It was hard deciding what I should do about revealing to my employer that I had MS. Had my diagnosis come just a year prior, there was no doubt in my mind what I would have done. I would have picked up the phone and called my boss, probably within the first week. I know for sure I would have heard nothing but encouragement and reassurance. But times, and management, had changed. It was a whole new ballgame, and the coach was making cuts to the team daily.

I was worried about my job. To others, my fears were probably ridiculous. My work record for 20+ years was spotless. I had nothing but glowing reviews from current and former coworkers and managers, and I provided exceptional productivity and unparalleled support to the company and my team. Yes, I know this sounds very boisterous, and that I am tooting my own horn. I am not one to brag, am embarrassed by the attention, and would prefer to stay hidden in the crowd versus being upfront. But guess what? I’m totally tooting my own horn. I kick ass. But the problem was, I had absolutely no doubt in my mind a spotless record and years of hard work weren’t going to cut it in this new environment. The sale of the company was rough, and the damage was done. Families were broken, jealousy was running rampant, management was scrambling to make needed repairs and cover up mistakes, and some of those left behind were a constant reminder of better times. Yep, I was definitely worried about my job. And then I found out I had MS. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. Some days I would wake up ready to tell my company about my diagnosis, but I would change my mind by evening. On other days it was the opposite. I can’t tell you enough times that I am terrible at decisions, even really simple and easy ones, and this one was far from easy. I was a confused mess. I made a list of pros and cons, spoke to friends in HR and management to get their advice, and researched online until my eyes crossed. There was no clear answer, and ultimately, it was up to me. Wonderful. After lots of thinking, worrying, praying, and meltdowns, I finally decided revealing my diagnosis couldn’t possibly hurt my already sticky situation. I even thought maybe, just maybe, it might actually help me in the long run. Yeah, I was stupid. But a girl can hope.

I scheduled an appointment to speak with my HR Manager before I could talk myself out of it. My initial plan was to keep my recent MS diagnosis between us for the time being, and possibly speak with other members of management at a later date. The flare-up that led to my diagnosis was beginning to subside thanks to the high-dose steroids I received, and other than fighting lingering invisible symptoms like fatigue, numbness, pain, and brain fog, nobody could tell by looking at me that I was any different than just a few weeks before. A bonus was that I worked remotely, so even on the days that I struggled with symptoms, I was still able to work and meet deadlines, I just did it in my pajamas or camped out on the couch in the living room. My kids were back in school, and my husband worked outside of the house, so I had an empty and quiet place every day to work. It was ideal, and I felt lucky in many ways. Now, if I could just get this pesky MS documented, then I should be good. Yep, I was still stupid.

Most of our office staff works remotely, so I felt confident that I could slip into the office for the meeting and right out afterwards, with no one the wiser. Since I was on scheduled leave that day, nobody was expecting me, and I felt like I could get in and out without any issues. HR was located on the top floor of our building, along with other key members of management that typically are on site, but their proximity to where I would be would make it possible for me to go unseen. As it is with many other companies, if you are seen going into a closed-door meeting with HR, rumors start, and that was something I wanted to avoid at all costs. In and out. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.

The meeting with HR was…interesting. Having worked at the company for over 20 years, and the HR Manager still being fairly new, it was honestly hard to feel completely at ease with the subject at hand. Worse, there were comments made that were very questionable, in my opinion. More on that later. Regardless, I guess it went as well as it could. I expressed my desire to continue working in the same capacity as I always had, and how happy I was, as well as my neurologist, that I was able to work remotely. I made it clear that I had every intention to continue the same work ethic and diligence I have had since day one. When we finally started wrapping up, I felt better about letting HR know about my diagnosis and was happy that I made it into the office without seeing anyone. Everything was done, now I just needed to get out…

BEEP, BONK, BEEP, BONK. Lights were flashing, the sound was deafening, and for a split second, I was pretty sure I was having an episode and would die soon. I realized very quickly though; it was the fire alarm. Dear God. Of all the days, of all the times, and of all the people for me to be with. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I started to panic and kept thinking to myself, maybe it will stop soon, maybe we don’t have to leave, maybe, maybe, maybe. Fat chance. My HR Manager shot to the door and opened it as everyone convened in the hallway. She came back in and said we would head to the stairs. Why me?? Why now?? Seriously?? Not only was I getting ready to parade myself in front of everyone as I came out of the HR office on my scheduled day off, but now I would have to go down almost four flights of stairs, with numb feet and legs, and dizziness. Some days I can’t make it upstairs in my house without being winded, I knew there was no possible way I would be able to handle this. I slowly walked to the hallway, hoping and praying that something would happen to stop all of this. Maybe everyone else was ignoring the siren (haha), maybe they already made a mad rush for the exit (yeah, right), or maybe the building really was on fire (wishful thinking). I turned the corner and came face to face with other members of management. “Well, shit,” was the first thing that popped into my head. Those in the office that day gathered around, and while some were trying to figure out the cause of the alarm, others were trying to piece together why I was in the office on my day off, and why I had just come out of HR. The look on their faces said it all. I just opened a can of worms and there was no chance of getting the lid back on.

When I left the office and headed home, I was at a loss for what to do. I was sure the inner office rumblings had already begun. I knew I needed to get ahead of it, especially if I wanted to have more control of the conversation. I called my husband, my mom, and a friend to get their opinions, and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I had decided this was a sign to go ahead and talk to members of management. I had already documented everything with HR, what was there to lose at this point? I refused to let myself stress about what to do this time, so I sent a meeting request as soon as possible and started counting down to the day I would see them face to face. I tried not to let my nerves get the best of me. These were people I had known for a very long time. We had dinner together, attended sporting events together, our families had spent time together and we had all watched our children grow up over the years. These were not strangers. But when the meeting arrived, they might as well have been. The people in the room that day weren’t the same people I had known most of my adult life. They were different. Cold. Distracted. All business. Little compassion. Even with the office dynamics the way they had been since the takeover, and the rumors that had been flying, I guess I still had a tiny glimmer of hope for the future. Nope. Nada. Zilch. None. I left the meeting trying to tell myself I did everything I could. I had expressed the same thoughts and feeling as I had with HR. Loved my job, still planning to do it, no difference in performance, happy to be here, thrilled to have the opportunity to work remotely, yadda yadda yadda. I wondered if it had fallen on deaf ears. I also wondered what would happen next. I had opened the can of worms and now I had spread them all over. No going back now.

But days passed, and nothing happened. And I began to think, maybe all is good. My health is good. My job is good. Things are good. This seems to be a pattern for me. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. And for the next 3 months, things surprisingly kept going up. My health improved. My job improved. Things in general, improved. And all was good. Until it wasn’t. And it didn’t just go down. It caught fire, nosedived, crashed, and burned to a crisp.

Looking back on it now, I thought talking to my company was a good idea. If I could, would I change what I did? Maybe. Would it have had a different ending? I don’t think so. I believe my future was already decided and my diagnosis only delayed the inevitable. I’m pretty sure the minute I walked out of the office, management convened to discuss their next strategy, and I had just given them insider information on how to strike.

Well, I did say I kick ass – apparently, I kicked my own this time.