Sick leave

I’ve been on sick leave since Monday night.

Monday, I went to work sick. I had to meet one of my super-superiors. How could I call in sick to that? I didn’t have the guts, so I went to work and told myself I would go to the doctor during lunch time. Easy peasy, I’m super Excelita.

I get through the morning as best as I can and take a taxi to the hospital.

Three (very nice) nurses tell me I cant see a doctor until 5pm.

I cry.

I try to explain that I have to be back at the office for another meeting this afternoon. They say I’m sick. I say yes, but I have a meeting to get to.

So I come out, crying because being sick makes me cry. A suit crying in the street draws unwanted atention, but I can’t help it.

I go home. I eat one cookie – the only thing remotely appealing – and I get back to work.

After work I finnally see a doctor. He says “poor thing”, hands me a bunch of drugs and asks me to take sick leave. I consider giving him my first born.

I spend the next four days feeling guilty about the leave. And then feeling stupid for feeling guilty for being sick.

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