Tag Archives: Day Activities

Are My Day Activities Challenging Enough?

Last night, I was flooded with memories of elementary school. I attended a school for the blind that was next to a school or institution or whatever for people with intellectual disabilities from fourth to sixth grade. The school for the blind I went ot also had a departmnet for those with “multiple disabilities”, which referred just to visual and intellectual disability. I mean, I attended the single-disability department even though I’m autistic and have a mild otor impairment in addition to blindness. Of course, no-one acknowledged that. Besides, like I said, “multiply-disabled” always somehow includes an intellectual disability.

I remember when our teacher told us about snoezelen. Snoezelen is a type of sensory activity where the person with a disablity goes into a room where the sensory environment can completely be controlled by that person or their staff. It struck a chord with me as soon as I heard of it. Now, more than twenty years later, it’s one of my favorite activities at the day center. It is usually catered towards people wiht severe intellectual disabilities.

At around the same time, a girl was in the news who was being restrained long-term in an institution in Utrecht. She had a mild intellectual disability, so mild that she had two years previously been able to attend a low-level high school. She was judged to be too intelligent for intellectual disabilities services but couldn’t be served adequately anywhere else. She was eventually transferred to a psychiatric institution for youth with intellectual disabilities.

This story struck an enormous chord with me. I knew I wasn’t intellectually disabled, but my school didn’t think I was very bright either and above all, I had significant behavioral challenges.

It’s a shame that, more than twenty years after this girl was in the news, still, disability services are so segregated according to IQ. I am hugely lucky that I’m allowed to use the snoezelen room and even attend the group for the most severely intellectually disabled people at my day center. My recent outbursts do get people to believe this wasn’t the right decision after all. My home support coordinator said this afternoon that, if I could be moved back to the industrial group, I may’ve been able to stay at this day center. I doubt it, since at the industrial group, I had more outbursts than now that I’m at the sensory group.

I remember being told about snoezelen once more, during a college lecture when I took applied psychology. The professor told us about it being suitable to those with end-stage Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia. Again, not a positive image of this activity as soothing for people with any kind of disability (or no disability at all).

When I tell people about my problems functioning at day activities, I invariably hear that they’re not challenging enough for me. As much as I’d like to deny this, there is some truth to this. Indeed I get understimulated when I have to sit in a chair for twenty minutes while the other service users use the bathroom. Not that I think the others are particularly excited having to sit on a toilet for that long, but they can’t tell the staff that they’re bored. I also don’t know that I could use the snoezelen room for hours on end. Yesterday, I spent about an hour in it and that was fine, but the other service users and staff were there too. When I’m just dropped in the room alone, I manage for twenty minutes at most.

The problem is though, as much as I’d like to do more challenging activities, I need practically one-on-one support with that and that’s just not possible. The staff/service user ratio at my group is 1:6. At the industrial group, it’s 1:9. That’s just not working if I’m wanting to do any type of remotely challenging activity except for using the computer, which quite frankly I can do at home, too.

I wish I were more independent. I wish snoezelen wasn’t the only activity I can do without help. My sister said maybe I need training to learn new skills. Well, I don’t know where to go for that.

Day Activities: Why Do I Seem to Have High Support Needs?

Yesterday, I had a meeting with my day activities and home support staff, my comunity psyhciatric nurse (CPN) and the social consultant (local authority person who decides on care funding) in charge of my case. My mother-in-law also attended. The reason for the meeting was my trouble functioning at day activities.

I go to a day center for people with intellectual disabilities and attend a group within the center for people with severe intellectual and multiple disabilities. I don’t have an intellectual disability, but did seem to do best at this sensory-based group up until recently. Then, three new service users joined us, leading to increasing stimulation, stress and staff workloads. I was increasingly overloaded and irritable, which led to the staff cutting my hours because they couldn’t deal with me on top of the other high-support service users for a full day.

The problem is there’s no clear-cut diagnosis to back up why I function best at a low-stress, sensory-based, high-support group. I mean, yeah, I’m blind, but most people who are blind can work regular jobs. Yeah, I’m autistic, but only diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder level 1 (ie. “high-functioning” autism or Asperger’s Syndrome). Yeah, I have mild motor impairments, but my doctor doesn’t know or can’t tell me to what extent they’re diagnosable (as mild cerebral palsy or something else). Yeah, I have mental health issues, but no-one has a clue to what extent these affect me and what they’re even diagnosable as.

As a result, some professionals and non-professionals choose to deny I have high support needs and tell me it’s all dependence, manipulation or attention-seeking. I was lucky that, with one of these professionals being my former psychologist who got me in touch with my current day center, the day center staff and management were up until recently more than willing to accomodate me. For instance, I started day activities at the industrial group at this center, but was soon moved to the sensory group despite, like I said, not even having an intellectual disability, let alone a severe one.

Now that I’m even falling apart at this group, I hear different opinions on where to go from here. At one point, my home support coordinator said maybe the gap between myself and the other service users at the sensory group is too wide, so we need to look at a different kind of place, like a sheltered art shop. I disagreed and not just because my art-making skills are mediocre at best. At more “job-like” day activities places like this, there’s usually more pressure and less support. My day activities staff agreed, adding that I’d tried the industrial group already.

My CPN’s coworker suggested a care farm. As much as I love animals, I know I won’t even be able to navigate a farm without a sighted guide, let alone care for the animals without one-on-one. My mother suggested I look for day activities tailored to the blind. These don’t exist in my area. Besides, I could barely function at the leisure groups at the blindess training center I attended in 2005. My mother said I may be able to now, but I think it unlikely. These places expect a level of independence I don’t have. I mean, I’ve seen my partially sighted friend make soap completely independently after being instructed by me just once, while I still need practically hands-on support after many attempts.

I’m on the verge of crying as I write this. I completed grammar school, for goodness’ sake! Granted, I burned out the minute I left, but I did it nonetheless. Why can’t I even function at a group where people with profound intellectual disabilities can? Or am I really one giant dependent, manipulative, attention-seeking waste of resources?

My CPN is going to contact the Center for Consultation an dExpertise on me. In 2010, they were briefly involved in my case. The consultant wrote in her report that she thinks it’s weird that I’m so cognitively capable and yet cannot do simple activities of daily living such as prpearing my own breakfast. She also wrote something in the report about not knowing whether I’m eliciting care. In other words, she couldn’t say whether or not I’m just one giant dependent, manipulative, attention-seeking waste of resources either. Sigh.

Agree to Disagree

Prologue: two weeks ago, it was decided that, for two weeks, I would not be allowed to attend my day activities center in the afternoons. The reason was three new clients would be joining us and that would mean there’d be less support for me – at least while they get used to the day center. This made me quite unquiet. I wrote about this for Five-Minute Friday last week too, struggling to write a long enough, contextual enough post to be search engine-friendly within five minutes. Then I saw that people did prologues and epilogues to their posts that apparently do not count towards your five minutes of wrting time. So I decided to do this too. Here is my actual piece.

Yesterday, my staff asked me if I’d been feeling calmer now that my day activities hours were cut. I didn’t respond initially. Later, I did, assuming she had said, not asked, that I was calmer now.

I told her I feel awful each afternoon. Of course, the group is quieter without me, so I could see where she’d be coming from if she wanted to keep me out of day activities longer. I didn’t assume she had my best interest in mind – or at least the manager, who decided on these matters, didn’t. I’m not intellectually disabled, so I’m not the day center’s primary target population. As such, if there’s a disruption in the group that involves me, I’m the one who is out.

Indeed, today, I was informed that my day activities hours will remain as they were for the past few weeks. It was all in my best interest, the staff tried to say. Well, agree to disagree.

Epilogue: I was quite distressed by this whole thing during the day. Then I remembered someone’s comment on my FMF post from last week, that God never closes a door without opening a window. On Thursday, I will have a meeting with my day activities and home support staff, my community psychiatric nurse and the local authority social consultant. I hope this meeting will yield some positive results.

Linking up with Five-Minute Friday again.

Surrender

Last week, it was decided that, for a while, my day actvities hours will be cut. It was also suggested that my current day activities center, which caters primarily to people with intellectual disabilities, may not be the best fit for me. I’m not intellectually disabled, after all. I’m autistic, but if you’re of at least average intelligence, somehow that doesn’t count as a developmental disability.

I had to accept this, to surrender to the decision made for me. But I decided not to give up. I am okay with this being a temporary thing, but I don’t want to be shoved around like a cart. I’m a person, after all. I know I don’t fit neatly into one dsablity label box. I am both blind and autistic and have mental health issues.

Over the past week I alternated between fight and surrender. When surrendering, I was depressed and didn’t feel like there’d ever be a place for me. I even pushed my husband away, because I wasn’t sure I could choose between him and proper care. Now I know this is a false dilemma.

When in fight mode, I felt energized. I’ve been making phone calls, thinking up next steps. I have an appointment with my community psychiatric nurse on Monday to discuss how to proceed.

It doesn’t help this wasn’t the first time I fell between the cracks care-wise, but in a way, it does. I know how to navigate the system, after all, and I know not to surrender to a poor quality of life.

I am linking up this post with Five Minute Friday. The prompt this week is “surrender”.

Cuts to My Day Activities Hours

And again I really didn’t get to write as much as I’d like to have done. The past week was quite busy. I had my first session of movement therapy on Tuesday and a meeting with my nurse on Thursday. Actually, I would’ve had a session with my CPN, but she’s off sick. I was so grateful that my nurse asked whether I wanted an appointment with her instead, as I really needed to talk.

I’ve not been doing well lately. I’m very irritable and easily overloaded. I switch a lot between being completely in my “rational mind” and feeling terribly emotional. I try to use my DBT skills, of course. Not that I’ve come far on the formal DBT course I do with my CPN, but I’ve been doing it by myself. I do an okay job when I’m not overwhelmed, but once overwhelmed, all my skills go out the window.

I mostly find that I can’t handle this huge, gaping split between my (verbal) IQ and my emotional, practical and behavioral functioning. At day activities, this is becoming more and more problematic. The staff are telling me that my irritability upsets the other clients, who are “like a baby” and can’t understand. I tell them that I don’t understand stuff myself, either, but because I’m not intellectually disabled, I should somehow be able to be more capable.

Because I’m too much of a handful, my day activities are being reduced. I won’t get additional home support in exchange. This upsets me greatly. It feels as though, when I need more help the most, I’m punished for it by getting less. Again, the main reason is my IQ, because other people with significant behavioral challenges at my day activities, get more care.

“We don’t do psychiatry.” That’s my day activities staff’s reasoning for cutting my hours when I’m too irritable. The other staff even mentioned finding me another place to go. I don’t know where. I mean, day activities for mentally ill people cater mostly to those with psychotic disorders. I have experience with that and I run into the same crap I get here there. After all, people with schizophrenia can’t help reacting to their voices either.

For clarity’s sake, I’m not saying that people with severe intellectual disabilities or those with actively psychotic schizophrenia should just be able to hold it togehter. I know they can’t, but I can’t always hold it together either.

I know my staff try their best. The staff who decided to cut my day activities hours, got angry when I told her they’re expecting too much out of me. I know she’s never worked with a person of at least average intelligence who still has signiificant sensory issues and challenging behavior. I know the manager probably told her to prioritize her main focus group, ie. those with severe intellectual disabilities. It’s interesting that she refers to the other clients as “the clients”, not “the other clients”, when she talks to me.

However, I can’t keep from being reminded of all the great lengths to which the staff go to accommodate their other clients with challenging behavior. For one person, a staff goes to his group home to provide him day activities one-on-one. Two at my group get several hours of one-on-one too. I don’t ask for that, but I don’t ask for the other extreme, ie. being cut off my hours, either.

First Week of 2018

Oh my Gosh, it’s beginning to get boring: I haven’t written on this blog in almost a month. I want so badly to write more in 2018, but instead of wrting on this blog, I’m writing brief entries in my journal on my phone. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but I love my blog too.

It has been on my mind for a while to start writing in diary style on my blog. Of course, I can’t share everything I can in my private journal here, but I can share some things. I love the personal mental health bloggers who share what it’s like living with mental illness on a day-to-day basis. So for this purpose, I’ve created the “Diary” category on my blog. Feel free to skip these entries if you’re not interested in them, but if you are, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Today, I’m sharing about the first week of 2018, obviously.

The year didn’t start out that well. I was a bit overloaded and stressed out. I was perseverating on finding a good journaling app for my phone, because I badly wanted to start journaling privately again in 2018. I’ve tried a few apps on the computer and a dozen websites, but I can’t find any that work. By 12AM Monday, I said a quick “Happy new year” to my husband and sister-in-law, who was celebrating with us, only to return to my phone again. In the end, I found a great app: Dyrii. Still, judging by how easily I write this post versus my journal entries, I’m finding using Notepad on my computer is still easier than my iPhone.

I had been going to day activities as normal between Christmas and New year’s, so I only had Monday off, but it felt rather strange to return on Tuesday. I had been informed before the holidays that we’d be getting three new clients in my group at day activities in January. For those who don’t know, I go to a sensory-based group for people with severe intellectual and multiple disabilities. All clients except for me need help with their personal care. The reason this group still fits me is that I’m very easily overloaded and prefer the sensory way of learning. We currently have one group of six clients, including me, in the main room and two clients who are very easily overstimulated in the adjacent room. Come January, I and two of the other current clients would move into the adjacent room with these two clients who are already there. As it turned out, that hasn’t happened yet, because the new clients aren’t there yet.

The total group size will grow from eight to eleven. We won’t get extra staff. This was a stressor to me, as was all the talk about the one-on-one for two clients that needs to be well-arranged in order to make this work, as well as the talk about a client needing one-on-one for meals. It was suggested there’d be no more activities but just meals and personal care moments. This suggestion was made on Wednesday, when I was already pretty badly overloaded and stressed out. I tried to calm myself by thinking I could use my computer or phone if I wanted to do something but there’d be no support available. So I retreated into the adjacent room to use my phone, only to be overwhelmed by people yelling in the corridor. This sent me into full-blown meltdown. I mean, if I can’t use the adjacent room without being overwhelmd now, how will I do so once my two fellow clients join me? I know these are the quietest clients, but still.

Looking back, I am lucky that my staff didn’t see the entire event. I banged my head against a wall, which my husband later asked about whether it got me suspended from day activities. I only then realized that it could have. The only part my staff witnessed was me trying to run away and being pretty irritable. My staff took me to the snoezelen (sensory) room and I had to stay there for fifteen miutes. Then she returned and we talked stuff through.

I called my mental health team, which is a kind of team that always has a community psychiatric nurse on call during office hours, as soon as I got home. The on-call CPN advised me to always have a PRN Ativan with me. I used to always have one with me until my last overdose, when my husband took them away. I haven’t needed it since. The on-call CPN also advised me to call the out-of-hours phone number I’d been given last week whenever I need it. I had been hesitant to call them during the new year’s week-end, as I reasoned my husband was home so I should be able to work out things with him. I haven’t needed to call them since speaking to that CPN though. In fact, I’m pretty calm now. Maybe I needed to melt down in order to calm down again.

My Experience with Professional Support for Autism #Write31Days

Yesterday’s post in #Write31Days was somewhat inspired by the day 3 question on the 30 Days of Autism Acceptance. The day 4 question asks about family and support. I may have to split this topic into several posts, as it is about both family and professional support. Today, I will talk about professional support.

I have been in the care system for years. As a child, I was in special education. As a teen, I didn’t get much in the way of professional support, but I sought it back out right after high school by going to a rehabilitation center for the blind. I was still undiagnosed at this point and I don’t think the staff had an idea that I could be autistic.

When I moved to an independence training home after the rehabilitaton program, the staff got to know me better and got the idea that I may “suffer from” autism. That was how the coordinator called it when she wrote my request for services for once I’d be living independently. I hated that word, “suffer”, but I’ll get to that at some later point.

Initially, the reason my staff wanted me to be assessed for autism was to confirm they were on the right track with their support approach. Obviously they weren’t, as they kept switching approaches and expecting little from me one day, then deciding all my challenging behaivor was attention-seeking and leaving me pretty much to my own rsources the next.

I was diagnosed with autism in March of 2007 and started meeting with a community psychiatric nurse (CPN) in training in April. Her supervisor was a bit of a weirdo, barely having read my records and making his own assumptions about what was going on with me. He was the first to mention impulse control disorder, which I got to be diagnosed with along with autism a year later.

The CPN-in-training herself was great. She gave me lots of coping tools, even though I didn’t fully understand the necessity at first. Unfortunately, as I was moving cities to go to univeristy, I had to stop seeing her three months later.

After being hospitalized, my interactions with nurses and treatment providers were quite varied. I had favorite and not-so-favorite nurses on each unit I stayed on. Particularly, my named nurse on the resocialization unit was great. So was the head nurse at that unit, who acted as a step-in named nurse to me too.

What I found the most helpful in a nurse, was if they took the time to really look at my needs rather than at protocols. That was clearly what I missed most at the last unit I stayed on. “Borderlines need to take responsibility,” a nurse – who later became one of my favoirte nurses at that unit – told me when I requested reminders to do my personal care tasks. I know that it wasn’t just that most staff didn’t believe I’m autistic, since they treated another patient with a more established autism diagnosis in a similarly dismissive way.

Now that I’m home, I think most of my staff do a good job of balancing protocols, which of course they have to adhere to, with meeting my needs. For example, my current CPN just reassured me this afternoon that she validates my need to be in a sensory group at day activities. She didn’t even say it’s not in line with my intelligence level.

My home support and day activities staff are great. My husband says it’s a regional thing. It isn’t, because the other day activity place I checked out and the mental health agency’s home support team, both of which are in the same city where I get my day activites, weren’t as accommodating at all.

“Just Blind”: My Experience With Passing and the Resulting Burn-Out

Last May, I wrote my first post in the 30 Days of Autism Acceptance. I never followed through with the rest of the challenge, but today, I’m inspired to write on the day 2 topic, which is passing and autistic burn-out.

There is a lot of societal pressure to look and act as “normal” as possible. Passing is the situation where people who don’t belong to the “normal” majority appear as though they do. This may refer to disabled people appearing non-disabled, but it also refers to people of racial minorities being perceived as white or to queer people being perceived as straight.

I never fully passed for non-disabled, because I’m blind, but I did try to pass for a long time. People however often could tell that I had some kind of disability even if they couldn’t tell what it was. Interestingly, besides not passing for sighted, I don’t believe I could ever fully pass for neurotypical, except to those who believe an autistic appearance is normal for blind people.

In addition to appearing normal, disabled people are also pushed to achieve those things that are deemed “normal” in society. That is, except when you look so obviously disiabled that people judge you to be too “low-functioning” for that, in which case they usually greatly underestimate your abilities. I may write about that at some other point. There is a lot of pressure even from within the disabled community to perform as well as non-disabled people do. I see this particularly in the blind community, except, once again, when a person is seen as severely disabled enough not to need to achieve.

Until I was twenty, I was almost universally perceived as “just blind”. Oh and presumably extremely intelligent. As such, I had to perform according to my intelliigence, so I had to go to a mainstream, high-level secondary school. All my problems there were chalked up to either my blindness or my high intelligence.

At age twenty, I resided in an independent living training home for the disabled, which had originally been set up specifically for the blind, so most staff had some expertise on blindness. It was there that it first became apparent that I’m not “just blind”. I was referred for a diagnosis and diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder in March of 2007. Eight months later, while living independently, I completely fell apart. I experienced autistic burn-out. Yet many people still see my diagnosis, my burn-out and my subsequent voluntary admission to a psychiatric hospital, as an elaborate way for me to manipulate people into giving me care.

I never fully recovered from my burn-out, in the sense that I went back to living a “normal” life for a person who is “just blind”. I was in college in 2007. Now, even though I’m out of the institution, I have no plans of going back to full-time education or finding a paid job. Though I may want to attend some part-time education or do volunteer work in the future, I’m now happy to be at a day center doing sensory activities. I am also glad that I was finally approved for home support yesterday.

In this sense, I did in fact recover from my burn-out. I mean, I did not return to the life that essentially caused me to burn out, but I do think my life is meaningful. In fact, I am happier now than I was when I still passed for “just blind”.

Day Activities #WotW

Oh man, I haven’t written in nearly two weeks. This isn’t unheard of on my blog over the past year or so, but it does feel a little weird, given that I fully intended on writing more in May. I have now been home from the mental institution for two weeks and it’s going better than expected. I’m of course still having my ups and downs, but I haven’t been in a full-blown crisis yet.

As I mentioned in my last post, I started day activities May 9. It was really hard at first. Like I said, the group I’ve been placed in does simple manual labor like packaging and sorting tasks. I found this boring and difficult at the same time. Last week though, I found an activity that is useful as well as doable for me. It’s making paper props. That sounds incredibly dumb and useless, but paper props are used to store paint cans with, so that the paper will absorb the paint should a can leak. My staff said this activity drives her crazy, but it truly is a sensory friendly activity to me.

Last week, we also did some gardening. I don’t like my hands getting dirty, so I had trouble with this activity. However, while going to the garden, someone mentioned a set of swings. I at first thought the swings were only to be used by those with more severe disabilities. Then someone from my group went on them, so I asked the staff whether I could use them too. It was fun!

However, the best activity yet was snoezelen. This Wednesday, I was very irritable, the staff took me to a room. “Have you heard of the snoezelen room?” he asked. I had heard of this and had in fact asked my treatment team at the institution if I could try this at the intellectual disability unit about a year ago. They said “No.” After all, I wouldn’t be able to do this once home. Snoezelen was developed in the Netherlands and there isn’t a proper English term for it. It is a particular type of sensory play. Basically, in a snoezelen room, the service user or their staff can control the entire sensory enviornment. For example, there are lights, soothing music, soft spots to sit in, etc. I haven’t discovered all there is to this room yet. Maybe tomorrow, the staff will show me around.

on Thursday and Friday, when I became slightly irritable, the staff took me to the snoezelen room again. On Friday, the staff asked if I would like to have this in my daily schedule. I felt a little weird, as I had gotten the idea from my institution treatment team that this is only for people with severe intellectual disabilities. The staff however said that if it helps me, it’s fine.

I’m choosing “day activities” as my word for the week. Next week, we’ll unfortunately have Thursday ad Friday off, but I’m hoping to enjoy Monday through Wednesday mornings there.

The Reading Residence

I’m Officially Home!: The Road to My Discharge from the Mental Institution

It’s official: I am home. Yesterday was my formal discharge date from the institution. It would’ve been May 1, but got delayed one week because I needed more time to make arrangements for my after care. Today, I’ll share my journey to getting the care I need and living in the house I want to live in with the man I want to live with.

Like I said, my original discharge date was May 1. However, a week before that, nothing had been arranged in the way of after care yet. I’d have my first appointment with a psychiatrist from the community treatment team that Friday, April 28. That was all my psychologist said she was required to do in terms of making sure I am in care once discharged. Apparently, she and the social worker had deliberately handed me the responsibility of making sure I’d have day activities and home support, only without telling me I had been handed that responsibility. I didn’t find out about this till April 26, when I had my “exit meeting”, as my psychologist called it. Call me a cynic, but I immediately thought of the Swiss end-of-life clinic by the name of Exit.

After my “exit meeting”, I was very much in distress. I called the patient advocacy person, but she couldn’t do anything for me, as I’d be in the community team’s hands. I called my husband, who was on the road. Desperate, I called my mother-in-law. She asked for my psychologist’s number and somehow convinced her to give me that extra week. It was suggested to me that all it’d take to make sure I’d have day activities was a phone call to the day activity place manager, who was on vacation during the last week of April and would be back May 2. It wasn’t exactly that simple, but in the end it was close to that simple indeed.

On April 28, I had my intake interview with the community treatment team psychiatrist and nurse practitioner. They were much more supportive than anyone in the institution had ever appeared to be upon first meeting them. I suspect this psychiatrist has never worked for a long-term care unit, as she was surprised I didn’t get any therapy there other than day activities. “But it’s a psychiatric hospital,” she said. There she nailed the reason I’ve called it an institution for years: there is very little in the way of actual psychiatric treatment. In fact, a student nurse at one point referred to clozapine, the last-resort antipsychotic the majority of the patients on my unit take, as palliative care. I know for some people it’s a miracle drug, but for many on my unit, all it did was keep them just about stable enough that they could handle an unlocked door.

Like I said, my meeting with the community psychiatrist and nurse practitioner went well. We discussed my symptoms and needs. They would be contacting the home support team, which is with the mental health agency, on my behalf. If no day activities had been arranged by May 12, when I’d have my next appointment, they would also work their arses off to get me day activities.

Last Thursday, May 4, I had appointments at two day activity places. One is for traumatic or acquired brain injury survivors, while the other is for people with an intellectual disability. I had my doubts regarding the first one, which I’d visited in August of last year. This was only confirmed when I went back for an intake interview. It was all very formal. Though this could’ve been because I had already visited the place, it made me feel a little unwelcome. When I disclosed I was also going to look at the other place, the staff at the first place said this might be more suitable indeed. I’d still be welcome at the brain injury place. However, I felt there was too little I could do independently enough there.

I had a taxi drive me to the other day activity place. When I opened the door, some clients welcomed me. They found a staff member, who seated me in a spare room and poured me a cup of coffee while I was waiting for the head staffer to come see me. I talked to him and to one of the staff at the group I’d be placed in. The “orange group” is a group of relatively capable intellectually disabled people who do simple manual labor tasks like packaging, sorting etc. Fortunately, there is no pressure to be quick or do it perfectly. I was a little worried the tasks would be incredibly boring and too difficult at the same time, but I realized it’d either be this or no day activities. Besides, the staff and other clients were very enthusaistic and welcoming. It looked like I might actually have day activities right after my discharge.

Yesterday, however, I had a meeting with the social consultant in charge of my case. The day activity place had already made all arrangements so that I could start “working” there and in fact, yesterday morning I was awoken by the taxi driver ready to drive me there. I had clrearly told the day activity staff that I’d first meet with the social consultant and start “working” on Tuesday, not Monday. For a bit, as I met with the social consultant, it seemed as though it’d all been one big mistake and I wouldn’t be able to start day activities today. However, late in the evening, I received an E-mail from her saying she had pre-approved me for day activities and I could in fact start “working” today.