deliver work and supplies to those of us who fold the clothes.) I have been told that it’s my job to remind these folks of my medical needs. And they don’t always like that. So it makes me uncomfortable. Because in my view, it’s not my job to tell someone else how to do their job.

And to make matters more fun, it’s up to the individual to decide how to provide my accommodations. The deviations are small, but the impacts are major. The cart typically arrives with eight fixes on four shelves, with five to eight boxes lying horizontally on top of the cart. Most people move the boxes (I often take them) and pile the work from the bottom of the cart on the top. Some people even put the fixes from the two bottom shelves and place them in boxes on top.

I don’t even ask that pack slips be placed with them. I have myself trained to flip them to match the new order. Which confuses everyone but me.

This particular day, my support person, who I believe is a delight, so this is no reflection of who she is as a person, decided she would place the clothes around the boxes without moving the boxes at all. She tucked them all over the boxes. Which meant if I moved the cart to my station or reached for the boxes, the clothes fell on the floor. How does this help me? Keep in mind– I go through three carts an hour.

I eventually complained to a supervisor and said something like this:

“I know it’s too late now, as we’re closing, but there really should be a system in place where Stitch Fix defines what the accommodation is for the doctor’s orders, because it really shouldn’t rely on individuals who don’t understand the disability. And maybe it’s a violation of privacy, but those of use who need the extra attention should be arranged together so support automatically knows if we’re in that section, we have an accommodation and it would also cut down on people requesting accommodations when they haven’t done the paperwork.”

The supervisor said that was a great idea and lamented that I hadn’t mentioned it earlier. I didn’t mention it because it’s basic logic.

Somehow, I survive, and I make numbers. My body is so twisted I can feel that if I move wrong I’m going to pull a muscle in my lower back. But it’s okay because I have the chiropractor on Wednesday.

And then I get the table from hell on Wednesday. It’s the right height, right side, good support people. But it’s a front-of-the-line table, so I have to keep pushing the boxes toward the end. The fan keeps blowing my pack slips, which means I need to tuck them under my craft paper roll instead of on my laptop keyboard. But I keep forgetting, which means every cart I repeat chasing a paper, and tucking the others under my craft paper roll. My scanner keeps disconnecting from my computer. And if I need to go get a large box, which is common now as we are transitioning into winter clothes, I have to walk to the back of the line to get it.

These things add ten to thirty seconds to every fix. That’s 40 minutes over the course of the day. And I finished at 91% which is bad enough to get me a warning. And so I’m stressing, which tenses my muscles, and since my neurological condition already creates issues with my muscles not relaxing just makes everything worse.

And midday, the leaders got out an inflatable beach ball so every one could bounce it around to each other. That upset me more because I don’t have time to have fun. How dare they think I might be able to survive this and have fun?

Nicole Jensen of Back in Line Chiropractic aligned my lower body and stretched out my legs and I left her able to stand up straight and move my legs without stabbing pain.

This is where the difficult mental part of disability takes over. It’s so much easier to give in, to rest, to eat ice cream and watch TV and be done. But I knew my body needed to stretch and move in order to correct whatever issues had been caused by my misalignment and muscle tightness.

My brain and my muscles don’t have good conversations– so it seems like I can to manually perform a motion for a while to teach my body how to do it, even if that is reminding it how feet go or how a gait is supposed to work. That’s why I go to the gym. Not just so someone forces me to exercise, but also so someone can make sure I am using body parts correctly.

But I have to tell you, I dreaded going to the gym. I had been in pain all day. I wanted to take a hot shower and go to bed.

Andrew texted. He had a situation at work. Maybe the universe thought I needed a break. When Nicole works on me after such bad body pain, I’m often achy the next day.

Then Thursday went fine. Great even. But the pain crept back Friday, not nearly as bad but it took me most of my day to get my metrics at work to solid ground. And Friday night I went to the gym, and despite how I was feeling, I had fun and did well with some heavy weights.

I made some salmon and trendy smashed potatoes with vegan tzaziki sauce for dinner and the Teenager loved it. I fleshed out the writer’s proof for the erotica book. And went to bed feeling like I had been successful.

This morning I got up, discovered I had low blood pressure after I took my beta blocker (oops) and had a light breakfast– coffee with PB2 and cream, PowderVitamin Electrolyte Powder Plus in strawberry cucumber and these breakfast biscuits from Olyra. I thought they’d resemble a Reese’s peanut butter cup or a Tastykake Kandykake.

They were hard, dry and the peanut butter cream was minuscule and didn’t even moisten the cookie. Terrible. And I love their yogurt breakfast biscuits so how could this taste like someone managed to shape chocolate-flavored protein powder into a cookie?

Anyway, the moral of the story is: sometimes what you can achieve one day is much less than what you achieved on a different day.