Angel Ackerman's Blog, page 24

Spending time with friends to spruce up mental health

I have faced challenges recently unlike the previous difficult times in my life. I no longer live with my husband. My father passed away a year ago this past Thursday. I don’t hear much from members of my family. The health issues that come from aging with a chronic condition like cerebral palsy, while my prognosis is static, present their own difficulties. My cerebral palsy will never change, or get worse, but the complications from having spastic muscles, scissoring legs, years of toe walking and leg bones that don’t sit where leg bones were designed to sit are very real.

This week, for many reasons ranging from family stress to communication difficulties and new and old volunteer commitments, pressed my mental health beyond the point I like to go. I watched a lot of TV.

I also spent much time cuddled into my new Stitch Fix zipper hoodie. But I did peel it off to wash it today, and put it right back on my body.

And my curls came out nicely today. Thank you, curls.

Television viewing

I caught up on The Good Doctor (and while YES! Audrey Lim decided to accept her disability rather than go through a risky surgery, at the midseason episode now the team decides she has recovered some movement on her own and a new less risky surgical plan might restore her mobility. Even her new boyfriend in a wheelchair says she has to do it, and he proposes, to prove to her he’s there whether she can walk or not. The episode ends with her in surgery. If the surgery succeeds, I will be pissed. Will they then feature an interabled relationship? Why must she walk again? Why can’t we have an able-bodied fancy surgeon become a wheelchair user and excel at it? It’s ridiculous that mainstream television starts to show an able-bodied person accepting a serious disability and then again reverts to the idea that she must walk again. And disabled people know, no one complains louder, no one takes adjusting harder than an able-bodied person suddenly rendered less able.)

Wow. I didn’t expect that tangent.

With that caught up, I tried Little Women: LA and a few episodes of Little Women: Atlanta. I learned some of the varieties of dwarfism, and was forced to thing about discrimination in hiring, but as with most reality series, the focus seemed to be on drama. The Atlanta spin-off really heightened the drama. Within two episodes, we had a pregnancy with an indifferent father and jealousy and cat-fights in the clubs. Because if you use Little Women: Atlanta as a source (which I would not) apparently stripping is a great way to make a living and still collect your disability checks. I was not born with that kind of disability.

I heard a podcast featuring Randall Park and thought I would try his Netflix series, Blockbuster. That was also a disappointment. The humor fell flat for me, and I struggled with the concept. There is one Blockbuster video store still in existence, in Bend, Oregon, and USA Today wrote an article comparing the fictional last Blockbuster and the real one and honestly that just confused me more.

So, I went for Hoarders season one on Hulu. It’s amazing after having binge-watched later seasons during previous times of emotional crisis to see how unpolished the initial season is. You can see the crew determining what works and what doesn’t. The cinematography is more dramatic, but the professional only have two days to clean massive hoards and they slowly tack on more time.

At this point, I renewed my Motor Trend streaming service and will stick with Mike Brewer and Marc “Elvis” Priestley on Wheeler Dealers.

Rocking New Boots

I finally got to wear my new Marc Fisher over-the-knee boots! The Teenager worried about me leaving the house in higher-than-usual heels. They were so much fun to wear and didn’t feel any more uncomfortable than other boots.

I left my house around noon. I had promised to bring Maryann some books as her tavern is featured on the cover of The Death of Big Butch. I delivered her copies, visited for a moment (but not as long as I thought I would because the traffic and road closures in downtown Easton made it impossible to drive the three miles to her. It took FORTY minutes.), and heading for my lunch with Bill Prystauk, the author of the Kink Noir series and a long-time writing friend.

We had a lovely meal at Gap Diner in Wind Gap, Pa., a midpoint we select between his location in Stroudsburg and mine in Easton. He had a spinach and feta omelet where the rye toast had this perfect dark line around the edge but the bread remained flexible. The potatoes were also picture perfect. They had this crisp outside and looked soft on the other side. I had pepperpot soup and the buffalo chicken Caesar salad. I was a tiny tiny bit disappointed that the chicken was chicken fingers cut into bite sized pieces but honestly, the beauty of the shredded romaine and its luscious green color won me over.

It was a good eating day as the Teenager brought home fresh bagels from the bagel deli and I had had a salt bagel with piles of kale and spinach and hummus for breakfast, an iced coffee for an afternoon treat, and a dinner of heaps of vegetables (kale, squash, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cauliflower and zucchini), a vegan chicken tender and a token amount of pork.

Much better than yesterday when I ate a double steakhouse cheeseburger from DQ, cheese curds, pretzel sticks with queso and a blizzard (snickers/brownie) so large in came in a medium soda cup.

Visiting her Ladyship Maxine

From Wind Gap, I traveled out to Point Phillip through some scenic roads to visit photographer Joan and deliver her copies of Big Butch, which apparently I would trade for celery and pears. Joan and I are often trading edibles.

I met the younger stepson, the grandson, and even got to pet the adorable Maxine, a striking cat of great renown. As soon as she heard that I was the one who alerted her people to the existence of Tiki Cat cat food with shrimp, she sniffed and rubbed against my boots providing me with the ultimate blessing.

And Joan gave The Teenager, myself and her own self a Yule present: a game called Ransom Notes, basically Cards against Humanity but with magnetic word stickers. The Teenager cannot wait to play.

All in all, I think I put 50 miles on the car.

I received a phone call from a journalist trying to convince his editor to write a story on Big Butch. And I participated in a speaker phone call with The Teenager and her grandmother (my mother-in-law). She revealed that she would be having fried chicken and potato salad among the offerings on Christmas Eve so I may now have a social obligation that night. I love my mother-in-law’s fried chicken and potato salad.

More about advocating for oneself, cerebral palsy and life in the warehouse

I last checked in with this blog on Monday, December 12. Today is Friday. I have diplegic spastic cerebral palsy and my workplace recently changed the way they measure our performance. The company switched from a weekly average to a firm daily number. I work in a warehouse folding clothes, and I’ve been there more than two years. Why do I do physical work when I have a disability, skills/talents and plenty of higher education?

Because I’m tired of emotional stress and the politics in a white collar office environment. I’m tired of being underappreciated, never getting credit for the good stuff I’ve done, and I’m tired of my creative, intellectual energy benefiting some entity other than myself.

I also love the mindlessness of my current work, listening to podcasts and brainstorming my own projects during the day, and my team. Working in a warehouse environment has brought together a diverse mix of people that I wouldn’t get to interact with otherwise. And I feel like this particular company, this warehouse and my supervisor and team give people opportunity and respect when other people/companies wouldn’t.

I have been struggling with my body for about a year. And my employer has never given me any trouble due to my disability. But, I also know that I will fail in this new metric system. So I applied for workplace accommodations and intermittent FMLA leave.

The leave request ran into some complications when the fax never seemed to make it to the absence management company. On Monday I contacted my neurologist to ask if they could fax it again.

On Tuesday, I took all-day VTO and ended up getting some frustrating communication from one of my volunteer activities. The kind of stern communication that feels like a betrayal and makes you reevaluate some relationships and commitments. I spent most of Tuesday sleeping and watching Hoarders. Because nothing makes you feel more psychologically grounded than seeing the homes in Hoarders.

The neurologist’s office followed up with me on Wednesday. I contacted the claims examiner via email to update them, and it was Wednesday afternoon when I received an email with the document and uploaded it to the claims management company.

This was the same day my supervisors at work asked me to submit the accommodation form I had given them to my claims examiner. Which I happened to have a scan of that document on my phone so I did.

I received word today that my intermittent FMLA leave was approved.

As for accommodations, Wednesday a friend from my roster saw to it that I got some work that was easy for me. By my calculations I hit 101%. But I was told I hit 111% because I receive extra non-production time for talking with people about my accommodations.

Before we left on Wednesday, one of the kind people from the original day shift brought me some of the work that was already boxed for me to set at my station for the morning. I also took the time to box the items from the bottom of my previous cart and get that ready. But when I returned to work Thursday morning, someone had taken my nicely packaged work.

It also happened to be the one year anniversary of my father’s death and I was at work when I got the call that I needed to come to the hospital and say goodbye. So, my emotions are on edge because of that, my anxiety is acting up because of the issues with my leave and my accommodations and the other things in my personal life.

My friend from my roster tried to get me pre-packaged work. I took VTO at 11:30 and I thought I hit 105%. The official number was 103%. I would estimate that half my work was the stuff that is easier for me. Thanks to that friend on my roster.

Today I again took VTO, this time at noon. I packed 89 fixes, by the skin of my teeth, which should be 100%. Only 24 of those were prepackaged. So less than 30%. I received more troubling news about three-and-a-half hours into my shift that made me realize that no one that could be considered my family has invited me for Christmas. I’m 100% okay with being alone, and Christmas usually ends with me in a panic attack, but I didn’t anticipate that suddenly at 47-years-old my daughter would be my only family.

My toe has been feeling much better, but I’ve only worked part-time this week. But I think the gel protector ring is helping tremendously. No nerve pain. But my right leg definitely feels turned in and clunky.

I think my life has been challenged on every front recently. The nice thing about such challenges is that they can inspire new beginnings and allow you to mold what you want out of life and stop living to other people’s expectations.

But sometimes– no, often– it still hurts.

Toe-day at work

I ran out of juice yesterday. Fatigue, lack of good sleep, adrenaline from publishing Larry Sceurman’s The Death of Big Butch (see a post by Larry on the Parisian Phoenix website today, click here), anxiousness regarding doctors’ appointments and my service dog application, the toll of my various foot and leg issues, and the excitement of my traveling companion, M, coming to visit all caught up with me.

Let’s start with a joke. Because it’s Monday. And we can all use a laugh. And this is clever.

What’s the worst thing you can read in Braille?

Emma Tracey, the Blind Co-Host of the BBC All Access Podcast

Before work, I went through my collection of protective toe devices. The little foam doo-dad the podiatrist gave me is looking rather worn and tatty, especially since or perhaps despite the fact that I’ve been hand-washing it.

The larger gel separators I wore over the weekend, held in place with the bunion wrap, seemed too big and the pressure hurt my toe more.

So, today I tried out the gel-line toe protector sleeve, which, according to the instructions, they make long enough for your finger. Doesn’t that make it a digit sleeve?

As instructed on the package, I held it up to my toe and then used scissors to trim it to the right size. And I wondered if the piece that remained after the cut might be large enough to use like a toe right to cover the damaged flesh and the portion of toe that rubs. This wouldn’t actually separate the toes, but it might eliminate the friction.

I decided to try it.

It fit! “Waste not, want not,” after all.

I wore my obnoxious patterned Vans sneakers (that came in one of The Teenager’s fixes. She proclaimed them hideous but I fell in love with them.). Ready for work.

We won’t talk about the fact that I struggled hard to get my socks on this morning. Sometimes my lack of mobility makes be feel like a T-Rex when I need to do stuff with my feet.

Today I handed my doctor-filled-out, official form for workplace accommodations to my supervisor.** Now my supervisor has been working in the other side of the warehouse. He will be there relatively long-term. This had me nervous, and I kept checking my work email seeking some sort of acknowledgement. None came.

Until first break, I clocked in at 100% of the Daily Minimum Expectation. But I fell behind after break. The official numbers don’t account for our 10-minute paid breaks. By official numbers, I was probably 102% or more before first break. By my numbers, I was around 98-99%. My numbers account for the breaks.

Around the halfway point of my shift, I had fallen to 97%. And then I got a phone call and Siri read me the voicemail. My examiner had called, stating that she would be denying my intermittent leave request if she did not get my form from my doctor by 5 p.m. Apparently, she’s in Arizona. Her 5 p.m. and my 5 p.m. are two different things.

I had filed for intermittent FMLA leave November 9, because the shift change I was forced to make in late October has made scheduling my doctor’s appointments nearly impossible. The company that administers the claims for my employer sent a form to my doctor, but it took nearly a week for me to find out which doctor, because I had given them the name of my primary care physician and my specialist.

The neurologist received the form November 12. (I know because the neurology office sent me a receipt and the parent hospital sent me a bill, which I had to scan the receipt and mail to the hospital over the weekend.)

My specialist couldn’t start the form until I paid the fee. For some reason, the office did not tell approach me about this until November 22. They called me while I was at work and I had to call them back once I had my wallet and was off the warehouse.

When I called them back, of course I was placed on a call-back list. I received the follow-up phone call mid-shift the next day (November 23), but luckily I had my HSA credit card in my pocket and I answered the call. I paid the $30 with funds from my HSA.

Now, the paperwork had a due date of December 9. But remember, November has a little holiday called Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving occurred on November 24 this year. My physiatry/neurology specialist called me around 1 p.m. Monday November 28. We had experienced computer problems in the warehouse and I had come home early. She spoke with me while she filled out the form and promised her nurse would fax the forms by the end of the week.

I had an appointment with my specialist December 9, so when I hadn’t heard from the examiner by the end of my work day December 8, I emailed her. I wanted to confirm she had the paperwork. And I wanted to file an absence for December 9, as I had two doctors’ appointments that day. She did not response until today, December 12, because she had been out of the office December 9.

Because she had been out of the office, she gave me the extra time to file the forms. But that extra time was four hours. I can’t even reach my specialist within four hours.

I emailed both the examiner and the neurology office, but heard from neither by the time the neurology office closed today. I guess this means my claim for a leave will be denied. I hope I can open a new one and either resubmit the prior form or ask the specialist to update the date on the form, or worst case contact my primary care physician and have him do a form and also attach the specialist form. “Luckily,” I’m still having issues with my toe which means I will probably see plenty of doctors.

Sigh. I mention this because this is what I’m obsessing over while I’m struggling to get my numbers at 100%. And I’m mentioning this because I am capable, and I can often find work-arounds other people don’t think of. But what if I were a disabled person that relied on caretakers and support staff? What if I had to rely on more people to coordinate these things? What if I had communication difficulties? It is exhausting to advocate for oneself.

Fast forward to lunch. I want to say my stats were at 96% or so. Our employer offered full day Voluntary Time Off for tomorrow and at this point I was stressed out enough to apply for it. I don’t have the money, but I also don’t feel like I have the stamina.

After lunch, my stats kept falling. They had reached 94% when someone “in charge” approached me to ask what my accommodations were because one of my peers (my sassy friend) had mentioned it to her. My supervisor had mentioned my accommodations to this person but she misinterpreted his concern to be about something else, until my sassy friend inquired about me. I think my sassy friend has become our elected leader.

After our final break, one of my teammates (who always supported me when we were on our own shift) brought me the easier work for me to do. Basically, he brought me the work already in boxes so I didn’t have to retrieve the items in the cart. I finished the day at 98.4% of DME which is amazing when you consider that about 75 minutes earlier I had been on track to complete 94%.

In addition to all of this, I never did hear back from the neurologist nor the examiner. The neurologist’s office is closed now. And when Arizona time reaches 5 p.m., my claim for intermittent leave will be denied.

And remember my toe? I had substantially less toe pain today than over the weekend, and no general foot pain.\

And I got the VTO for tomorrow.

Now the answer to our joke…

What’s the worst thing you can read in Braille?
Don’t Touch!

Emma Tracey, the Blind Host of the BBC All Access Podcast

And yes, I called Nan and asked her if she had ever heard this joke. When she heard it, she nearly bust a gut.

** If you’re new here, I have diplegic cerebral palsy and have worked in a warehouse folding clothes for two years. Today they changed the system of how they measure our efficiency. We used to get our weekly numbers averaged into our performance figure but starting today, they evaluate the figure daily. Without official accommodations, I won’t meet the daily figure. My typical performance is pretty similar to last week, when I did 101%, 101%, 101%, 94%, and 100%. When you average that, my performance is 99.4%. But I miss the mark usually one day a week. Now they only give us two days to miss in a month.

A Saturday with M, food at Allentown’s Damascus, an empty bathroom and a burning toe

Today is the day The Teenager planned to work on the downstairs bathroom, installing a new floor and finishing the paint. Our fellow cat foster has agreed to help her with this project, which is very kind of her. Originally, The Teen had off today, but at the last minute her boss added some clients to her roster.

So, as I write this, I have a belly full of pleasant Middle Eastern food after going to Allentown with M to visit the restaurant Damascus, which was once the establishment of our college peers whose parents emigrated from Syria.

My washer, dryer, toilet and floor have been removed from the downstairs bathroom and I have a burning, burning toe.

Where to begin…

I think the logical start might be our meal.

We arrived and inquired about the history of the restaurant, only to learn that the cousins who lived down the hall from me in college did indeed come from the family who founded and operated Damascus for 25 years.

We also learned that the family sold the restaurant about 7 years ago, but they still made amazing food.

I ordered the falafel sandwich and M ordered the garlic labneh, hummus and zaatar/oil.

My falafel came in a tight cylinder of pita, stuffed with crisp lettuce, hot peppers, tomato and dripping with tahini. It was lovely brown and crusty (in the good way) on the outside of the falafel, but soft and flavorful on the inside. They put a few hot peppers on, just enough to give the tahini some zing but not too many, protecting the flavor integrity of the falafel.

The hummus was smooth. The labneh creamy and rich with garlic. And as M loved to point out, the zaatar had the sumac he loves.

After our lunch, we shared some of the most photographic baklava I’ve ever seen and sipped Turkish coffee. I don’t know about you, but I love a strong Turkish coffee so rich it almost reminds one of chocolate. I didn’t add sugar, preferring to alternate bites of the succulent, picture-perfect baklava with the coffee.

The man behind us explained to his date in detail how they make baklava which involved lots of repetition of “they crush pistachios” and “they layer phyllo dough and honey” over and over and over.

M and I talked for a while sipping coffee in tiny cups and then drove to the Parkland area to see the new mosque under construction a friend had told him about when they met overseas.

On the drive home, my damn toe started burning again, so badly that I could not wait to get home and rip off my socks and remove my new toe separator. I believe I mentioned yesterday I bought each variety of toe separator available at my local CVS: the gel separator, the bunion wrap with toe separator and the gel toe protector.

My toe no longer looks inflamed, but the skin is still painfully tender and red with skin peeling all around.

I decided to wear gel separator with the bunion rap today. The gel separator felt much thicker than my normal toe separator cushion from the podiatrist. I really liked the wrap, but I really think the gel separator might have put too much pressure on the toe.

Festive Friday’s life (and cerebral palsy) updates

My traveling companion M is in town so I stopped very briefly to say hi. He’s staying at a hotel between Sheetz and Wawa, and he’s never been to either, so I have a Pennsylvanian duty to educate him.

His hotel has a few artisanal touches in an otherwise uninteresting and rather lackluster environment.

I received a message from M last night while I was at Barnes & Noble at the Noble Quills poetry open mic where Darrell was featuring. (See YouTube video below.)

My most-exhausting-work week ended with a few lessons. I noticed that no pair of shoes I own will alleviate the foot pain I am experiencing, though experimenting with different tape/toe separator arrangements I can select the type of pain I prefer to experience. With this in mind, I have purchase three different varieties of toe separators from CVS today. ($22 worth of merchandise that I got for $15 and I paid with my HSA debit card.) I achieved 101%, 101%, 94% and 100%.

I had my follow-up with the neurologist-physiatrist today. The Baclofen appears to help my stiffness, and though I do experience a weird jerky stiffness at the end of the day after I sit and then get up, I have not fallen and I seem to move easier. She filled out my accommodations paperwork… so hopefully I will get a share of the easier work. I offered several ideas of how to provide easy accommodations. (I shared the same letter with my doctor and Stitch Fix.) The doctor remarked that my gait had noticeably improved and I think she laughed when I told her I preferred walking in cowboy boots because of the sound and the feel. (She was wearing a mask, so I can’t be sure.) She also seemed to make a quiet noise of approval upon the mention of a service dog.

I had an hour between appointments and in that time, I hung out with The Teenager’s dog (F. Bean Barker). It was Festive Friday at work so I wore my favorite “Fleece Navidad” Christmas sweater.

I then met with my therapist. He was one of three people who served as references for my service dog application and because I mentioned I had a therapist on my medical team, they sent him a psychiatric evaluation to fill out. He wanted to review it with me, because he wasn’t sure of the weight of his role in the whole process. He was much relieved to hear that I had had the in-person interview last week (read more about that here) and that I had received the email an hour earlier stating that my home visit and canine therapeutic evaluation would be scheduled early in the new year.

So I said I would approach the paperwork as if they just wanted to know if I was stable enough to care for myself and the dog.

By the time I returned home from that appointment, the UPS man had left a special package on my doorstep. It was Larry Sceurman’s debut novella, The Death of Big Butch. And some other books from Parisian Phoenix Publishing. As is my custom, I did an unboxing on film.

Buy Parisian Phoenix books from Barnes & Noble here.

The Teenager and I did some chores around the house and loaded up the car with the dog and the books and made deliveries: to the author (where books were signed) and to people anticipating the release. And, because Larry lives near a 7-Eleven, the teenager needed to stop for a Mountain Dew Slurpee.

She happens to have one of her new sweaters on from her latest fix.

And the joy of bringing Larry his books warmed my Grinchy heart.

And watching Larry decide how to sign his books, debating which of his signatures should be his author-specific nomenclature, also had an impact. I’m proud of his book. I’m proud of the product the Parisian Phoenix team made– and I’m told the effort and the quality of the book are more than Larry had ever expected to see from his stories. After all, when he pitched his stories to me, Larry had figured he had a short story anthology to offer the world.

And poor Larry, I told him he had a novella in Big Butch, and still had enough stories for the anthology, and that one of the longer anchor stories in the anthology really should be a full length novel. He’s stuck with me for a while.

Barbara gave us some cut-out cookies. Buttery, not thick not thin, with a lemony or vanilla-y hint of something so scrumptious. Roll-otts as my Pennsylvania Dutch in-laws would say.

Larry and Barbara also gave me a large bag of cat toys, which we gave to foster Khloe for right now. She’s protecting them and sleeping with them like a dragon hoarding treasure.

Maybe I’m naive or egotistical, but I really love the craft model of publishing I’m creating– including my authors in every stage of the process and creating a book we all believe in, from the author to the publisher, the artists to the designer. I never thought publishing could empower, but I’m learning so much that I never realized I wanted to explore. Talents always feel better when you share them.

Almost there check-in

Good morning. It’s Thursday morning as I write this. I have hit more than 100% at work all week. I’m exhausted and behind at chores at home which appears to be my natural state these days. On top of that, we have no caffeinated beverages in our breakroom at work due to a countertop upgrade. I think we’re all about to mutiny.

Yesterday, The Teenager did a Dunkin run for our lunch break and made me and several of my friends very happy. Today, we all pledged to bring Thermoses.

I called my podiatrist on Monday and left a message with his answering service. According to the service, they should have returned to the office Tuesday afternoon, but I have not received a call.

I have been experimenting with shoes and toe arrangements. This had yielded less pain in my foot. I have found using the toe separator between my big toe and the next toe and taping both toes together has decreased the workload of the troublesome toe. My data might be too preliminary.

The pain from the neuroma only acts up about twice a day now. When exactly depends on which shoes I wear. And what type of pain the rest of my body experiences also connects to the shoes. Do I want generic foot pain? Hip pain?

Big Butch officially releases tomorrow. The print copies have left the printer, Amazon (and probably Barnes & Noble) will accept preorders, and the ebook is live on Kindle.

My diet has been a mix of trash and veganism, thereby counteracting the recent weight loss I had when I initiated eliminating potentially inflammatory foods from my diet.

This weekend I hope to edit the Parisian Phoenix website and take kittens/cats to the adoption meet-and-greet, while the Teenager works on the downstairs bathroom project.

Tomorrow is my big appointment with my absolutely amazing neurologist/physiatrist where she will fill out my official work accommodations form. Speaking of which, the hospital just billed me a second time for the intermittent leave paperwork I asked her to file.

And I still haven’t rescheduled last week’s chiropractor appointment.

Oh… and the Teen got a fix yesterday. Unboxing here.

I sent Big Butch into the world

May, 1974. Jimmy Washburn lives in a sleepy small town with a beautiful wife he adores and his almost two children. He works at the small auto body …

Big Butch debuts this week, free now on Kindle unlimited

Random Review of the Day: ABC’s The Good Doctor

Saturday (December 3, 2022) was International Day of Persons with Disabilities.

Coincidentally, today I am watching Hulu and catching up on ABC’s The Good Doctor. I started losing interest in the show when the characters starting experiencing once-in-a-lifetime traumatic events every season. The show seems to have become surgeons trying to save each others’ lives instead of the patients.

The main premise of the show is that Dr. Sean Murphy is on the autism spectrum and uses some special effects to show the audience how his mind works (which reminds me of the early seasons of House MD when they relied on special effects to show what was happening inside the patient, but more bookish).

Sean leads what I think everyone would agree is a normal life. And his journey to fit in and live that normal life is central to the program. Did the creators/writers make him a doctor so that people’s lives rely on him? Or is it to show that this is an amazing use of his unique mind?

SMALL SPOILER AHEAD

Regardless, the writers place his social struggles amid these high stakes events that really don’t depict ordinary life. In the current season, Sean’s supervisor Audrey Lim finds herself lucky to be alive but in a wheelchair. The initial quandary about this is Sean’s role in the surgery that left her paralyzed.

The first couple episode of the season address Lim’s adjustments to life in a chair, and this includes her trying everything she can think of to return to her life as a stellar surgeon at the hospital. And she does. And even while achieving these milestones, she is angry and dealing with disability grief. I would also venture to say that at some points she almost says she’d rather be dead than living this disabled life.

Now I’m on episode 4 or 5 of season 3, and now the team thinks they can find another surgery to cure Lim.

Why does Lim have to be fixed?

Once again, the mainstream media is showing us that disability must be fixed. I was so impressed with Lim’s balance of frustration and determination to regain her prestige as a surgeon. I don’t want to see her fixed.

I guess we’ll see where it goes.

But I also wonder what young people who rely on wheelchairs and other mobility devices would feel if Lim walks again. If a gifted medical professional can’t feel whole and productive without her legs, what does that say about the value of disabled lives? What young person needs to see representation of someone accepting their new abilities?

Let’s talk a little bit about the holidays

The Christmas season, in general, makes me anxious and uncomfortable. The reasons for this don’t matter. Just accept the statement. I spent Thanksgiving alone this year, though I know I could have gone to my in-laws. This year has been a year of firsts, first everything without my father. And spending most of my holidays home alone has been part of my grieving process. A great big letting go of all the expectations and obligations.

It’s the first weekend in December. The Teenager has asked to give up the Christian trappings and embrace our pagan side. So, we intend to celebrate Yule. She wants a small tree covered with pine cones and other items of nature. I’d like to make a dinner that includes rabbit or venison.

Yesterday, we ended up in Bethlehem– The Christmas City– and stopped to see The Teenager’s grandparents (in part because The Teenager added the grandparents to our phone plan since a certain phone service that focuses on seniors has sent phones Grammy cannot use and that don’t dial 9-1-1 when her husband is having diabetic seizures in a stranger’s driveway. Good job, Consumer Cellular.) Grammy is learning how to use her iPhone 13 and even FaceTimed her sister who lives six hours away. Even if the FaceTime was an accident.

I got to see Grammy’s tree and train, and eat the last slice of Grammy’s shoofly pie. While Grammy comes from Pennsylvania Dutch stock, she struggles to make a wet bottom shoofly pie. So she’s been working on it. And we brought the dog, so the dog got to see Grammy and Poppop and the squirrels in their backyard.

Then the teenager and I spent some time doing chores and resting before embarking on the one totally ridiculous thing that is our holiday tradition: watching Denis Leary in The Ref. And this year we watched it sipping chocolate laced wine, eating dusty road sundaes without the chocolate syrup and waxing our legs.

Every day I see more and more ways The Teenager has absorbed the values of my estranged husband and I, and the things that make us uniquely us are important to her. And that makes me happy.

And it’s not easy to be happy these days, under the weight of grief and the stress of disability.

Half way through the movie, The Teenager wanted potato chips. So she called her dad. He happened to be in the middle of Target. He brought us two bags of Doritos, one original red for The Teen and one Cool Ranch blue for me.

Because we’re all still family.

Random Review of the Day: Netflix’s Wednesday

I heard the murmurings about Tim Burton’s Addams Family dark academia adaption, Wednesday, and I had to binge-watch ASAP.

You see, I remember watching The Addams Family on the floor of two different trailers, my grandfather’s when I went to visit my Aunt Sharon or Wicky’s, an elderly man who lived near my grandfather in the trailer park. My mom used to help James Wicks as he grew older. My mom and dad had lived in the trailer between my grandfather and Wicky when my they first got married.

I adored Wednesday and grew up to idolize John Astin as Gomez and later as Buddy on Night Court. I lost my mind when “Gomez” turned up on my current favorite show in the later part of the 1980s. To see a 2015 interview of John, click here. John Astin is still one of my greatest heroes on-screen. He even discusses working with cartoonist Charles Addams. If you haven’t seen the original Addams Family cartoons, I encourage you to check them out. Here’s a book that traces the history of the iconic Addams Family.

When The Teenager was four, our entire family dressed as The Addams Family for Halloween. She was Wednesday, her father was Gomez and I, of course, was French-speaking Morticia. The Teenager had a headless doll, I carried a deflowered rose, and we even had a silicone replica of my hand we cast as Thing and took turns carrying.

We purchased the original black-and-white television program on DVD. I loved the first movie of Addams Family reboots, especially Christina Ricci as Wednesday asking the Girl Scout played by the actress Mercedes McNab who was also Harmony on Buffy and Angel. Ricci returns as a house mother and horticulture teacher in the new Wednesday series on Netflix, though I did not recognize her.

I have very mixed feelings about this show, and the Teenager tells me I am not the intended viewer so that might be some of the problem. To lessen the pressure to rate this program with a definitive reaction, I’m going to present my reactions in pro/cons list.

WHAT I LIKED:

WEDNESDAY. The casting of Jenna Ortega as Wednesday Addams could not have been more perfect. Her acting surpassed my every expectation. The costumes. Especially Wednesday. According to Variety, Colleen Atwood (who has impressive credentials) did the work– and wow did the costumes from the school uniforms to the styling of the individual characters pop against the setting.Pugsley. Played by Isaac Ordonez, Pugsley did an excellent job of fading into the background yet adding to the comic relief and the family dynamic all at the same time. Ordonez played Pugsley (originally Pubert in the original cartoons, a name that couldn’t be used on 1950s television) with just the right blend of seriousness and subtle “camp.”The Writing. In general, the dialogue pleased me. The character interactions were top knotch.The Addams Family Hearse. At first, I thought it was a Rolls-Royce, but then I had to smile when I realized what it was.The Cello. It was just cool.The Poe-themed boarding school. A boarding school for monsters just should have an Edgar Allen Poe theme.Enid. She’s adorable.The overt theme of unconditional inclusion.

WHAT I DIDN’T LIKE:

MORTICIA AND GOMEZ. Catherine Zeta-Jones seemed flat as Morticia. She was okay. Luis Guzman does a superb job with the role he is given as Gomez. His acting– perfect. But this Gomez is not charming. This Gomez has rotten teeth and a weeble-wobble shape and reminds me more of the Penguin from Batman. NO FRENCH. Morticia does not speak French.Four houses of monsters. Like a direct rip-off of Harry Potter, the occult boarding school of Nevermore has four houses (werewolves, vampires, gorgons and sirens) and then those who don’t fit in one of those groups. I’m not impressed with this social construct. I personally wouldn’t have groups of monsters and would focus instead on the individuals. And the fact that we have werewolves, vampires, gorgons and sirens just seems random. And I can only think that the only reason there wasn’t a group of witches is because of… you guessed it… the success of Harry Potter (which I still believe is a rip-off of one of my favorite childhood books, The Worst Witch). Wednesday appears to be a psychopath. The Addams are certainly counter-cultural, but a scene toward the end of the first season dips into torture. And not the kind people consented to. The plot. The story itself was meh. The familiar tropes played out in the anticipated way.