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.
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