autism, Invisible Disablity, memories, ptsd, trauma recovery

Getting my Autism Diagnosis (Twice)

**I know this is late for Autism Acceptance month, but this last month has also been heckin’ scary and stressful and I’ve just been trying to keep the depression and panic at bay. But I promised you guys the whole story, so here it is. If anything I hope it shows that being your own best advocate, having tenacity, and not taking NO for an answer CAN pay off. So don’t give up on yourself. You deserve answers. You deserve help. You matter. And don’t you ever forget that.**

When I was 29 I asked my then-Doctor to please send me to a Psychologist for assessment because I thought I might be Autistic. He ended up calling in the guy from WRHA (Winnipeg Regional Health Authority) who had done my Disability Assessment a year or so earlier. The guy who went,

“OH! You were raised in the WCG?! I’ve treated two other people who were also raised in the WCG! I know exactly what’s going on with you!”

And then misdiagnosed me.

That was the first time I almost lost Disability because he assessed me with the wrong diagnosis and my then-Doctor just wrote “See Assessment” anywhere he was asked to comment. They both half-assed it so badly the 5 person panel that assesses Disability claims originally threw me off Disability, and I had to hustle to get an appeal.

So when I asked to please be referred to a Psychologist who specializes in Adult Autism diagnoses, I was not expecting to see the only guy my then-Doctor seemed to have the phone number for through WRHA.

After 30 minutes he looked at me and told me he didn’t think I was Autistic. Or rather, he said ‘have Autism’. Identity first language wasn’t ever something he used.

He said, “You do have some Autism traits. A lot of them in fact. But you can’t have Autism because you’re too articulate, and you can’t have Autism because you’re a girl.”

I was 29, almost 30.

And even in 2010 I was pretty sure that this Psychologist did not understand how Autism works beyond Kanner’s original ideas back in the 1940s. Seriously.

So I stewed in that for a few weeks, and finally worked up the enormous amount of nerve needed to ask my then-Doctor for a second option.

And he sent me right back to the SAME. GUY.

So I decided if I was going to get any help at all, I needed to find it on my own. Without a referral from my GP my options were slim. To get a referral to anyone here in Canada, you really do need your GP to send in the request. It can take its sweet time, but it works. Eventually.

It’s better than what they have going down south of the 49th. Any time I get frustrated with it, I just remind myself of that and thank Tommy Douglas.

So I bounced around clinics. Getting to the top of lists, meeting them, explaining what I needed (a referral to a Psychologist for a late Autism diagnosis) and had 99% of those doors shut in my face too.

“You need to ask your Doctor for a referral.”
“We aren’t equipped to help you with that.”
“Ask for a referral from your GP.”

FINALLY I found Dr G. It was a wait to get on the list. I basically was part of his clinic hours, but it was help.

The first time I met with G. we had a long session booked. I can’t remember if it was a full 60 or 90 minutes but it was quite long. After introductions and handshakes I sat on the sofa and he sat in a chair with his clipboard and asked me about myself.

I had prepared what I was going to say. Keep it dense and information heavy. Don’t tangent off (which I did anyways … I tend to do that when talking about growing up in the WCG, I think understandably). After 25 minutes or so he hadn’t interjected or really said anything and I was starting to get annoyed.

“Well?!” I asked suddenly after I had stopped, given a good pause for him to interject, and gotten nothing. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“Oh! Yeah you’re on the Autism Spectrum. I could have told you that 10 minutes in, but I had the feeling these were things you needed to say.”
“What?” (You believe me?!)
“Yes. You have what we call Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s a form of Autism that doesn’t have a speech delay, but you obviously have struggled with a lot of other things.”

I was 31.

And it’s amazing how just hearing those words, “You’re on the Spectrum…. You have a form of Autism”, changed things for me. I quit smoking. which was hard because I started smoking at 14 by stealing my mother’s smokes in a futile attempt to hurt her when she was using me as a sounding board as she prepared to leave Dad. I stopped drinking too, which I’d never liked but I’d been doing also since I was a teenager trying to deal with the TMI/over-sharing bombs my mother kept lobbing at me to make herself feel better about what she was about to do. But once I had a word and an explanation for ME, I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore.

I also reached out to my Grandmother, who my mother had done her best to poison all three of us against, and I’m glad I did. Kookum was going through some seriously scary health issues at the time, and I’m glad I was able to be there for her in some small way. I also was able to reconnect with my only cousin – Jon – who is also on the Spectrum. I hadn’t seen Jon since he was, like, 13 or so, and reconnecting with him has been so special and so good. I am so lucky to have both of them in my life again.

I went from being alone, to having a family again. I went from hating myself and trying to hurt myself, to not having the need or want to do that anymore.

I quit smoking. I quit drinking. I reconnected with Kookum. I reconnected with Jon. I stopped hating myself. I stopped hurting myself. I suddenly understood that I was not ‘Demon Seed!’, and I was not a waste, and I was not lazy or evil or bad or deserving of all the pain and bruises (and worse) that had been inflicted on me… I never had been. I had always been simply an Autistic kid who was struggling. I was an Autistic adult who should never have been thrown out into the world on her own with NO supports Who Was Struggling.

Dr G. and I worked together for just over half a year. Meeting every 2-4 weeks. And he honestly helped immensely. Dr P has done so much too, so much more, but G. was the start of it.

And then the DSM-V came out and I was told that my assistance that was covering G’s time for our sessions was being revoked because my diagnosis didn’t exist anymore and I needed to get re-assessed.

Now that shouldn’t have happened. I should have been told that since Asperger’s Syndrome was now umbrella’d under ASD, my diagnosis was now ASD but I guess I just hit the top of the pile on the wrong government employees desk on the wrong day. That also happens in a single payer system. And it sucks.

Suddenly I was back at square one. With no supports and no diagnosis. And that definitely lead to a couple lost weeks (who am I kidding? I lost closer to 6-8 … it was a big blow). But when I came out from under it, finally, I knew I needed a plan.

I needed a new Doctor.
I needed a new referral. To someone who would actually listen to me and was working with an understanding of ASD that was more current than Kanner’s original paper.


An acquaintance told me about Dr Max at AHWC (Aboriginal Health and Wellness) and all the help Dr Max had given them. Helping them find a Psychologist who could and would work with them. Give them a proper diagnosis. Help.

So one day I finally worked up the courage to get on the bus and go to the old CPR station where AHWC is. I talked to the girl at the front desk. I showed them my Treaty card. I filled out all the paperwork. And I got on the list to get on the list.

Eight months later I got the call telling me I was on the actual waiting list now.

Three months after that I met Dr T for the first time. Our first meeting I told her flat out, “I need you to send me to Dr Max because I need an assessment for Autism”.

Three weeks later I got a call to book an appointment with Dr Max.
Two weeks after that we met for the first time.

Dr Max sent me to Dr AP at Health Sciences Centre (HSC) Psych Health for a proper assessment.

A week after our last assessment meeting Dr AP brought me in and asked me why I wanted an Autism diagnosis.

“Because it’s the only thing that makes sense. Because I’ve been diagnosed so many things in my life but this is the one that seems to actually fit. Because I had the answer and it was taken away from me, and,” and I started to cry, “I just want to know… I want to have an answer WHY things have always been SO HARD for me.” and I broke down into quiet tears.

Dr AP leaned forward and told me, “Well, I can tell you today that you… have Autism.”

I was 35. A month away from 36.

And for the second time in my life I felt that wash of relief that comes from knowing the word, and having the word, and having that to clutch to my being and knowing that it made sense. That I made sense.

The assessment report was sent back to Dr Max, with a note that I also needed to be assessed for PTSD (which I do have). I filled in the diagnostic questionnaire’s for PTSD and apparently “passed?” with flying colours. Then Dr Max put my file in front of Dr P, who apparently read it and said, “She’s waited long enough.”

Eight weeks after Dr AP had confirmed my ASD diagnosis, I was sitting in Dr P’s office at the Grace for our first session.


There have been some hiccups along the way. Dr P went on Maternity leave back in December, and I’ve been slowly getting used to Dr W instead. Disability has been all up in the air and just – as Dr P puts it – “re-traumazing [me} every month!”

But things are also a lot better now. I actually have a medical team that is working with me. I have Doctors who listen to me and fight for me and care.

Right now I’m staring down this triple barrel of “Is it MS? Or is it hEDS? Or is it vEDS?! Come back in five weeks and maybe someone else will give you some more information. Maybe“, but I’m honestly doing better than I would have a few years ago. I have a medical team that has my back and a GP who is willing to get me referrals to specialists who can (eventually… hopefully?) shed some more light on things. I’ve never had that before.

Personal, trauma recovery

Catching Up With Me

I haven’t written anything here in 10 days. Feels kinda weird. But I honestly don’t feel like I’ve been doing a lot of stuff. I mean, yeah I’ve been doing a lot of stuff. Taking care of the cats. Helping my Dad. My One Thing A Day journal has pages full of stuff done, but I haven’t been doing very well to be perfectly honest.

I think I’ve really been just trying to do all the things since Dr P went on leave, and I haven’t really been taking care of myself. I haven’t been giving myself the time to adjust and reorient myself properly. And now I’m starting to feel it.

I never realized how much I depended on that check in every 2 weeks, until it stopped. And yes, I know I still see Dr W and she’s doing Dr P a solid by taking me on and I’m taking up her lunch hour and I have zero right to complain…. but I’m not complaining really. I’m just stating the fact that after two and a half years of working really hard with someone who took the time to listen and earn my trust – probably the first person who’s done that my entire adult life – I suddenly don’t have that person anymore.

I know I wrote a post about losing my navigator already, but I think I’m just starting to realize what that means for me. Personally. Internally. Saying the words doesn’t mean I really understood it, but I think I’m starting to.

Disabled Living, Growth & Healing, masking, ptsd, self-acceptance, trauma recovery

Part Two: Trauma Therapy and Not Ignoring What is Rote Now

As I said in the last post, I was not functional at all when I first met Dr P in July of 2016. I had spent my life up until that moment simply surviving as best I could, but after January 1, 2007 I had finally hit my limit. The dam had broken. I couldn’t even really survive. I was anything but functional.

And then I started seeing Dr P. Continue reading “Part Two: Trauma Therapy and Not Ignoring What is Rote Now”

autism, Autistic Living, Disabled Living, Growth & Healing, ptsd, trauma recovery

Part One: Surviving vs Functioning

This is going to be a longer post. Just warning you now.

For the last couple weeks I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around the words needed to say this. And say it properly. Give it the time and the weight it deserves. Because this is a big one for any of us who deal with executive dysfunction, for whatever reason. For me it’s a mix of Autism, PTSD, all the lovely co-morbids that come from the marrying of those two (depression, anxiety, etc, etc). For you it’s going to be different. But I hope something in what I say next clicks with at least a couple people and I hope that in some way it can help. Continue reading “Part One: Surviving vs Functioning”

ptsd, trauma recovery

Last Session (for a while)

So yesterday was my last session with Dr P.
It was also her last day in the office.
So it was just a little busy.

The Pallister government is consolidating all mental health services to just  The Vic, and so all the programs at the other hospitals around the city (that haven’t been closed down … yet) got kicked out of their homes and are headed to the south-by-southwest corner of the city. So it was Dr P’s last day at the hospital we’ve been meeting at for the last 2 1/2 years, and also the last day for everyone before they got kicked out of their home at the hospital. It was a busy day. And still she found time for me.

I am so freakin’ grateful for her.

If she reads this, I hope she knows I will never have enough Thank-yous to give for everything she’s done to help me.

Mostly session was about just checking in one last time. Making sure I had things in order. That I had my systems set up. That all the paperwork was done and all my files could be handed off to the person taking over my file.

There was very little “trauma therapy” and more just making sure everything was as good to go as possible. At the end she gave me a hug, and I probably hung on for too long but I’m also scared that I’m not up to going it without her. I know she brought on Dr W and she spent quite a bit of time reassuring me that I was in good hands and she wouldn’t have just given my file to anyone. I know she was trying to assuage my fears and maybe help me tamp down the terror a little.  And that’s kind.

Not helping really though.

I know she knows Dr W and trusts Dr W, but I don’t. And the only way for that to change is time, really. So I’m trying to keep my mind open and trust in Dr P and Dr P’s decisions. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet, so I have to trust that and trust her, and I guess we’ll just see.

In the meantime, I have the things we’ve built over the last 2 1/2 years. I have my routine that I need to work on more. I have exercises to use when I feel myself slipping or breaking. I have my One Thing A Day, and my journal. I have my mindfulness techniques, and two and a half years worth of session itineraries to look back on and work from.

And I guess I’ll have Dr W too in 2 weeks time, to help keep me on the path.


Yesterday was my last session with Dr P before she moves to the Vic and then goes on maternity leave. And I know it isn’t forever, but I’m still scared.

Personal, ptsd, trauma recovery

Coming Back To Myself

This morning I couldn’t remember at first if I’d had a shower yesterday. And it had me a little worried. Yesterday was kind of FULL and we got a lot done, so it makes sense that my brain has nixed out the bits before the rush. But that’s also not good because I usually only have a shower every second day. And usually if I miss a shower in the morning, that means I can have a bath a night to play catch up.

But then I remembered!

Yesterday morning I called Dad at 10:45 and told him I was about to jump in the shower so I figured I’d call a few minutes early so I didn’t miss him.

YES! There it is! I remembered!

So I just got dressed and didn’t have a shower. Which is fine. BUT! The point is, I remembered!

When I was younger I used to (frustratingly for a lot of people) have a scarily near-eidetic memory. I can still repeat back conversations near-verbatim that happened fifteen, twenty, or even thirty years ago. It used to really piss off my parents when they’d go back on their word and I would counter with, “But you said…” and then repeat back the conversation in toto.

The last 10 years or so since the attack I haven’t been able to do that so well though. I’ve lost entire months to the dissociative haze and blacking out of that time after the fact. Notes and Facebook posts have really been the only thing that worked to keep my routine going.

But this morning I remembered. And that’s huge for me. It means… it feels like I’m coming back to myself.

Personal, ptsd, trauma recovery

One Thing A Day – Update #3

As of yesterday I’ve been using my One Thing A Day journal for a month, and I think now is a good time to look at what I’ve noticed since I started.

1) I Haven’t Lost Any Days

This is huge. Dissociation is a big part of PTSD for me, and something I struggle with pretty regularly. My trauma therapy sessions have routinely, for the last 2+ years, started with us checking in about symptoms. How many days have I lost? And since I started keeping the journal I haven’t lost a single day.

Sure there are no nothing days when I don’t do anything but watch Prime Video and play with the cats, but I remember it. And that’s HUGE.

2) Quieting the Negative Voices

A lot of the time I find myself battling negative voices. Usually they sound like a Frankenstein’s monster of my mother and my ex-husband. Sometimes with my father and my middle sister thrown in for good measure. But since I started keeping the journal I’ve taken away a lot of the Negative Voices’ ammo.

Because I need to find something to put in the journal, I find I’m seeking out things to do. On bad days, sometimes that’s just taking down the trash and checking the mail, and because the rule is One Thing A Day that’s okay. In fact, that’s TWO THINGS so I exceeded the requirements of a “win” for the day! On good days, sometimes I find I have more spoons and I nearly fill a page with things I’ve done and places I’ve gone and people I’ve met and appointments I’ve kept.

But because the requirement is just “One Thing A Day”, even the bad days are wins if I can make myself refill the dishwasher or take down the trash or check the mail.

And that has made it a lot harder for those Negative Voices to find any ground. With no ground they have no good footing, and so when they do come at me I can open up the journal and go, “No. Look! I’ve been productive! I haven’t missed a single day! Hush you and go away. Your argument isn’t based in reality.”

3) More From Less

It’s the strangest thing. I was struggling with lost days and dissociation and feeling like I wasn’t doing anything, and that was leading to a nasty bout of depression. But then Dr P and I came up with “One Thing A Day”, and now I actually find I’m doing more than I was before. Because the bar is so low (One Thing) for the day to be considered a win, I’m finding that once I find my way through “one thing” I also find there’s more I can do. Furminate the cats. Take down the trash WHILE I go to check the mail.

Putting less pressure on myself while still giving myself a very clear line to pass has taken a lot of the struggle away. The self-loathing too. Because, like I said, even if all I do is refill the dishwasher that’s still considered a win! And knowing that in itself is encouraging me to do more. Maybe not as much as I’d like, but more. And that’s a step in the right direction.

Adding To the Requirements

After the first success of “One Thing A Day”, Dr P asked if I could also add “One Thing A Day FOR ME”. So, self care.

Some days I still suck at that part. I’ve been trained my whole life to be selfless to the point of self harm, and told that I don’t deserve the things that make me happy. Taking the time, or the space to express myself was something I was actively dissuaded from. So, some days those nasty voices make it hard for me to be kind to myself and just  take time to mindfully spend some time on me. But forcing me to do it as a requirement of the journal has helped.

Some days that One Thing A Day For ME is simply getting out of this big black chair, plopping myself in the middle of the great room, and spending some time with the cats. Some days it’s something like making myself some facial cream, or having a bath. Some days it’s turning off ALL THE INTERNETS and just having a No Tech Day!

This second part of the journal, I will freely admit, is taking me more time to master. I wasn’t raised to be kind to myself. It’s a very foreign feeling still. Allowing myself to just give myself the time and the space to express myself and create and be happy. To allow myself anything without it being something that can make money or otherwise validate itself as “productively worthwhile”. I know this is going to take some time. In fact, it’s probably going to take a lot more time, but I think I can do it and I’m up for the challenge.

Already I’m starting to notice a small shift in the way I look at things. I don’t see just stopping what I’m doing to let Benny crawl on my lap and focus on him for 10-15 minutes straight as being “distracted” or “wasting time” anymore. It’s time for me to spend with Bennett. It’s bonding time. It’s cuddle time. And it’s good for me too. A little space in the middle of my day. The same goes for a nice call and talk with my Godmother. Sure, it’s a chance to check in on her; but it’s also socializing and just good for the soul.

Taking an hour to have a gab with my Godmother isn’t a waste of time.
Spending some quality one on one time with one of the cats isn’t a waste of time.
Pulling out my watercolours and playing with them until I fill a page isn’t a waste of time. Or a waste of paint. Or a waste of a page.

That one is harder to master I think, or at least it will be. But I’m slowly making progress.


So it’s been a month since I started this journal, and I have to admit I’m doing better.

I haven’t has a really nasty and prolonged dissociation in 6 weeks now.
I’ve given myself a new tool to fight the negative Franken-voices in my head.
I’m feeling more productive.
I’m learning to be kind to myself.

And obviously I’m going to keep it up. Cos it’s working!
The journal isn’t pretty. It isn’t like some of the bullet journals you see on YouTube or Pinterest, but I don’t want to compare it to those. It’s doing it’s job. It’s helping! And that’s the important thing.

depression, Invisible Disablity, ptsd, trauma recovery

After Session

So yesterday was session. It was good. Though we didn’t open any of the black, bleeding boxes in the back of my head, it was still good. Dr P is going on leave in a couple months and the next few sessions are going to be more about preparing me for a year without my Psychologist and Trauma Specialist. So… yeah.

One thing I did was bring along my new journal to show Dr P. She kept flipping back and forth between the pages and remarking how great she thought it was. And it is helping. I haven’t lost a day to dissociation in over a month now. When you look at me when I first came to Dr P, or even me a few months ago, that’s a huge change for the better.

Dr P asked me where I got the idea for the journal, and I said YouTube for the most part. It isn’t really bullet journalling, and it isn’t as pretty as 99% of bullet journals out there, and I’m not 100% on the format yet even, but it seems to be working.

Fact is, starting in 2019, I won’t have my one constant anymore. Session is vitally important to me. Often it’s the only chance I have to just sit down and unbox everything with another adult human being. Sometimes we unbox really ugly stuff. Sometimes we just unbox little things to keep my head above water. It’s often the only chance I have to unpack epiphanies and actually say the words that have been rattling around in my head as big, sweeping, overwhelming emotions out loud to another human being. And then look at them, dissect them, and process them in a safe space.

But starting in a few months time, I won’t have that anymore. Sure, Dr P is talking about handing me off to a trusted associate, but it took over a year for us to build any kind of trust so I could actually make any progress. I seriously doubt I’m going to be able to build that with the associate.

So it’s on me. It’s entirely up to me to make sure I don’t lose the last 2 years of progress I’ve finally made. After a lifetime of just building up trauma after trauma, I finally started dealing with them and learning how to cope with them. I don’t know this new person. I certainly don’t see myself trusting them in the way I’ve learned to trust Dr P. So it’s entirely up to me.

Hence the journal. I need constructs … frameworks … on which to build my life for the next year. Systems. Routine. Schedule.

And yes that sounds a lot like a step backwards. I used to do that when I was on the street. Scrub myself raw with fifty cent soap. Keep my chest bound. Be hard. Don’t feel. Keep myself constrained. In a box. Exist only within the box. Do not step out of or deviate from the box. You can’t stop other people from stepping inside and hurting you, but if you force your brain to live entirely within that box, then you don’t go crazy. You don’t let the grief and the horror overwhelm you.

You survive.

I know that doesn’t sound horribly healthy. It’s not. This time though I understand that, and I am trying to build a framework that’s healthier than the one that got me through the worst of it when I was younger. Which is why the part of the prompt “One Thing For Me” is so important. And I’m working on that (but that’s for another post I think).

I understand that PTSD and c-PTSD are not things you get away from. They never really go away. You just learn to cope with them better. You learn tools. Frameworks. Not boxes, but frameworks that can withstand the crushing pressure of the horror and the grief and the trauma.

One thing you can feel.
Two things you can see.
Three things you love.

My name is.
The date is.
My address is.
I am real.
I belong here.

One Thing For The House. One Thing For Me.

depression, Personal, trauma recovery

One for the House / One for Me (Update #2)

Well, as I think you might have gathered from my earlier post today, I didn’t actually manage to do anything for either today.

Didn’t do the laundry.
Or vacuum.
Or vote.
Or draw.
Or put my face on.

I did work all day on the Social Media job. Pretty much from 10:30 until about 20 minutes ago I was posting, updating, reposting, responding, and answering texts. *sigh*

I mean I pretty much put a week and a half’s worth of work hours in today. So …. *shrug* … I have no idea how to end that sentence.

Mostly I’m just tired and exhausted (they’re two very different things) and… I have no idea how to end that sentence either.

I’m worried about the cats. Bennett will eat his wet food at breakfast but won’t touch it for tea or dinner.  He’ll eat kibble, but only the crappy Meaty Selections stuff from Giant Tiger. Which is the cat equivalent of sending your kids to the .99 cent Pizza place for lunch and dinner every day.

Not good for him. At all.


I have no idea what it is. If there’s something really wrong with him, or it’s a seasonal thing or what. I’m furminating the both of them multiple times a week right now to keep the tummy fur down while their winter coats grow in. I worry it might be his teeth, because he has horrible teeth that require me to clean them with gauze and enzymatic poultry flavoured toothpaste every second day. I worry about sepsis. I worry about a lot of things.

I went through a lot with Honeywine after we left the Ex. $7K worth of surgery and the rest of her life trying to stay ahead of things she couldn’t take care of herself anymore because of the damage he’d done to her.

And now I look at my sweet, silly, cuddle muffin little boy, and I worry. *frowns*

And I’m tired. And I’m exhausted. And I’m kind of at the end of my tether.

And I didn’t do a damned thing for either me or the house today.
I failed.

And I’m trying very hard to not beat myself up for that.

ptsd, trauma recovery

One for the House, One for Me (Update #1)

So yesterday I told you guys about the homework Dr P. has had me doing the last month or so. One Thing A Day. And I told you how this last session we upped that to One Thing for the House/Whole, One Thing for Me.

Today I did a bunch of stuff already, and as I type this it isn’t even quarter after three.

Today I:

  • Cancelled an MRI booked by the first Neurologist who wouldn’t listen to me and kept telling me I was dizzy (I’m not dizzy)
  • Cancelled the follow up appointment that was supposed to happen after the MRI but was booked for 3 weeks before it. Cos… No
  • Confirmed with the second Neurologist for December
  • Soft brushed the cats
  • Checked the mail (extremely overdue package from Wish … Wish does not like Winnipeg. Or maybe they just hate me? But it finally got here!)
  • Shot a vlog that I’m actually uploading to PUBLIC as we speak

And, finally, I started a notebook to keep track of things. It’s a dot matrix style book, like people use for bullet journaling. I’m still not 100% on the formatting for the pages, but I got all of last week, and the weekend, and today down. And I intend to keep it up so I remember to not just do things for the house but also things for me. That’s going to be the hard part.

Self Care has never been my forte.

AND now I’m writing this blog post, so that’s technically seven things today. And it’s barely twenty after three.

Not. Too. Shabby.
Especially for the Monday after session. *nod*

I think this can really help, because fact is Dr P is going on maternity leave in a few months and I need to have habits and routines and processes set up to keep me going. And I think this will help.

Also, keep an eye out for the video. It should be up in about 20 minutes. *smiles*