I Have ID-GASS
February 5, 2008
Last Wednesday, when I took my driving and drug test for my new job, I also had to fill out a ridiculously lengthy medical questionaire. It had about 70 questions, and I was tired, stressed, and hungry, but I tried to answer them to the best of my ability.
I honestly answered the question regarding if I had ever been hospitalized overnight by bubbling in “more than 2 years ago” on my scan-tron sheet, even though I knew that a broken arm in 1987 was probably well past their statue of limitations. I answered the question about suffering from blackouts honestly, as I had one episode during my second pregnancy. As I bubbled in my answers, I knew that my honesty might cost me, but that’s just how I am.
The next day, as expeted, I recieved a phone call, asking me to clarify my questionable answers. I had to explain my recent surgery (a tubal ligation), and defend my answer about how many sick days I had taken in the past year, as the interviewer wasn’t aware that tubal ligations were outpatient now. I recounted the blackout episode, where I had probably just gotten up too fast from the examining table, and my overnight hospitalization, which occurred over 20 years ago. My reasoning behind my answers was understood, and I was approved.
Today I feel guilty. I left off one important affliction that I seem to be suffering from. I haven’t been properly diagnosed, nor do I know if such a condition exists, but I believe I am suffering from I Don’t Give A Shit Syndrome, or ID-GASS.
I believe I have had this condition for quite some time, with the first episode ocurring a dozen years ago during my senior year of high school. Since then I have suffered occasional outbreaks, ususally during times of excessive stress or burnout.
Sometimes my symptoms will only affect one area of my life, such as school, work or church, and is usually resolved when I change something in my life, or just learn to suck it up. However, this time is different, the ID-GASS was brought on by the fact that, because I have a new job, I no longer care about this one. AT ALL.
I don’t want to do anything. Anything I tell ya. I haven’t managed to make it in on time in a week. “What are they gonna do, fire me?” I ask myself, as I dawdle around the house until 15 minutes after I should’ve left.
When I do manage to arrive, it gets worse. There’s stuff I could be doing, but I would rather write this, or blog surf, or read a book.
I know that during my final 2 weeks, I should be a better employee. I can see that my boss thinks so too, but I can’t help it, I have an affliction.
With ID-GASS everyone suffers.
I hope that the new job is a cure for the ID-GASS. If not, I’m prepared to file a medical claim when my new insurance comes into effect. I just hope they don’t find this blog and declare my condition “pre-existing”.