Back to Work

As much as I've enjoyed this impromptu summer vacation, whiling away the hours in bed watching television and corresponding with all of my lovely readers, I was eventually forced to admit that if I wanted to continue receiving paychecks whilst in absentia from my dimly-remembered day job, I would have to clean myself up, put on a collared shirt, and trek an hour or two out to Ashburn and reconnect with my employer. I was a little wary of returning to the office for a few reasons:

1. I'd probably have to actually do work again. As rotten as my hospital experience had been at times, I was never pestered to meet any of my job obligations - a huge credit to my boss.
2. I'd have to resume commuting five days a week. Without going into a lot of discussion about it, my drive to and from work requires about 2.5 hours a day. You think swords are dangerous? Try risking your life on the DC -> Ashburn 66/Dulles Toll Road corridor every day.
3. There would be Questions. I wasn't sure how or if I'd explain what really caused my absence. Did I want to be known as Rex Libris around the water cooler?

All of these issues were pushed roughly to the back of my mind as I set out Wednesday to brave the hazards of DC's traffic thoroughfares. 35 minutes into it, and I'd just left DC. "This drive is longer than I remember...", I recall thinking. Eventually, the colossus of my employer's main campus swung into view, and I relaxed as I settled back into the start of a very familiar daily routine.

Once inside, I was greeted warmly, and (predictably) peppered with questions. I'll credit my coworkers; they were polite, friendly, apparently only concerned with my immediate wellbeing, and unabashedly curious about the swaths of gauze and tape I'd hurriedly affixed to my surgery site that morning. Unfortunately, I'd been a little too quick; the bandages were poorly taped, and I later realized the ugly valves and angry red wounds had been peeking through the whole morning.

I was given the morning to get settled, and I was left to myself as I checked email, reoriented myself in my cube, and set up IV stands and my TPN sack. Some of my closer colleagues asked questions about my hospital experience and the purpose of my medical accessories. I was happy to talk about the superficial details of my situation, but by mid-day, I could observe a change in the expressions of some of my coworkers. "So," I thought..."do I tell them?" I decided to be honest; if anyone asked me to tell them exactly what happened, I'd reward their boldness and tell them. Otherwise, I'd simply had an accident. A bad cutlery accident. I doubted it was very convincing, but what did I owe anyone? The specifics of my case were mine to share only at will, and anyone who knew me well enough would know of this blog already.

In the end, no one did ask. There was a little confusion, but I think most people gathered that I'd slipped and cut myself badly with a kitchen knife. I feel a little bad for not being as honest with them as I have with almost everyone else in my life, but I couldn't honestly invent a reason why any of my coworkers - almost all of which are virtual strangers, no matter how blandly friendly - needed to know the whole strange story. I think it would have confused them, and possibly done more harm in the long run to my reputation. It's a very conservative work environment.

In hindsight, my only troubling thought is that a coworker might suspect I'd attempted to take my own life. I truly hope no one suspects that, but I doubt I'll ever have a chance to set the record straight unless confronted on the issue.

Overall, it was an easier return than I thought it might be. Life went on without me, but there's still a place for me, and I have enough work to jump back in and stay occupied for a very long time. I am a bit of a strange sight, with my IV stand and collection of medical tchotchkes littering my desk, but there's a simple comfort in having a task to perform. Paradoxically, work can be relaxing after a long, troubled rest.