I won't know for at least six weeks if it's going to be funded or not and then we have to find an "approved" store.

Father Lindsay had offered to help out with the cost of the cushion, if it meant it would get it into my hands any sooner. He's still offering to help, bless him.

I'm going to try and "ride it out" though. I've lived with this pain since February. I can live with it for a bit longer. I have to live with it. This is my body, this is the only one I am going to get. I have to expect some level of pain for the rest of my life. It's best if I'm steeled against it, rather than unprepared for it.

I feel more than a little outrage at all this waiting for help though. A person with fewer outer emotional resources might have committed suicide under these conditions already. As it is, I feel like dirt every day and have turned to my word processor in order to surivive.

If I weren't able to freely write my feelings out, to Doug and to others, I'd be doing a lot worse. I owe Doug a lot for reading my manure.

There is a thing more crippling than cerebral palsy: the prison of your own mind.