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And she did. She told him about the morning she had to choose between cooking breakfast and brushing her teeth because both would exhaust her. About the panic attack in the grocery store aisle, overwhelmed by the sheer physical effort of reaching for a can of soup. About the night she lay on the bathroom floor for three hours because she was too weak to get back to bed.

Begin again.

The words felt inadequate, like describing an ocean with a teaspoon. How to explain the shame of asking a neighbour to bring your mail up? The loneliness of watching your friends’ lives move forward while yours collapsed into a cycle of doctor’s appointments and sleepless nights? The way your brain, fogged with pain, would suddenly forget your own mother’s birthday? apply odsp

She began to type.

Marta pressed the trackpad. The Ontario Disability Support Program page loaded, a bureaucratic beige fortress. She clicked “Apply for ODSP.” And she did

“I have chronic pain at a level of 7-8/10 daily. I cannot sit or stand for more than fifteen minutes. I cannot lift more than two pounds. I have fatigue so profound that showering requires a two-hour recovery period.” About the night she lay on the bathroom

The new doctor was a brisk, young man who seemed impatient with her cane, her wince, her slow answers. “On a good day, can you make a sandwich?” he asked.