Yes, that picture above is titled Pharmacist Jesus, and the link was provided by one of my readers, a woman who can not only write like a whirling dervish but struggles herself with epilepsy. She sent me the photo when I declared that I wouldn't try another drug for Sophie unless Jesus himself offered it to me.
Which brings me to the weed part of the post. I forgot about the weed possibility! I honestly forgot about this, a post that I wrote barely a month ago and that got me all excited! What is wrong with me? Thank you for reminding me. Next week, I'm going knocking on a couple of medical marijuana doors in the neighborhood that come highly recommended. I imagine that I will be weaning Sophie off of either the Vimpat or the clobazam and simultaneously starting her on a regimen of brownies or cookies. Think of the money I'll save if I wean the clobazam first ($500 a month). However, my dream of traveling to Vancouver as a drug mule for a pick-up of the clobazam and then a rendez-vous with a stranger in a hotel room will go unfulfilled -- the sacrifices we make for our kids. Honestly.
Which leads me to politics. A friend of mine in the special needs world announced on Facebook that she has finally decided and is voting for Romney, and me being me, I got engaged. All was civilized, and I'm done trying to convince her otherwise, but just when I felt really depressed by her arguments about unemployment and the economy and how Obama should have fixed it by now, etc., I read Eric's post on Pressure Support and felt uplifted and edified and awed by his persistence and good, clean arguments. Yes, I know I'm a choir -- but no matter -- at least I know that if Romney wins, there are plenty of people out there with whom I will band, a community that truly believes in community and our connections to one another.
It must sound, sometimes, that the experience of raising Sophie, seeing her seize, struggling with the systems of care -- the healthcare system, the education system, the rules and laws protecting the disabled -- even the constant fight, inherent or real, over her dignity as a human being is something that has informed every single bit of my life, including politics. Some might say that disability has circumscribed my beliefs, that I'm a one-noter or beating a dead horse, over and over and over. Others might say (and have done so) that I'm unpatriotic and bitter, but what I think is that these very personal issues have informed and made me even more passionate about real, liberal principles, perhaps even radical ones. Can you even imagine what direction I'd take if Sophie's seizures stopped with medical marijuana?
Now, I'm going to smoke some weed.
(just kidding. I haven't smoked in probably thirty years. I get extremely anti-social when I smoke the stuff -- and bored out of my mind.)
