So then...

About Me

Welcome to my blog. My pen name is Eva James. I'm an aspiring writer paying the bills working as a legal secretary. Relentlessly bullied by my former boss, I looked for another job but the recession hit. Feeling trapped, I recorded everything in this blog, which serves as a revealing insight into workplace bullying. WEEK 1 starts the story and, as the weeks progress, you'll note what starts as banter soon spirals out of control. Sadly, it's all true. Whilst along the way I've found alternative employment, my passion for blogging about workplace bullying remains. Trevor Griffiths, legendary theatre, TV and film writer said at the outset, "I like the writing a lot: smart, cool, placed. If you were prepared/able to take your prick of a boss on, you'd marmelise him."

Thursday, 8 April 2010

WEEK 52 Wish You Were Here

Apologies if I’m all over the place. The general anaesthetic is still affecting me so I’ll keep it short.

I’d agreed some time ago with HOWARD and the PM that, when the operation came up to remove the metalwork in my shoulder, I would take annual leave rather than time on the sick. I didn’t have much choice. Due to our ‘rolling’ sick policy if you take over 10 days then you’re on statutory. Take statutory and PHILIP wants to sack you. I can’t risk not being paid in the future if I become ill, let alone losing my job.

The PM reiterated last week, while booking her holiday in South Africa, that it would be one thing off my mind if I used my annual leave. HOWARD smiled, commenting that he is going skiing in Andora.

Sunday, I woke to find the old scar had opened up. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, the wire beneath was visible. Terrified, in pain and disgusted in equal measure, I raced to my GP and then phoned work to say I’d been sent to Accident and Emergency.

Yesterday, after two days of staring at a wall in the Trauma Clinic, they wheeled me to theatre to operate.

“Where would you most love to go on holiday?" the anesthetist asked.

Holiday? I groaned and lost consciousness.

When I came round I wanted to get home. I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary on a ward with seven elderly and incoherent women. My mother came to collect me. We passed through the concourse on the way out.

“This is nice,” my mum said. “Look, they have Costa coffee, and WH Smiths and Boots. Ooh, and there’s a jewellery shop and a Post Office.”

Shuffling past the Post Office, I thought of buying a postcard to send to HOWARD and the PM. A bout of nausea stopped me, but I did manage a weak smile at the thought of them receiving my holiday regards.

“Dear PM and HOWARD, Wish you were here!”

See you soon Eva x

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