Twenty-Year Survival Plan
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{Image via Bear Robot’s Etsy shop}
…that’s what Jennifer prescribed during our last session. Part of me wished I has misunderstood and she really had said milligrams, but no. She said Clark and I needed to put together our twenty-year survival plan for raising a child with Autism.
I have practiced a few Nervous Breakdown Prevention Methods over recent months, but I have learned the hard way that when the going gets tough, the tough to to Jennifer’s couch. At first I sounded like one of those drug commercials that rattle off the list of depression symptoms right before the narrator speeds up the wpm to that of an auctioneer spouting a string of worse-er drug side effects like blindness, leprosy, and/or the sudden urge to hit the casinos. I told her that I was crying a lot, having trouble sleeping, and that my dream/fantasy life sounded more like a story line for a new Cemetery Dance novel. If she and I didn’t have such an extensive history, she might have reached for her prescription pad. But she knows me. She said that in her professional opinion, she’s quite certain that I am not depressed as much as I am still grieving to which I respectfully replied, “Don’t give me that to-MAY-to/to-MAH-to psyhcho-babble. Give me the MEDS!”
So, what does a twenty-year survival plan look like? I’ll tell you what. Whoever figures it out first will let the other know. Deal? Deal.
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