Going Back To Work After My Ectopic
I’m always impressed with the stuff women have to put up with. The way we have to deal with things and carry on as if it was nothing.
Remember Fleabag? Remember that poignant scene. It got me, almost four years after my ectopic, it still got me. It was refreshing to see miscarriage portrayed on a tv show and it was an ah-ha moment of how women deal with it. Not wanting to talk or tell anyone, not wanting to disturb the ones around.
[More about my Ectopic Christmas and its Aftermath.]
I had my surgery on the 21st of December and two prescribed weeks to recover from it. “You can ask your GP for more if needed.” This was about a month before being entitled to sick pay from the company I was working for. More weeks meant no money.
I remember feeling bad for missing work at such a critical time, knowing how short-staffed and busy they were. I didn’t like my job, the location was bad, the customers usually awful, but it was my job, my responsibility. And the reality is, my ectopic was being an inconvenience to my coworkers.
I remember worrying about the end of the month, I had no idea how much money I would receive. But the worst was the thought of going back to work. I wasn’t ready to face my colleagues, let alone to talk to customers all day. Small chat was not what I needed.
When I found out what was happening to me, I told my line manager (a woman my age) and not my manager (a man in his 40s). It felt easier to talk to a woman. And on top of it, he was an idiot — probably still is.
I knew she would have to tell him, I just didn’t want to be the one doing it. I asked her not to tell the others. Again, this is the kind of thing you don’t feel like sharing, especially not with people you don’t have a close relationship with. And you don’t want to get more pity looks or pats on the back or questions you don’t feel like answering. Anyway, I’m not sure if she told them or not, we all know how these things work.
I was so worried about my mental state — the anxiety of being surrounded by people when all I wanted was to be alone in silence— that I didn’t even think about my physical condition.
So two weeks later: a short walk to the train station; 30 minutes on a train; stairs; standing on the tube; changing to another tube; a longer walk.
By the time I stepped inside my workplace I was drained. But it was time to put on a brave face, time to pretend I was coming back from a really long flu, or whatever. Time to pretend I didn’t need to cry, time to pretend I was ok to talk to people all day with a smile on my face. Because when dealing with customers there are certain standards that have to be met.
Have you ever considered that the person who didn’t provide you with the service you were hoping for, with the enthusiasm you wanted to, maybe was just dealing with something bad, like a loss?
Thankfully, I had a two week holiday booked so I only had to manage a week before having a break from all the pretending and the consequent exhaustion.
There I was, physically fragile, mentally destroyed, still doing my job better than some would. Because, ultimately, I had to.
It doesn’t take much to know that in the workplace women are seen as liabilities. Because we get pregnant, we have kids, we go on maternity leave, we get miscarriages and ectopic pregnancies. As if men had no role, no responsibility in any of this.
It’s all on us ladies!
Misogyny is a bitch and double standards a never-ending story.
I served a few customers before my line manager called me aside. We were alone and she asked me how I was.
How was I? I was in that trauma stage where you can’t answer that question without bursting into tears.
She was calm and empathetic. She gave me a tissue, told me her sister had been through the same and was (at that time) pregnant and everything was going really well.
It’s nice when people give you a bit of hope in a hopeless moment.
I thanked her, pulled myself together and went back to serve more customers. Small chat had never made me feel so small.
I knew that at some point my “disappointed manager” would want to talk to me. I also knew I wouldn’t like that talk.
A few months before, my partner was having some health issues. There was a particular day I had to call and say I had to stay home to help him out. No, it wasn’t the man flu, things were pretty scary back then. I’ll never forget that phone call…
Manager: Doesn’t he speak English?
Me: Of course he does.
Manager: Well then you can come to work. He can call an ambulance if he needs one.
True story!
So what to expect from the interaction that was about to happen? Low expectations are the key.
Not long until he approached me with his coldness asking me to meet him in his office to do the return to work paperwork. He already had my sick note on his hands. He already knew what had happened. Google was already a thing four years ago, so all he had to do was googling it!
Again, I felt like I was in a movie scene, inside a closed office with no windows. Entrapped with this idiot, seated in front of me, playing bad cop. The anxiety increased as he made me feel under pressure. Staring at my medical report that he decided to read out loud:
“Salpingectomy… hmm… So what exactly is this?”
Yes, he made me explain and say it out loud while he worked on his apathy. Yes, I meant apathy. As if he didn’t know already. No, he wanted me to explain.
To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much from him. From the guy who used to patronise me, tease my accent in front of everyone else and correct me in a snobbish way.
I’ve dealt with bullies from a very young age, you can sense them at a distance.
But as if his apathy and inconvenience wasn’t enough, he added:
“Were you trying to get pregnant?”
SILENCE.
I took a deep breath and answer: “What difference does it make?”
He should’ve just acknowledged how unprofessional, unethical, misogynist his question was. Instead, he continued: “It makes a difference if you are thinking about starting a family as it changes your previous work expectations and it explains why you asked to be transferred closer to home.”
“I asked to be transferred to a better location because this one is awful; because commuting is exhausting; because I want to be in a nicer place, and mostly because I want to be treated with the respect I thought I would get from you.”
It’s what I should’ve said. I simplified saying that wanting to start a family or not, a ten/fifteen-minute commute gives more life-quality than over an hour and a half. I don’t remember much more from this interaction and luckily it didn’t take long to be transferred to a nicer place.
I’ve learned a lot from being bullied as a kid but I’ve learned a lot more from being bullied as an adult.
All the times we accept things because we’re taught that’s what we have to do. All the times we let others step on our suffering because they’re in a position of power. All the times we let them undermine us because we’re not given a voice, because we’re the weakest link. All the times we silence ourselves.
What society expects and demands from women is surreal. The brainwash we go through our entire lives is sickening. The prejudice against us is bizarre.
Going back to work after my loss was hard for many reasons. I was already feeling like a failure in my personal life and on top of that, I was made to feel like a failure in my professional life too.
But as a woman you get used to these things, they’re part of your journey. And after many years of brainwash, you go on, accepting them as normal.
If you’re one of those people who don’t get why women get so angry and defensive, know that it’s because of all the “normal” inequity we have to put up with.
Sharing my personal experience with strangers isn’t something I do lightheartedly, but reading other’s stories has helped me a lot. It’s important to speak up, to demystify the taboo subjects that in 2020 should no longer be treated as such.
“What does a miscarriage feel like? It feels as if you have been short-changed by nature. You will cry for what might have been but nobody will understand because they didn’t feel it.” — Unknown
❤
