Daffodils, Lexapro and Other Miracles

Well, even though the temperature here is more like Autumn at the moment, Spring has begun the miraculous annual rebirth of trees and flowers. Outside my window there is a patch of beautiful daffodils and hyacinth. A lovely pink tree - maybe a flowering plum - is covered in flowers. The grass is green and getting taller. Every year I am awed by how magically the flowers arrive, how even though I'm watching for it, even though there are signs, I'm still surprised by the blossoms and then the leaves. It's extraordinary, wondrous, amazing, glorious and way cool. I love it. For me, this year it feels as if nature's rebirth is proof that I too may have a shot at resurrecting a more meaningful life for myself.

When I last left you, I had begun the process of applying for disability and for temporary public assistance. Nothing much has changed over the past month and lots has changed. Like the early buds forming on the trees, the seeds of that planting are still mostly hidden beneath the soil, but there are some buds and even a few early blossoms beginning to show.

I've filled out lots of forms and I'm sure that progress is happening behind the scenes at the SSD offices and at Social Services. It is a slow process and often frustrating, but it has forced me to change my thinking about some things and to move out of my normal routine and push past a number of major fears.

The biggest change, I guess is that I went to the doctor. Here in the country (maybe it's common in the city too these days - after all, it has been a long time since I ventured into medical offices) the doctor's office has people called physician's assistants who are qualified to do just about everything a doctor does without actually being doctors. Ethan, the PA whom I saw is very kind and gentle and has a nice sense of humor. When I told him I was afraid of doctors and hadn't seen one in 14 years, he laughed and said, "Well, your record is in tact. I'm a physician's assistant, so you still haven't seen a doctor." I felt very safe with him and learned a few good things. First, my heart and lungs are fine and so is my blood pressure. The problem with my legs is called "ataxia," which has something to do with nerve damage and lack of muscle control. I can stop blaming myself for being a bad person because it hurts to walk or stand for long. As when my therapist named my agoraphobia, there is something comforting about being able to put a name to things, at least for me. If it has a name, then I can let go of blaming myself, at least a bit. It also means that maybe, when Medicaid finally kicks in, maybe there is a possibility of some kind of treatment to make my situation better. You never know.

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