Introretrospection
Mar. 9th, 2004 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightlotusmoonBack to work, for both of us. Why did it have to be freezing this morning? It's March! Maryland weather .... argh.
I still feel stuffy and dizzy, but I have Tylenol Sinus -- Day and Night. Whee. I've discovered that the Night version gives a bizarre muscle-relaxing side effect, pretty much obliterates the normal tension caused by the cerebral palsy. Which is fascinating. Must be the pseudoephedrine. Also raises blood pressure (which is good because I barely have any) and improves my nearsightedness. And no, I don't think taking it every day for these reasons is a good idea. You take it when you're sick.
Makes me think of what Mom told me the other day when I mentioned that whole muscle-relaxing effect of pseudoephedrine: What she said about Botox being used to ease cerebral palsy, since it relaxes muscle tension (which, apparently, causes facial wrinkles). I'd heard about it years ago, but never really paid much attention. Mom brought it up, suggesting I look into it. Me? Botox? Injection? Needles?! *eep* Ehh ... Maybe I'll just find a way to utilize muscle-relaxing chemical or herbal stimulants. Pure liquid Panax Ginseng with Royal Jelly seems to do it. Not the capsules, but the actual liquid. Strattera did it. I guess Cerebral Palsy -- and any neuromuscular disorder -- responds well to anything that both stimulates the central nervous system and relaxes muscle tone.
In thinking about that, I realize that while other people can't really see this "handicap" of mine, I still do. I still feel it, regardless of how well I've improved over the last few years. I know it because I still feel that tension, I still have those little spasms, and when I take those pseudoephedrine (or whatever) medications, I can still feel that cool, sweet rush that lets me spin and dance like I was still "just like everybody else". And y'know, it may sound weird, but I don't know if I'd want to truly be recovered, be "just like everybody else". I feel like this makes me unique. Most people have all these mental issues: Psychiatric disorders and things that that. But I have this undeniable physical thing, and even though there are millions of people out there that are living with CP, it seems like I'm one of the only ones who are really middle of the road, really mild. You can't tell. It's frustrating sometimes, because it's on my medical records but since nobody sees it, I'm not really handicapped. I don't wear a leg brace. I limp, but chalk that up to a twisted foot and a shorter left leg (which the CP caused). Sometimes my left arm hangs limply, but who cares? Really, the only people I've met who've been able to tell are people who have CP, or who have family members diagnosed, because they know what to look for. It shocked me when, in college, a girl in a wheelchair, barely able to talk, looked at me and asked me point blank if I had it. I'm not used to people recognizing it. I've lived so long with it that sometimes I myself forget. Until something happens to remind me: I fumble, stumble, shake, or screw up my speech. Everyone out there may not see it, but I know it's there. And maybe that's enough. I'm still "just like everybody else" in every other aspect. Everybody does all those things, but not every second of every day, diagnosed with a potentially crippling, debilitating disorder that makes me burst into tears every time I see an affected child. That documetary on Dan Keplinger had me bawling. He can barely talk, he can barely move -- and yet he paints. With a brush strapped to his forehead. Beautifully. He's won awards. He lives right here in Maryland.
So why the fuck am I so nervous about becoming a published author? I have a gift. I know I do. And if Dan Keplinger can create masterpieces, why not me? I suck sometimes. I'm worthless sometimes. I don't deserve any of this some days.
And then I remind myself why I keep going. Every day. Why I push myself. Why I am lucky. That, I think, is still enough.
I still feel stuffy and dizzy, but I have Tylenol Sinus -- Day and Night. Whee. I've discovered that the Night version gives a bizarre muscle-relaxing side effect, pretty much obliterates the normal tension caused by the cerebral palsy. Which is fascinating. Must be the pseudoephedrine. Also raises blood pressure (which is good because I barely have any) and improves my nearsightedness. And no, I don't think taking it every day for these reasons is a good idea. You take it when you're sick.
Makes me think of what Mom told me the other day when I mentioned that whole muscle-relaxing effect of pseudoephedrine: What she said about Botox being used to ease cerebral palsy, since it relaxes muscle tension (which, apparently, causes facial wrinkles). I'd heard about it years ago, but never really paid much attention. Mom brought it up, suggesting I look into it. Me? Botox? Injection? Needles?! *eep* Ehh ... Maybe I'll just find a way to utilize muscle-relaxing chemical or herbal stimulants. Pure liquid Panax Ginseng with Royal Jelly seems to do it. Not the capsules, but the actual liquid. Strattera did it. I guess Cerebral Palsy -- and any neuromuscular disorder -- responds well to anything that both stimulates the central nervous system and relaxes muscle tone.
In thinking about that, I realize that while other people can't really see this "handicap" of mine, I still do. I still feel it, regardless of how well I've improved over the last few years. I know it because I still feel that tension, I still have those little spasms, and when I take those pseudoephedrine (or whatever) medications, I can still feel that cool, sweet rush that lets me spin and dance like I was still "just like everybody else". And y'know, it may sound weird, but I don't know if I'd want to truly be recovered, be "just like everybody else". I feel like this makes me unique. Most people have all these mental issues: Psychiatric disorders and things that that. But I have this undeniable physical thing, and even though there are millions of people out there that are living with CP, it seems like I'm one of the only ones who are really middle of the road, really mild. You can't tell. It's frustrating sometimes, because it's on my medical records but since nobody sees it, I'm not really handicapped. I don't wear a leg brace. I limp, but chalk that up to a twisted foot and a shorter left leg (which the CP caused). Sometimes my left arm hangs limply, but who cares? Really, the only people I've met who've been able to tell are people who have CP, or who have family members diagnosed, because they know what to look for. It shocked me when, in college, a girl in a wheelchair, barely able to talk, looked at me and asked me point blank if I had it. I'm not used to people recognizing it. I've lived so long with it that sometimes I myself forget. Until something happens to remind me: I fumble, stumble, shake, or screw up my speech. Everyone out there may not see it, but I know it's there. And maybe that's enough. I'm still "just like everybody else" in every other aspect. Everybody does all those things, but not every second of every day, diagnosed with a potentially crippling, debilitating disorder that makes me burst into tears every time I see an affected child. That documetary on Dan Keplinger had me bawling. He can barely talk, he can barely move -- and yet he paints. With a brush strapped to his forehead. Beautifully. He's won awards. He lives right here in Maryland.
So why the fuck am I so nervous about becoming a published author? I have a gift. I know I do. And if Dan Keplinger can create masterpieces, why not me? I suck sometimes. I'm worthless sometimes. I don't deserve any of this some days.
And then I remind myself why I keep going. Every day. Why I push myself. Why I am lucky. That, I think, is still enough.
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Date: 2004-03-09 10:15 am (UTC)no subject
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