I’ve been going through a rough time, as have many people who have emotional challenges that pre-date this pandemic. I’ve weathered a bunch of obstacles pretty well. These included such adult tasks as buying major appliances like a new refrigerator and new microwave. It turned out the fridge was too big for the space in my kitchen by less than an inch ( yes, I measured it, but apparently incorrectly).
I returned the fridge, but the store didn’t have another one that fit into my space. I was without one for several days while I searched the Internet madly and finally found a one at a better price, but in the meantime, a couple of hundred dollars of food had to be tossed. It also took numerous calls with being disconnected and put on innumerable holds to get my refund, but finally it showed up.
I was telling Dr. Lev all this and she said I handled it well, but that was on a Tuesday, several weeks ago. On that Friday I got hit with about thirty new cases, without warning. I watched the computer dump them into my queue, three or four at a time. I couldn’t keep up with processing them. I felt powerless and resentful. Inadequate, as I felt as though the old me, with my old brain, prior to the stroke, would have been able to handle this with grace and ease.
At one point I gave up, turned my back on my desk and started sobbing. My rescue dog, Shelby roused herself from her nap on my couch and trotted over to give me a slobbery kiss.
Several months prior, with the support of my neuropsychologist, I requested an accommodation from my company, on the basis of the disability caused by the stroke in the realm of residual cognitive deficits. I’d asked that my caseload be capped at 50 which was denied. And here