Six Vials of Blood and a Cancer Scare

It was a Tuesday afternoon on a chilly winter day. I had managed to schedule an urgent lab appointment in between Scrum meetings.

I checked in at the counter. The receptionist kept her eyes low with a face full of disinterest. She picked up the printed vial labels and folded them via muscle memory. A sheet of paper continued to come out from the printer.

Ms. P (according to her nametag) spun around in her office chair to grab that extra sheet. For the first time in the five minutes that I stood there, she sat up straight, her eyes focused, and carefully poured through the tiny letters dotting the page.

Her hands dug around the desk for additional biohazard bags, additional labels, additional paper clips.

She handed me the thickest packet I've ever had at a hospital lab, and told me to wait for my number to be called.

I peeked at the sheet with terms longer than Mary Poppin's favorite phrase, English words that seem familiar yet I can't seem to process. I was immediately called into the blood draw station. A young and kind phlebotomist told me to take a seat, and I handed my stack of papers over.

He looked through the labels and took out empty vials accordingly, six total. Then he paused at that supercalifragilisticexpialidocious piece of paper, and looked it over three times to make sure he knew what to do.

I took a quick photo of the sheet before I had to give them up so I could review later. It was instructions on how much blood to take, and how to refrigerate it for a long series of tests.

For blood cancers.

For the next two weeks, I continued to schedule that same lab timeslot every other day in between endless Scrum meetings, so that they could take away six vials of blood in exchange for a sense of apprehension.

I was a healthy person before this. Even though I could eat less and exercise more, I diligently attended annual physicals, eye exams, and twice-a-year dental cleanings.

How did I end up with needle punctures and bruises all over my arm, and a favorite (and least favorite) phlebotomist from the many trips down the drawing stations?

There's no time to think about that, I have a Retrospective to run and an All-Hands this afternoon to attend, before meeting with Asia.

-------------------------- ## Spoiler Alert - No Cancer *phew* ## --------------------------

Did you know that severe burnout is more than the Sunday Blues, more than "Quiet Quitting", beyond anxiety, depression, insomnia, and fogginess?

I didn't know the physical impact of burnout until I'm at the peak of it. I knew I was exhausted and mentally drained. I'd logged off the work computer every day and could only spend the rest of the evening lying on the ground, barely with the energy to eat.

I had not had a full night's sleep for six months at that point. I spent the holiday break in a sea of anxiety, dreading the new year, the new goals, the new meetings.

As a woman and an immigrant, my instinct was to push through and keep going. I owed it to the opportunities I fought hard for, and to the mentors who brought me to them.

I didn't know there is a limit to working hard, nor that there is a universe in which my body had the power to veto my ambitions.

Three months later, on a very typical Wednesday morning. I sat in front of my very typical work computer, clicking into my very typically full Inbox. I started at the oldest email, opening up a Reply draft, my fingers hovered over the keyboard.

A delivery man walked past my front door. My dog barked. The birds squeaked.

My hands would not move.

My brain fired cellular messages to type, my mind already formed the second sentence of what I wanted to say in my reply.

but I've lost communication with my body.

An out-of-body experience is a bit like this: I watched myself stand up from my chair and walked over to the carpet. I felt the weight of my body plopping down and curling up into the fetal position. I sensed my rapid heartbeat. In my peripheral vision I could see my dog trying to come to me.

Yet none of it had anything to do with "me".

"Me", who wanted to finish that email. "Me", who was anxious about not making it on time to the morning's daily Scrum. "Me", who had a list of things to fix, to initiate, to facilitate.

That day, "Me" was locked up by the executive order from "Body",

and I spent the next six months acquainting myself with the piles of my carpet.

-------------------------- # To Be Continued # --------------------------

This is Part 1 of my on-going series about Mental Health.

Follows and Reposts are much appreciated.

Questions for You:

• What are your burnout stories?
• How did you get through the low times?
• What is the most valuable lesson you've learned from your experiences?

Take Home This:

To everyone struggling, whether at work, at home, at school, during a job search, or generally in life - I know that you are doing the very best that you can, even though it may not feel like you've done enough. Our brains can easily outrun our bodies, so we need to be careful in order to go further.

Take some time this week to breathe and remember who you are (even for just a few minutes). Nobody can love and protect you more than you can yourself, so please prioritize You.

With Love,

Katrine

#burnout #mentalhealth