Some days, you just can’t be bothered. We all have them; sickies, mental health days, going AWOL, truancy, playing hooky; whatever you call them, they are a thing of beauty when you can’t possibly face another day at the salt mine. Unions have fought tooth and nail in the past for this privilege to get paid on a day when you would have worked, but for any reason real or imaginable, you just cannot do it now. Today is my day.
In my workforce, we are allowed up to ten days of paid sick leave a year for the full-time staff and pro-rata for the part-timers. Gone are the days when you had to drag yourself from your death bed to get a doctors certificate even for one day off. Now, in the health care industry, we can take up to two days off without a certificate or a word of why, just phoning in and saying those four magic words, “I’m calling in sick”.
Yes, you may get an attack of the guilts about a minute after you make that call but you must understand, life goes on and your workplace will cope without you. This can be a somewhat belittling experience for some who may believe in their own propaganda of self-importance but you’ll get over it. Now as one of the team leaders of my ward, I rarely take these mental health days. Unlike some who take one as soon as their eight hours are accrued (not being judgemental here), I have a respectable 373 hours owing. That is over twelve weeks of paid sick leave, that if I don’t use, will be lost in the system forever. Tonight, with a thumping headache that even paracetamol won’t dull, I am in need of an extra day off and an early sleep. Maybe I’ll be able to start my days off not as sleep deprived or under a cloud of fogginess.
Looking forward to sunshine tomorrow.
Feeling a little dull.
The Chelle Seeker 