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Two tabs today. I started the medication increase from 50 to 100 mg. So far, the side effects are annoying but manageable. Some nausea and feeling generally spacey, restless and my head aches a little. I’m fortunate to have the time right now to feel crummy and adjust. I am not working and the only major hurdle every day is getting my son to school. Then there’s the rest – caring for myself, picking up the pieces of my life, tackling a little at a time. I guess those are mini hurdles. One day at a time.

This morning was interesting getting my son to school. He just started Grade 2 and we biked to school today, which was a slight challenge because of the side effects, but fun to do with him. He rode with his backpack, too. He struggled a little with the weight of it while riding, but managed alright. He recently learned to ride his bike without training wheels and has since been biking non-stop. It’s great, seeing him zoom along, his little legs pumping fast. The bike already looks too small for him. He will need another one in the spring.

His confidence is special. He recently learned the expression, “top-shelf”. I know not where, probably school or daycare. He tells me, “Mom, my bike is top-shelf.” Ok, my boy. Yes, your bike, biking, is definitely “top-shelf” in my books. He worked all summer to achieve this milestone, and knows it. As a mom, I am basking in his happiness and pride. He is growing in leaps. I wish I could bottle his self-confidence and give him a dose of it later in life. I tuck the memories away for the rainy day when a confidence boost will be needed. I give him a mama hug and kiss, and wish him a good day, watching him walk up the steps to the front door of his school. This will be a good year for him, I can already tell.

This morning I have an appointment with an agency that provides support services for military families and veterans. I called them yesterday and set up a time to speak with someone for help advocating with Veterans Affairs (VA). My ex is a veteran and I may still have coverage through the VA for specialized services. It’s a long shot, but the aim is to find a way to afford the cost of inpatient treatment at Homewood. I am still intent on going there. I learned yesterday that my ex’s work benefits won’t cover the cost of the treatment, so I am working on finding other ways to make it happen.

The appointment today was sort of helpful. I knew there would be an intake to see if I qualify for services. I gave them my ex’s service number and told a little of my story – just the highlights. I let the social worker know that I am trying to attend an inpatient treatment program.

“Why Homewood?”, the worker asks. I don’t know what to say at first. Then I reply, “Because I know they have what I need.” I don’t tell him it’s because I am confident the therapists there are skilled at discerning dissociation from fawning and people-pleasing. I need someone trauma-based who can call out me out on my masking. Someone super-observant and experienced who I trust has what it takes to help me along the path to heal. I also need to be somewhere safe where I won’t drink. Individual counselling in the community is helpful but not enough.

He explains how he can provide counselling support for the grief, depression and anxiety. He doesn’t mention anything about treatment for trauma or C-PTSD. I thank him for the offer of help and say I will think about it. I do appreciate his help, even just the time talking with him. I take his card but let him know that I have an intake appointment with another counselling agency later in the week. The agency is not far from where I live. Hopefully the waitlist won’t be too long and it leads to some help.

When I ask him about support contacting the VA, he tells me that I need to call them to explain my situation. “Well ya, I know this”, I thought. He suggests that it may be best to go see them in person with my ex and gives me the address for where to go. I thank him and he shows me out. I’m grateful for the little bit of clarity I take from the meeting. My head feels a little woozy. I better eat something and rest before picking up my son from school. He usually busses to daycare in the afternoon but today he is on pick-up. I need time to feed him and then bring him to the rec centre for a youth rock climbing group.