Yesterday I drove to the clinic and made them show me the fax cover that said they'd successfully sent my medical records to insurance, after a couple days of "yeah well maybe tomorrow". So that part is over, though I should send insurance a note to let them know I've sent the papers. Insurance will 95% send me a paper letter saying I haven't, which will arrive two weeks after next week's deadline. In the past I then contact them, they say it's my responsibility to figure out if the papers got to them and they can't tell me if they have them, then eventually say it's probably ok if I have some sort of proof and they go silent for awhile.

Which is to say, the relentless stress of the thing is supposedly almost over for a bit. I may also have got near the end of the wait list for one of the specialists, though this specialist tends to do some sort of group presentation things instead of one-on-one. I have doubts as to my ability to sit through a group presentation talking about, for instance, possible medications and when and what dosages are needed, then interpret that correctly and convince my personal doctor to prescribe it. At the moment trying to follow a complex or demanding youtube video or audiobook -- which I can stop and repeat -- will make me either fall asleep or lose ability to follow after 7 minutes.

This is why I like Agatha Christie: she's easy to follow and I've read them all lots of times, so missing chunks isn't so bad, and I know where to rewind to if I've missed a bit.

Anyhow, no use borrowing trouble about the specialist. If they accept my paperwork; and they don't try to put me on a return-to-work plan which I think could lead to me losing disability if I can't manage it; and the canadian disability they asked me to apply and then request a review of when they rejected the application, if that doesn't somehow reject me from insurance because I somehow applied wrong because I didn't hire oen of the application services...

...if those things happen, then I have until winter before I have to do it all again, which means I have some time in which to live my life, in an average of two hours a day. A lot of that life is walking Solly until her leg heals; it's going around and looking at the garden, which is good, but not really with the ability to stop and do anything in it, which is a bit frustrating. We're still getting solid frosts but we're in the teens during the day now, sometimes even the high teens (c).

When I've got some recovery in me I might even be able to clear off a surface or part of the floor and wash it. Imagine having an uncluttered couch or a table or a kitchen counter or no mouse blood on the floor and stairs. My current self is deeply grateful to my past self for keeping the dishwasher going, at least, and taking the occasional set of garbage to the dump (we don't have garbage service here).

At equinox I cleaned my pottery studio, which set it up so that I could easily use porcelain (it's very white so it prefers every surface to be cleaned to avoid contamination of dark smudges). Last night, for the first time since then, I got myself on the wheel. I threw three mug bodies with porcelain and remembered just how, hm. People say it's buttery, or like cottage cheese, but my experience is that porcelain moves by me thinking about it, where other clays move with my muscling them. It's a beautiful feeling. I can wreck a wet porcelain piece by setting down the board it's on too hard, and the clay will just slump over sideways, so it demands respect and attention. In return it responds, as I said, to mere thought.

That was a lovely but possibly unwise choice; I forgot my meds for an hour which made me nauseous, was up late, and now my body is complaining that I did too much and it hurts to lay down (actually it hurts to do anything but doing anything that's not resting is at least distracting, even if it will compound the problem). The fact that Solly has to be taken out to pee, which means no more than 11 hours of rest at a stretch for me, is another bit that's ultra hard on my body. But, we'll make it through. She's really being lovely about the whole thing, even though she's off her sedative drugs now and would like to run and play. She did a deep play bow to Thea last night and then tried to do the straight-legged romp around (vet said to keep her on a short leash, this is why: she can't be running) and I felt awful bringing her in. I would have felt more awful if she snapped the plate in her knee or had to re-do surgery though.