Don Quixote Is A Scary Guy

I spent my entire day yesterday dealing with Don, the hurt guy. It started with a phone conversation in which he told me the insurance company had denied his claim and that he didn't understand why his foreman, his manager and I have "turned against him." I chose not to comment about either of those issues. He then wanted me to read to him the First Report of Injury he filled out the day he came to the office. Um, no. I told him that I've sent two copies and, if he didn't receive either of them in the next couple of days, we should make arrangements for him to come by and pick it up. Of course, that's the last thing I want to happen. I think registered mail is the answer here.

Don assured me that the injury was work related and that he just has a really, really, really high tolerance for pain. Well, if you say so, Don. Again, I chose not to comment. He disputed the date of injury as established by his foreman. Don's certain that only three days elapsed between hand fracture and noticing something was dreadfully wrong with that appendage. I pointed out numerous times that my only role in injury cases is to fill out the paperwork. That's not exactly true, but I don't feel impelled to be completely honest with Mr. Quixote.

Don ended the phone call by informing me that he's going to contact an attorney. Fine with me. I told him that it's certainly his right to do so. I wonder if he truly thought that threat would change anything. There's an established process by which one contests the insurance company's decision. Litigation isn't included in the options. Not for a while, anyway. Don will discover that soon enough.

I chewed through a lot of time filling out the interminable paperwork, writing letters and making copies for Don Quixote and the insurance company. I talked with the insurance rep several times and Hemorrhoid Guy a couple of times. We established that, since the job is completed, everyone (including Don) would be officially laid off as of yesterday afternoon. H Guy wanted to know if we should just let the union inform him of the change in his employment status. I advised that a phone call would be preferable and less likely to inflame an already tense situation.

It was then that the real news cropped up. When Don started working for our company a couple of months ago, he thought it wise to share with H Guy that he didn't voluntarily leave the state in which he formerly resided. The prosecutor in his home town told Don that, if he left the state and never came back, they'd drop all of the numerous domestic violence charges against him. Now why would you share that with a new employer? That Don, what a master of office politics.

Having lived 18 years in a very violent household, this news got my attention in a big way. Remember that Don has actually met me. If he's going to be violent with anyone, it will be me. Men who hurt women generally aren't brave enough to try to have physical confrontations with other men.

It strikes even me as a little much to fear retaliation against me. On the other hand, I've seen enough guys showing up at their former places of employment with a butt load of armaments to make me anxious. I issued an alert that Don must not be allowed in the building. I'm being more cautious when I arrive before the sun is up. I'm exercising more caution generally, for the time being. As silly as that seems.

Of course, some people do get hurt (and sometimes badly) through no fault of their own. I would never dispute those claims. However, it's worth noting that in the past ten years of worker's compensation duty, every time someone has told me how long they've worked in the industry, it's been followed by a very long and very expensive recuperative sojourn on the sofa.

All of this makes the pending nipple torture a lot more palatable. The conundrum of the day: Which is worse, dealing with Don or facing another episode of slice and dice? I'm in a quandary.

Important note: The full moon this month is known as "The Wolf Moon." That has to be a good omen, right?

A Nipple Waiting To Happen

Nipple reconstruction was postponed and I'd actually cheered up, thinking that we might not be able to reschedule it for a month or so. The nurse called me a minute ago to advise me of my new date, next Tuesday. She also advised me regarding what I can expect pre- and post-procedure. It does not sound good. More not bathing, more huge dressings. Great.

Prior to the cancellation of this week's scheduled nipple work, the Inner Fascist had a return engagement to help me cope with my anxiety. It appears that, when distraction finally fails me, self recrimination steps in to take up the slack. I noticed the Fascist voice very quickly this time and told her to stop. Loudly. Once was not enough, but at least I heard the inner taunting relatively soon after it started. Having made the connection between anxiety and the IF while I was in the midst of making myself feel bad was a big step forward. I'll have more time to practice by late Saturday afternoon, I'm sure. By then, distraction will have lost its power to disguise my anxiety.

Don Quixote in Crazy Land

It's a busy week, and a short one, since I'm leaving tomorrow for the land of the new nipple. Something about that strikes me as hilarious. Until I think about what it may entail, then it's not so funny. I'm using my usual coping mechanism of distraction.

Luckily, I have a lot to distract me. Last week, one of our employees (Don Quixote) phoned in with a broken hand. He allegedly broke it the day after Christmas, but didn't realize it was broken until three days later. Is that even possible? I've never had a fracture, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be able to feel it when it happens. There were witnesses around all day when Don was loading plywood, but none of them heard even so much as an "owie!" from him.

Hemorrhoid Guy (the unfortunate guy in charge of this slacker) had Don come in and fill out paperwork. I went downstairs to talk with him about the workers' comp process and he wanted to know where he could go to get his blood pressure taken care of. Seems it was a bit high when he noticed the broken hand and went to the hospital. I told him workers compensation doesn't cover high blood pressure. He seemed disappointed. I went through my whole song and dance. I thought we'd come to a meeting of the minds.

An hour after he left, the phone calls began. I spoke with him five times that day and at least twice every day after that. Don calls periodically to argue with me about whether he can use his union's health insurance to pay for things. He wants to know when he'll start getting paid. He's called about that a couple of times. Apparently it takes at least three repetitions of all information before it begins to sink into Don's dense brain. In our last conversation, Don complained that our insurance company was grilling him about the three days he was oblivious to his broken hand. Don is insulted that anyone would question his version of events. Yeah. Go figure.

I've done what I can for him. All of his paperwork has been submitted and I've spoken to the insurance folks. I also sent everyone an email telling them that, if Don calls, give him our insurance company's phone number. He already has it, but he's used that as an excuse to call me several times. I'd hate for Mr. Quixote to drive my fellow Crazy Land residents even more crazy.

In about 20 minutes, I have to attend a web seminar on terminating employees. Some people actually do get fired at Crazy Land. It just never happens to the people who work on site. I expect the seminar will take up the rest of my day.

The other big news is that the rash-like area on my left leg is spreading still. I saw the doctor again yesterday and she questioned me about ticks. Lyme disease, you know. I'm not aware of any tick contact, but they've been digging up the entire airport across the street and we've had some wild refugees (remember the rat pack?) who've emigrated. I suppose something might have been carrying a tick. I have hard-core antibiotics to kill it (in case that's what I've got). Meanwhile, we've done a biopsy and I'll get the results in a couple of weeks.

I've decided to put off starting the antibiotics until I have the nipple work done. Nipple work. Man, I crack myself up.