by Iris Sasaki
It was early spring. I sat next to John, half listening to the financials being presented in this, our fourth company meeting of the year.
John’s arm was twitching. It wasn’t just a quick one-time twitch, it was constant. John looked straight ahead, seemingly unaware of his arm. But, there was something very odd about the fact that the twitch did not stop.
Three days passed. Loud voices drifted down the hallway near the men’s room. A crowd had gathered and someone yelled, “Call an ambulance!” I arrived in time to see two of John’s fellow employees holding him upright, one hand under each arm. “Let’s lower him gently to the floor.” I said. In John’s eyes I saw terror. He had lost control. He did not know why. He could not influence it. A terrible situation for our star engineer who had always seemed to find the answer to the most complex of problems. Little did he know that his life (and those of his coworkers) would be forever changed.
Within a week, John was back at his computer, back to solving problems, back to being the great employee he had always been. He stood strong again.
On the afternoon of that first day back, he came to my office, sat down, smiled, and asked if I had a moment to talk. He did not know I was preparing to head in his direction anyway. We walked to the conference room and shut the door.
“I don’t know what you know about ALS”, he said softly. My mind said, “I know it’s agonizing. I know it’s fatal. I know it takes you an inch at a time.” I looked into his eyes and said, “Tell me what I need to know, and what you want me to know.”
John handed me a copy of “Tuesdays With Maury”. It is a tough read about Mitch, who reads that his former teacher is ill. (The book is a series of visits chronicled with great caring. Mitch tried to share Tuesdays with his old teacher and learn one more great lesson from him. Maury, has ALS and pretty much disintegrates physically during the course of the book. Maury does not allow this disease to diminish his love of life and his great appreciation for his friends.)
As time went on, it was easy to see that John was swaying more as he made his way down the hall. He had difficulty opening the men’s room door. He began asking fellow employees for help. It did not take a push from the ADA to do what was right (and legal). The company installed an automatic door opener. John smiled the first few times he used it. I suppose, it was because this button allowed him to maintain his independence.
Employees rallied around John. They took up a collection to send him, his wife and little girl to Disneyland. It was, John said, “unbelievable”.
Employees dropped by the HR office more often. They came to talk. They came to ask what they could do for John. They came to say that seeing the company’s kindness with John made them realize they too, were cared about. One woman, whose general mood was typically very angry, began to change. She spent break times with John, and helped him with his coffee. She started to socialize with her fellow employees. I can only guess that seeing John, with all his strength, and seeing what the company was doing in response to his illness, gave her new insight.
As time passed, John used a walker. It became more difficult for him to input data to his computer. His frustration was obvious, though he was intent on continuing. Eventually, he came to me to let me know he could no longer do his job. I smiled. Oh yes you can! We provided him with voice recognition software. He was afraid, he said, of losing his job. Of being unable to work. Of becoming a prisoner at home. We provided him with counseling. He was tired. We offered a shorter workweek and finally, shorter days. In return, John gave us the best of his engineering expertise, and times each of us still remembers.
It was John who finally came to us to let us know he was done. He could not do it any longer. He wanted to stay in touch with his coworkers and friends. We gave him a used computer, his voice recognition software, and the use of company email from home.
The call came on Monday, February 23rd, 2003. It was Lisa’s voice, not John’s that croaked, “He’s gone”. I listened as she wept. Listened to her recount the weeks before this moment. So much sadness, so much pain, so much…relief. I placed my phone in the cradle and cried.
Are you asking, “Why this story? What’s the point?” The point is, don’t dehumanize the life of an employee by simply following ADA guidelines. We all know the rules. We know the meaning of a qualified disability. We understand what essential functions are. We know which factors determine whether a life activity is substantially limited. But do you see how clinical all this sounds? We are Human Resources. Human resources.
It isn’t about the law. It is about the person. It isn’t about the impairment. It’s about the employee whose life is impacted. And other employees whose lives are impacted by the individual and what we choose to do to support them.
Know the laws, yes. Follow them, yes. Most important – know your employees…and the rest will come.
About the Author
Iris Sasaki is an executive level Human Resources Consultant. She currently serves as a mentor with the Oregon Entrepreneurial Forum, has been a guest lecturer for the Oregon Graduate Institute and Oregon Employment Division, and is a volunteer for the Learning for Life group. Two of her training modules have been placed in the Portland, Oregon EEOC library. She holds a BA in Sociology. To learn more, go to www.iris-sasakiHR.com, or email Iris directly at iris_sasaki@yahoo.com.