Tag Archives: Disabilities

Friends: What Makes a Friendship Tick? #AtoZChallenge

Welcome to day 6 in the #AtoZChallenge of random reflections. Today’s prompt comes from the 397 Journal Writing Prompts and Ideas eBook again. It is “Friendship”. The attached question is: “What makes a friendship tick?”

Now I happen not to have any close friends other than my husband, but I definitely consider my husband my friend in addition to my partner. What both of us appreciate about each other, which I think non-romantic friendships may share, is our sense of humor. We have a lot of “inside jokes” and our own terminology that only the two of us understand. For example, when one of us goes on and on boring the other, we say “banana spider”. This one in particular has been in our vocabulary for many years.

Our friendship isn’t just based on humor though. Over the years, we’ve been through quite the hard times, for example with my institution stay. I met my husband for the first time six weeks before being admitted to the mental hospital and he stuck by me through all the 9 1/2 years of it and the year I’ve been out of it so far. Humor helped us through, but so did a serious discussion every now and again.

I have other people I am close to, but these friendships are usually based on shared experience, such as them having the same disabilities as me. Though my husband and I met on an autism forum, he is neurotypical and otherwise non-disabled. He has seen me through most of my adult life, but he does not share the same experience of being disabled. Like he once said “needing social care is like a different world”. In this sense, I’m glad to have peers, some of which I’m close to online and may meet every once in a while and some of which I only talk to very occasionally. This obviously also depends on geographical location.

The first peer I met was a woman who was on a support list for my eye condition. I first started E-mailing her off-list in 2004 and we’re still online friends. She lives in the United States, so we might never meet in real life. Both our lives have also moved on since 2004. She is now independent and successful, while I’m just sprouting branches in the real world. However, I appreciate being her online friend.

Disability Services and Moving: Long-Term Care and Community Support #AtoZChallenge

Welcome to my letter D post in the #AtoZChallege of random reflections. For today, I have chosen to give a brief introduction to disability services in the Netherlands. This might be a boring topic, but it is currently on my mind.

You see, though several years ago I planned on living in our house in the tiny village for the rest of my life, this is unlikely to happen. My husband has been talkig about moving for almost the entire time I’ve lived with him. For a long while, I decided that we’d have to stay local, as in, within Bronckhorst municipality. The reason for this is my disability. Let me explain.

There are basically two categories of care people with disabilities can get. One is through the Long-Term Care Act. This is a national bill that governs 24-hour residential care. In order to be eligible for Long-Term Care Act funding, you’ll have to need 24-hour care for the rest of your life because of a physical, intellectual or sensory disability or a somamtic or psychogeriatric illness. Mental illness, in other words, is not a ground for this type of funding even if you need 24-hour care and are likely to need it for life.

The other type of care is Community Support Act care. The Community Support Act allows local authorities to decide on care for anyone who needs it but doesn’t qualify for Long-Term Care Act funding. As such, anyone who needs 24-hour care for a while, or who needs less than 24-hour care, or who needs care due to a mental illness, will fall at the mercy of the local authority.

I fall under the Community Support Act. As such, the social consultants in Bronckhorst decide on my care or lack thereof. Bronckhorst or my social consultant in particular has been really easy-going with providing care funding. Should my husband and I move to another municipality, we’re at the mercy of that area’s local authority. This is the reason that I decided we shouldn’t ever be moving out of area.

Because the housing market is really tight in Bronckhorst and there’s nothing within our budget, we’re exploring options for moving out of area anyway. I hear very mixed stories about whether this could be worth the risk.

Children: On Being Childless Sort Of by Choice #AtoZChallenge

Welcome to day 3 in the #AtoZChallenge 2018, in which I share random reflections. Today, for my letter C post, I’m going to write about children – or the lack thereof. YOu see, I am childless sort of by choice. Want to know more? Read on.

As regular readers of this blog will know, I have multiple disabilities. I am blind, autistic and mentally ill, among other things. Any one of these disabilities would’ve been grounds for involuntary sterilization had I lived some forty years ago. Even now, it may be relatively easy for me to get sterilized should I so choose. After all, many people are still of the opinion that certain people with disabilities shouldn’t have children.

Now I should be politically correct and say I strongly disagree with this stance. However, with regards to my own personal situation, I don’t. I can see why I wouldn’t be fit to be a parent and the reasons are not entirely unrelated to my disabilities.

I never really had any sort of strong “Mommy feelings”. That being said, as a child and teen, I always thought I’d have children when I’d grow up. It probably was society’s expectations that planted this idea in my head, as I never quite imagined how lovely it would be to hold a wee little baby, or how I’d ooh and aah at my four-year-old’s clay sculpture.

As a child, I obviously couldn’t believe why people didn’t like children. I was a child and I liked myself. Besides, everyone has been a child at some point, so how could they not like children? Now that I’m an adult though, I don’t particularly like children. I don’t hate them either, but I don’t feel I should be having one or more myself.

Society’s expectations do not get unnoticed by me though. This I think is the main reason I’m still not entirely happy with my choice not to ever try for a child. I also sometimes wish I would be a good mother, but to be honest, I can’t be.

As such, I find myself inbetween the childless not by choice and the childfree/childless by choice communities. I am childless by choice, but I a not really happy woth this choice.

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.

Adaptations and Services I’ve Used to Overcome My Disabilities

Last year, I wrote a post describing my limitations in as much detail as I could then. I got the idea from a disability discussion E-mail list that I was a member of in like 2004. The next discussion topic on the list was to go into adaptations you’ve used to overcome your limitations. Today, I will share about these.

As a toddler, I seem to have gotten by mostly without adaptations. I did have low vision, motor ipairments and was socially a little immature, but nothing too dramatic. I did have many colds until my tonsils and adenoids were removed at age four. I also saw a lot of specialists. For example, when I was about four, I was seen by some kind of rehabilitation physician because I neeed a cast on my left foot. I got lots of physical therapy and other early intervention too. However, I attended a regular preschool and Kindergarten until I fell apart in the spring of my second year of Kindergarten. Kindergarten always takes two years here, but I didn’t finish my second year because of needing to go to a special school that didn’t have a Kindergarten. Instead, I started in first grade early.

At around this age, I mostly got adaptations for my fine and gross motor impairments. For example, I got adapted scissors to be able to cut shapes out without needing to exert too much strength. I also got a large tricycle funded through the local disability services when I was about eight. I’m confused as to where my parents got the necessary doctor’s signature to get this mobility equipment. I mean, I must’ve seen a rehabilitation physician to declare that I had a severe enough mobility impairment, but I wonder whether the ophthalmologist agreed I had enough vision to cycle safely.

Of course, I did have some adaptations for my vision at this point too. I started reading large print in first grade. In fact, I had taught myself to read at around age five with large rub-on letters my Mom would put into little books for me.

By the end of first grade, I had to learn Braille because my vision was deteriorating. I got long keys on my Braille typewriter so that again I didn’t need to exert as much strength. For reading, at first the teachers would provide my Brailled assignments with double line breaks, because I had a hard time with it otherwise. Eventually, I could read Braille just fine, but it didn’t become my preferred reading method until I got a computer.

I still did use the vision I still had. In fact, I stll do, even though I only have light perception and a little light projection left. At age ten or eleven, I got a handheld magnifier. I remember using it to see the large print atlas we had in fifth and sixth grade, even though I really couldn’t make out anything on it.

By the time we moved across the country when I was nine, my parents stopped taking me to medical specialists. There was nothing to be done about my eyesight getting worse and worse and I no longer needed specialist care for my other disabilities. That is, this is my parents’ version of the truth. I think they may be right but there are some things that just don’t add up. Like, from age twelve on, I was accused of deliberately having an odd posture. Guess what? At age fifteen, the school doctor discovoered I had scoliosis. I had to have physcal therapy again.

At age thirteen, I started regular secondary school. I was functionally blind by this time and did my schoolwork on a computer with Braille display. I also got tactile graphics for the STEM subjects and tactile maps for geography. I also got lots of other nifty math tools, most of which I could barely use. I couldn’t even use tactile graphics much at all.

Like I said, I was discharged from all medical specialists at around age nine. At nineteen, when I graduated secondary school, I went back into care at the rehabilitation center for the blind. Besides orientation and mobility, housekeeping and other blindness-related training, I had to get physical therapy again for my scoliosis.

In 2007, I was finally diagnosed with autism and landed in the psychiatric hospital (not at the same time, mind you). My current psychiatrist remarks that I got little in the way of treatment there and she’s right. At first, it was thought I just needed to be moved into a group home and all would be fine, then when I got my last psychologist, it was decided I just needed a good kick in the behind and to move into independent livng as soon as possible.

Now that I’m 31, I don’t really use many adaptive devices other than my Braille display and my white cane, the latter of which I use more for stability than for its intended purpose. My iPhone has a built-in screen reader and I guess it won’t be long until NVDA is almost as good as JAWS for a computer screen reader. NVDA is free and open source, whereas JAWS costs several hundreds of dollars (that thankfully currently health insurance pays for).

I said eye doctors goodbye for good (except when I need a note to say I’m blind) in 2013 when my last chance to get a little sight back failed. I still see a psychiatrist, though my medcation regimen hasn’t changed in years. I have a community psychiatric nurse, whom I see biweekly for dialectical behavior therapy. As for my mobility, I’m due to see my GP on Wednesday to ask about this and about any treatments or adaptations that could help me improve.

Naptime Natter

My Experience Being on Disability Benefits #Write31Days

Welcome to day 3 in the 31 Days of Autism. Today, I want to wrote about employment or the lack thereof.

I never worked. I didn’t even have a summer job as a teen. I even only babysat for the neighbors once when my sister was ill. When I had to write a resume in college, I put the few barely-active E-mail lists I owned on it, LOL.

When I was seventeen, my parents told me I hd to apply for disability income. I was told it was just to make up for the work non-disabled college students do besides studying. This may be one reason my sister is still a bit jealous, as she never worked and hence didn’t have an income in college (other than her student loan).

I never had any trouble going on disability. I didn’t even have to meet the social security agency’s doctor or employment specialist face-to-face. It was all handled by a simple phone conversation with me and my parents and a few bits of information from my family doctor.

Note that I hadn’t been dagnosed with autism when I was first approved for disability in 2004. Once diagnosed, my support worker wrote a letter to the social security agency informing them of several things: I had been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, had dropped out of college and had been admiitted to a psychiatric hospital. I probably would’ve had to notify the social security agency that I’m no longer in a hospital, but I don’t know how to go about this.

In 2010, the law on disablity income for people who were disabled from childhood on was revised. I don’t know what was changed, but I heard that at least there was talk of not giving people disability benefits from age 18, instead moving the age threshhold to 27. I wasn’t yet 27 by that time, but maybe those already on disability were exempt. Also, those in institutions were talked of being exempt from this rule, and I obviously was.

In 2015, the Participation Act went into effect. This means people won’t get disability payments if they can do a task that is part of a job (instead of being employable in an actual job), have basic employee skills, can work for at least an hour on end and can work for at least four hours a day. In any case, it’s extremely hard to go on disability now. I was still institutionalized when I received the letter at home saying I had no employment potential. My husband jokes that the letter was full of zeros.

Before I’d received the letter, I had worried incredibly. Now that I checked an explanation of the components of employment potential, I’m worried all over again. A Dutch law firm states: “If you wash the dishes at home, you may have employment potential.” This was nuanced a bit to say that, for example, if you volunteer in a sports club cafeteria doing the washing up, this counts as a task. Interestingly though, I don’t think effectiveness or speed are counted in, but they do play a role in the one-hour and four-hour rules.

Many people I know, even those requiring a lot of support, are not approved for disability income under the Participation Act. I am just so glad I am.

Blind People Should

A few years back, there was a flash blog event that had autistic bloggers all finish the sentence “Autistic people should …”. I think the reason was to counter the hurtful search suggestions that Google made when people typed in “autistic people should”. I was reminded of this event when I read this weeks #theprompt, which is “should”.

I was also reminded of my own preconceived ideas about what disabled people should. A few days ago, I wrote to a disability support group on Facebook about feeling like I was setting a bad example for the disability community because I don’t work and spent years in an instituton. Shouldn’t I have to explain why I can’t work or live fully independently? The short answer is: no.

I was feeling like I should have a disability label to justify my every need because of what I learned whilst being part of E-mail groups run by the National Federation of the Blind, one of the two major organizations of the blind in the United States. This was in the early 2000s, mostly before I’d been diagnosed with autism. What I learned was that blind people, unless they have severe additional disabilities, which I’ll address later, should be able to achieve as much as sighted people do. For example, we should be able to read at the same speed, get around with a white cane completely independently, go to college (I think I picked up the term “college-bound” there), be employable, etc. I can’t do or be any of these things. Keeping the bar of expectations high was the motto of the parents’ organization of the NFB or so it seemed. I always imagined a candy bar put up on a star light years away and me being told to reach for the stars.

Sometimes, when people judged blind children or adults they only knew through newspaper articles not to be independent enough, someone would come up with the get-out-of-jail-free pass: “Maybe the person has additional disabilities?” This is a real possibility, since strangers usualy assume my every impairment is due to blindness despite my additional disabilities, so I assume newspaper reporters are no different. Yet does it matter? Should it? Apparently, sometimes.

In an old (like, late 1990s) issue of Future Reflections, the NFB’s magazine for parents of blind children, a blind adult reported his shame when he crticized parents of blind teenagers for not taking their teens to a seminar on independence. It turned out he was speaking to a roomful of parents of teens with multiple disabilities, so obviously they couldn’t bring their teens. I assume most of these teens had the type of disability that seems to have a monopoly on the term “multiple disabilities” when additional disabilities are involved: severe intellectual disability. After all, when I played the additional disabilities card after my autism diagnosis in 2007, I was told to look up Temple Grandin.

I may sound bitter and I shouldn’t be. After all, I do get the services I need now, even though they cater to, well, people with severe intellectual disabilities. That being said, I know I’m incredibly privileged now to have found my particular care agency, because most others would try to fit me into the mentally ill mold or the blindness mold or any other not-completely-fitting mold rather than looking at my needs.

This all brings me to my point, which is that blind people, autistic people, any kind of disabled people, any kind of people in fact, should not have to justify their needs. We are all human and all different, after all.

mumturnedmom

“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”.

Ten Things You May Not Know About My Disability Experience #SEND30DayChallenge

Today I discovered the #SEND30DayChallenge, a 30-day special needs and disabilities blogging challenge. I have participated in way too many 30-day challenges and there’s not one I’ve finished. However, they’re usually just meant to inspire people to write about certain topics. Most people I know don’t follow these challenges over 30 consecutive days.

The first topic in the #SEND30DayChallenge is “the meaning beheind your blog name”. I have a pretty self-explanatory blog name, so I’m not writing about this. Instead, I’m going with the day 2 topic, which is “10 things you don’t know about ___”. Here are ten things you may not know about my disability expierence.

1. I am multiply-disabled. One common myth about multiple disabilities is that the term should refer only to those with an intellectual disability combined with a mobility impairment. I do have a slight mobility impairment, but I don’t have an intellectual disability. However, I am multiply-disabled nonetheless. I am, after all, blind and autistic and mentally ill and have some other difficulties.

2. I struggle with seemingly easy things while I find seemingly diffcult things easy. For example, I can work a computer but not put peeanut butter n a slice of bread. Similarly, due to the variability in my energy level, executive functioning and mental health, I can do some things one day but not the next.

3. You cannot always tell why I have a certain difficulty. Neither can I. This is hard, because people often want to categorize and label things that are out of the ordinary.

4. I have difficulty with communication sometimes. I don’t just mean non-verbal communication, which would seem logical because I’m blind. I mean speech too. I am usually verbal, but lose my ability to speak coherently (or sometimes at all) under stress.

5. I have serious sensory issues. For instance, I find certain sounds incredibly overwhelming. I also seem to have sensory discrimination issues, like with understanding speech in a crowded environment. The worst bit about my sensory issues is that I don’t always notice which is bothering me. For example, I may be hungry but not notice it because there’s a radio in the background that catches my attention.

6. I have slight motor skills deficits. Whether these are diagnosable as anything, I do not know. People on social media often urge me to seek a diagnosis, as my parents either weren’t given a diagnosis or don’t care. However, I find this incredibly stressful and difficult.

Just today, I considered buying myself a white walking stick. They’re sold at assistive equipment stores for the blind. I after all usually use my white cane more as a walking stick and the white walking stick would still signal people to my blindness. However, as much as I seem comfortable invading Internet spaces for mobility-impaired people, I don’t feel so comfortable getting assistive devices for this reason.

7. I am blind, but I still can see a tiny bit. I have light perception only according to eye tests. This’d ordinarily mean I’m functionally totally blind and I usualy say I am. However, I can see such things as where windows or open doors are located. This sometimes confuses people, but in reality, most people who say they’re blind have a tiny bit of vision.

8. I exhibit challenging behavior. This is not willful misbehavior. Rather, it is a response to overload or frustration. I am learning better coping skills.

9. I am more than my disabilities. I have summed up most of my recognized challenges in the above points, but like every human being, I have my strengths and weaknesses.

10. I don’t have special needs. I just have needs. I mean no offense to the special needs parenting community, as I know they don’t mean to offend me. My point however is that, if we see the needs of disabled people as somehow more “special” than those ordinary needs that non-disabled people have, we may forget that not all our needs are explainable by disabilities and we don’t need to have a recognized disablity to justify our needs. We’re all human, after all.

You Baby Me Mummy
Spectrum Sunday

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.