January 25, 2014

I've never blogged before, so...new experience! And why not? I'm trying to re-design life (again), and I love to write. I've certainly written journals before--lots of them. They're good for thinking things out, and I have a lot to think about.

I've been unemployed since June, 2010. God, that's a long time! 

I never wanted to be unemployed. I was working at a job I loved, with people I cared about. I enjoyed the customers. I would have been happy to stay. And stay. And stay. 

But, no. 

I wasn't fired, or laid off. I had to quit--or likely end up in the hospital.

It was so frustrating! After years of working as an Optician, suddenly I developed allergies to my workplace. After nearly 3 months of trying to remove mold and any other allergens that we could think of, I was wearing a mask at work, sitting right next to an air filter much of the day and unable to speak above a whisper. I suffered several asthma attacks a day, sometimes coughing so hard I'd end up vomiting.

Still, I hoped that we would come up with a way for me to stay. I didn't want to be without a job. How would I pay the bills? What would I do with myself? Where would I ever find people so wonderful to work with and for?

Then came the day when a new customer came in, saw me in my mask and rapidly backed out the door despite my assurances that I had nothing contagious.

I was bad for business. It was time to go. I gave my notice and my boss began looking for a replacement for me. Two weeks later, I was out the door.

Depressed and sick as a dog, it took nearly 2 months to get my voice back--sort of. I searched online for another job, filled out applications, made a resume and started going out to search in nearby neighborhoods.

I visited other Optical offices, believing that my allergy was only to mold. It was not. I'd also developed allergies to acetone and spray cleaners. I found that I couldn't tolerate being inside anyplace that had an on-site lab. I couldn't be near a building that also housed a nail salon. I couldn't stay anywhere when someone was washing windows with spray cleaners or cleaning a floor with pine-sol. I couldn't leave my house without an emergency aspirator. I still can't.

To top things off, the arthritis in my hands started getting worse. Winter arrived and with it came increasing joint pain. My doctor gently suggested--not for the first time--that it was time to apply for Social Security Disability.

Now, I had been resisting that application since a car accident in 1994. My back was badly injured, and even after surgery I have suffered with the residual pain. But, by God, I could still walk, and I kept working. 

After a second car accident in 2002 I had two surgeries on my shoulder and an MRI of my back revealed degenerative disc disease and the fact that I have a congenital nerve defect in my back that cannot be repaired. 

Whatever. I wasn't giving up. My asthma was under control. I could still walk and so I kept working.

Well, I could still walk, but I could no longer do the work I'd spent most of my career doing, because I could no longer breathe within the work environment. My hands could no longer reliably perform the tasks necessary for the job. 

I decided it was time to retrain. I called Vocational Rehabilitation and made an appointment to see if I'd qualify for their help. They ordered my medical records and approved me.

Then my councilor recommended that I apply for Social Security Disability.

I felt a little ganged up on. To prove everyone wrong--and give myself a boot in the butt and make myself work harder to get a job--I applied.

Withing five months, Social Security had made me an appointment with one of their doctors.

Within six months, I started receiving disability. No denials. No lawyers necessary. 

I know it's stupid, and I know I should have just been grateful, but I cried my eyes out. Disabled! Me? No, no. I can still walk! 

Well, Vocational Rehabilitation has allowed me to go to school and obtain a Certification in medical coding, and I know that as long as I can find a location that I can breathe in, I can work again. I can be good at this. I graduated with honors, and I passed that certification test, which was not easy. 

But I'm terrified, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I'm over 50 and, like it or not, I have disabilities. Who is going to want to hire me? I'm not afraid of the work, I can do the work. I'm afraid I'll get hired and then discover that the building I'm in has a mold infestation, or the person in the next cubical wears perfume, or the cleaning staff uses chemicals I can't tolerate. 

I don't want to feel this way. 

I've applied to several places now, and so far, no one has called. I want someone to call, but I'm scared that I'll go to a job interview and suffer an asthma attack. I'm afraid I'll have to explain the three and half year gap in my job history and the interviewer will decide I'm not worth the risk. 

Sometimes I'm even afraid to leave my house.

Fear sucks. 

And on that note, I think I'm done writing for now. 

Over and out. Good night.