![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Dec. 3rd, 2009 07:12 pmYou know, this whole being a responsible adult thing bites ass.
So, I come home today to find out that the boy's work doesn't quite know how to cope with him... I'll back up.
So, the boy's been having arm pain, again. And he didn't actually tell me anything about this for six or eight weeks because he figured he was going to the doctor anyway, why bother. Or something. I don't know, and I want to hit him for that one. He goes to the doctor, doctor says he thinks it's this nerve pinched, here take these pills. Oh, and you can't be on the computer at work more than three days a week. Boy says fine, they can put me to work in the warehouse.
Turns out that no, no they can't. Or at least, they don't know how to cope with him working in the warehouse two days a week and on the computers three days a week. Never mind that they put him to work in the warehouse anyway when work requiring computers is slow. Somehow they can't quite cope with this, it being a medically related situation. I really feel like I want to go over there and smack a bitch, but I'm being a good kitty. I'm just fuming.
After that, I find out that possibly after the final solution for the ulnar (that's what they call it, anyway) nerve pinch, which is surgery to relocate the nerve, he may not be able to work at the computers for six weeks. Which doesn't seem to bother him, but it bothers the hell out of me. He says workman's comp will cover it. I don't trust workman's comp. (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
upstart_crow just gave me a very good additional reason not to, but the simple fact is I don't trust most places in the system. I just don't. I know it's supposed to be there for these kinds of things, and yes, sometimes it does work, but I really don't like living on the raggedy edge an facing the prospect that we might be one of those times when it doesn't.) Then he says, well if it doesn't there's always unemployment. Um. No. Just, no. See above about trusting The System.
I don't know what we're going to do. I don't know what we're going to need to do. But this is definitely not what I wanted to come home to. It bugs me that this is necessary, it bugs me that if he does drop down to three days at work a week he loses his benefits, it bugs me that they might do that, it bugs me that he might need to do that. There is no part of any of this that does not bug me, including the fact that the boy doesn't seem nearly as concerned as I feel like he should be. I could be wrong, but I am damn well pretty damn concerned, and he isn't. And that really bugs me.
We'll see if I get any writing or languages done tonight. I need some kind of break from reality, but I also feel too scattered to get anything productive done. At least I have chicken and dumplings, which is a tasty comforting dinner.
So, I come home today to find out that the boy's work doesn't quite know how to cope with him... I'll back up.
So, the boy's been having arm pain, again. And he didn't actually tell me anything about this for six or eight weeks because he figured he was going to the doctor anyway, why bother. Or something. I don't know, and I want to hit him for that one. He goes to the doctor, doctor says he thinks it's this nerve pinched, here take these pills. Oh, and you can't be on the computer at work more than three days a week. Boy says fine, they can put me to work in the warehouse.
Turns out that no, no they can't. Or at least, they don't know how to cope with him working in the warehouse two days a week and on the computers three days a week. Never mind that they put him to work in the warehouse anyway when work requiring computers is slow. Somehow they can't quite cope with this, it being a medically related situation. I really feel like I want to go over there and smack a bitch, but I'm being a good kitty. I'm just fuming.
After that, I find out that possibly after the final solution for the ulnar (that's what they call it, anyway) nerve pinch, which is surgery to relocate the nerve, he may not be able to work at the computers for six weeks. Which doesn't seem to bother him, but it bothers the hell out of me. He says workman's comp will cover it. I don't trust workman's comp. (
upstart_crow just gave me a very good additional reason not to, but the simple fact is I don't trust most places in the system. I just don't. I know it's supposed to be there for these kinds of things, and yes, sometimes it does work, but I really don't like living on the raggedy edge an facing the prospect that we might be one of those times when it doesn't.) Then he says, well if it doesn't there's always unemployment. Um. No. Just, no. See above about trusting The System.I don't know what we're going to do. I don't know what we're going to need to do. But this is definitely not what I wanted to come home to. It bugs me that this is necessary, it bugs me that if he does drop down to three days at work a week he loses his benefits, it bugs me that they might do that, it bugs me that he might need to do that. There is no part of any of this that does not bug me, including the fact that the boy doesn't seem nearly as concerned as I feel like he should be. I could be wrong, but I am damn well pretty damn concerned, and he isn't. And that really bugs me.
We'll see if I get any writing or languages done tonight. I need some kind of break from reality, but I also feel too scattered to get anything productive done. At least I have chicken and dumplings, which is a tasty comforting dinner.