dariaphoebe: (redhead)
Her email arrived mid-morning, and I didn't read it til rather later as I was busy working. Perhaps it was for the best that I'd waited.

"Good morning, Daria Brashear", I'd greeted her at a minute after 8. We'd arranged the call the previous day. She seemed impressed that I'd trivially navigated bureaucracy to tweak an issue with my health insurance, and frankly, so was I. Not that long ago, I avoided making phone calls. Here, in spite of my dislike of my voice, I stepped right up and dealt.

It was the second time we'd talked, and I had already shared the details, good and bad, of my life. My recounting of 2016, particularly, drew sympathy. "But, I live here now," I'd concluded. This time, remembering something from before, she asked about voice therapy. "Yes, absolutely," I replied, and she said she'd send along the information I needed.

The email unfolded in front of me, and I mentally parsed out the details. As I reached the middle, though, I paused, and held back tears.

At the end of the paragraph, after comments about how to get set up with a voice therapist, she told me to get a referral, obtain a letter suggesting follow ups, and submit it. "It will be approved," she explained as she mentioned mandated benefits. The final sentence, though, was the one that made it all so very real for me:

"It is good to live in Massachusetts!!"
dariaphoebe: (redhead)
It's ironic, the morning after wounding yourself by wiping out on the bike trail, talking about respect for your body, but perhaps that's the reason why.

As a child, I was rather sickly. I had things which raised eyebrows at my pediatrician's office, like mumps and scarlet fever. My acne in high school was so severe that I ended with with tetracycline as a maintenance drug.

A year of tetracycline was the turning point of my health. In the intervening 24 years, I have had no lingering sickness, and indeed nothing which has required treatment other than accidental trauma.

Step 3: learn respect for the physical gifts you've received.

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