The Invisible Black Woman

While I was doing my level best to not freak out at the absolute notion that I hadn’t been to work in a minute, I wish I could tell you they made it easy. That they were supportive and sent a fruit basket or flowers or anything to show any shred of care or concern.

But every action they took in the days leading up to and immediately after my monthlong hiatus announcement made it clear that I made the right decision for me. Sure, it started with an act of violence from my boss who turned me over to HR when I indicated I would be out the rest of the week. I wish I could say that’s where it ended. Once it became clear to me that they were essentially washing their hands of me, I decided to send my notice of medical leave to HR and leave it to them to figure out how to break the news. Since they weren’t interested in “dealing with me,” I took it as a hint to deal exclusively with HR.

Once I got the notice from my physician that indicated I wasn’t to participate in any “work-related activities,” I sent that to my HR rep. I asked her how this should be handled, since I hadn’t told my supervisor and I also asked her to please keep the details of the letter confidential. Granted, my physician hadn’t gone into any explicit details, but I felt that my supervisor revoked their right to know any of those details the moment they handed me over, like a bad debt you sell to collections.

My HR rep was great. Annette took the time to say she was sorry I wasn’t well and that she hoped I felt better. She also told me I had a right to privacy and no details had to be shared with anyone, including herself. All I needed to do is provide that information to the insurance who would handle my claim. She then turned me over to the disability department so I could find out next steps.

That’s where the fun began.

For starters, Shannon clearly had never met an email she couldn’t skim poorly. So despite the fact that Annette very clearly stated I didn’t have to discuss the particulars and the details could remain confidential—so much so she didn’t include the letter from my physician when she connected me with Shannon—she started her letter to me with, “hey, girl, I don’t see the letter you referenced in your initial note.”

Ma’am, please have several seats.

“Anyway,” she continued, “here’s the form you need to fill out. Let me know a good time that we can have a quick chat.”

My response to her was, “thanks, I’ll fill out the form as requested. If I have any questions, I’ll let you know in a few days.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” she said. “I’ll talk to you then.”

I decided to ignore her persistence and keep it pushing. I was still having pretty frequent “episodes” at the time: my heart would gallop, my chest would tighten, my breath became irregular.

Having more time to focus on myself and less on work, I was able to suss out that the only trigger for these episodes was work. Whether I was turning on my laptop to write an email or if I was thinking about the shitstorm I would come back to. Everything having to do with work brought on these episodes. It got so bad hubby and I realized I had to just stop talking about work and what I thought they were or weren’t doing in my absence.

I submitted the FMLA request that morning, sent to the disability department and a Cc to my boss as instructed. Just adding them to the Cc line made me all sorts of anxious. I kept my email short and sweet and looked over the form at least thirty times if not fifty.

I was dreading the mountain of emails so much I got in the habit of filtering the results to just FMLA or STD, so those are the only hits that would show up. That way I could pretend I was in an isolated bubble where I didn’t have to deal with anything else.

Before I jumped out of my inbox, I noticed an email at the very top from my favorite person: Shannon. She wanted to let me know they’d received my claim and when would be a good time for us to have a quick chat.

So I decided to be much more forceful and explicit by letting her know I was not able to talk on the phone. I didn’t feel the need nor have the desire to explain to her that the very idea of talking to her or anyone at work on the phone had my anxiety at a thousand. Having to correspond with them via email was bad enough.

I told her I would only be checking my work email infrequently, so if she needed to reach me, she could reach me on my personal email. I let her know that I submitted all the necessary paperwork and that if anything else was needed, she could reach me there.

I kid you not, I got an email less than an hour later to my personal email.

“Yes, girl, I need to talk to you. I need to go over next steps with you, so let me know a good time we can talk.”

Jesus take the wheel.

I decided to ignore her, but much like an unwanted fungus, she followed up a few days later.

“Hey, girl. So the insurance has your paperwork, but they need your physician certification. Let me know a good time to talk, okay?”

I followed up with another email indicating that I was not in any condition to talk on the phone and that I needed to focus on my health. If there was anything that was needed or missing, I would be sure that everything was submitted according to plan.

She chose violence.

Next thing I know, I get a call, presumably from her boss, saying how they didn’t get a chance to connect with me and she’d love to talk to me on the phone and to let her know a good time. This felt very much like that bit back in the day from the Black comedian about bad debt collectors, who harass you mercilessly and track you down no matter where you are, and greet you with, “do you think we don’t intend to get our money?” That bit was a lot funnier than what I was experiencing.

Now it had gone from annoying to flat out suspicious. Why the hell were they so insistent that they needed to talk to me on the phone? Also, why were they disregarding my repeated statements that I couldn’t talk on the phone? Did they think they could suss out in a phone call if I was sick or not? Were they really that pressed to know what was going on with me? Did someone put them up to it? It made absolutely no damn sense. It also didn’t help my anxiety levels. I had submitted my claim, I knew what paperwork I needed to submit, what was the big deal? Why did we need to talk on the phone? More importantly, and God forbid, if I was hospitalized in a coma, would they still insist on talking to me? It’s almost as if there was this unspoken belief that if I was able to type, I could talk. The idea made me as angry as it did anxious.

So I decided to call Employee Assistance. Surely they’d help me figure out what to do. I’d started copying HR in hopes they would intervene, but they were eerily silent. So I got the sinking sense I was on my own on this. I waited a few minutes before someone picked up the phone. I took some deep breaths to steady myself best I could and began to tell them my issue.

“I’m currently on disability and I need to know what my rights are.”

“Okay, ma’am. This is a legal issue. Let me connect you to the right department.”

A few minutes later, I’m on the phone with Gail who asks how she can help.

“Hi, Gail, yes, thank you. I want to know what my employee rights are.”

“Where do you live?”

I told her where I lived, but that my employer was in a different state.

“Okay. Let me give you the number to the bar association for that state.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think you understand. I’m calling as an employee to get help, so I know what my rights are as an employee.”

“Ma’am, I am helping you.”

“By giving me the number to the bar association? Really? I’m sorry, I thought employee assistance meant you actually helped employees. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone and sat there in disbelief.

I’d told hubby I planned to call them. Almost on cue, he came around the corner.

“What did they say?”

“Absolutely nothing. They wanted to give me the number to the bar association in the state where I work.”

“Say what now?”

“Yep, they wanted to give me the number to the bar association.”

“Wow. But aren’t they employee assistance? Aren’t they supposed to help employees?”

“That’s what I said!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “This is more like employer assistance! They are clearly not looking out for employees.”

“Are you gonna call the legal place?”

By legal place, hubby was referring to the law office we kept on retainer. And by retainer, I mean we pay $30 a month for legal advice, and that most assuredly counts.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to. This is getting ridiculous and now I’m worried they’re gonna try something.”

“Good idea.”

So I opened the app and submitted the issue to LegalShield.

While I waited, I decided to try something crazy. I reached out to Annette, my HR rep, and leveled with her. I figured the worst that would happen is I wouldn’t hear back and by then the attorneys would call us back.

I emailed her and asked her for help. I told her I couldn’t speak on the phone and despite my numerous statements indicating as such, I got a call from someone else insisting I call them. I ended my short message by asking her what my employee rights were.

A little over a day later, I got a response back. Annette told me she confirmed that all my paperwork had been received and was under review. Going forward, if they needed to talk to me, they would communicate with me via my personal email.

I felt a big weight fall off my shoulders and I ran to tell hubby the news.

The biggest takeaway from this whole situation I learned is that people will only do what you allow them to. And the words employee rights in a carefully worded email to HR can go a long way.