The kitchen table was cluttered, an array of papers and yesterday’s dishes scattered across its surface. I sat there early on a quiet Sunday morning, sipping the last hot drops of coffee, hoping the caffeine would jolt me awake.
It was a rare moment of stillness, the kind I seldom found during the week.
But tranquility was interrupted by a sudden, sharp tingling in my right hand.
At first, it felt like pins and needles, the kind you get when a limb ‘falls asleep’.
I shook my hand, expecting the sensation to fade.
It didn’t.
The buzzing persisted, creeping into a numbness that was oddly unsettling.
I frowned, trying to shrug it off, distracted by the day’s quiet demands.
Yet, the feeling lingered, nagging at me like an unwelcome guest.
My job at the corporate office was a source of constant stress.
Long hours, endless spreadsheets, and a deluge of emails defined my days.
Breathing room was scarce.
My mornings began with a brief coffee, a quick scan of messages, then straight into the work stream.
My supervisor held most of the power, dismissing concerns with indifference.
Complaints were unwelcome; they marked you as weak, less capable.
So, I kept silent about the strange sensation in my hand.
Over weeks, it grew, spreading from my fingers to my palm.
Dropping small items became more frequent.
Each morning, I woke with my hand partly numb.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
