“Fish out of Water” introducing Lydia Wayman- Asperger’s (A former sub-type of autism)

EinsteinI share the link below to Lydia’s poem and story and blog because it touched me very deeply.  You see, none of us are a label.  The medical community uses labels to classify disorders or conditions, or we use them to group individuals who have similar conditions so we can learn more about these conditions. As an individual, we are not our label.  Sure we go through life with many labels like “mom” or “dad” “brother” or “sister”, “child”, “student”,  “teacher”, “tall” “short”, “thin” or “fat”, and of course we have the thousands of medical diagnoses we use (labels) and soon hundreds of thousands if not millions of genetic glitches we all carry called SNP’s (single nucleotide polymorphisms). 

In my quest to understand the human body, how it works and why things go wrong sometimes, (is that not what medicine should be all about?), I find clues and links to the answers, in the most amazing places.  If you look carefully at this poem, you sense what Lydia was often “feeling” and you clearly see from reading this that she is a gifted and brilliant individual.  What I’m finding as a common thread to many of our struggles (medically- from Autism to Aspergers to ADHD, ADD, Bipolar, anxiety, depression, etc.) is anxiety and depersonalization. I’m also impressed with the chemical nature of this, as for so many there are times when the brain connects more normally or one feels like they are much less anxious and depersonalized. 

It is the discovery why of this that is my passion and always in my mind as I go through my life, reading, learning, doctoring.  I’m convinced it’s a combination of genetic vulnerability (to environmental toxins and insults) and toxins and stress, whether it is an infection, emotional, hormone, or toxin mediated.  

Thank-you Lydia for sharing your poetry and wisdom.  

Lydia Wayman

I take in a gulp of air and shut my eyes tight before I plunge beneath the surface.
One, two, three…
It starts to feel like my brain is tingling from the inside.
Four, five, six…
I’m not counting in seconds, not in minutes, but in hours.
Seven, eight, nine…
I search for anyone, anything who will ground me through my ever-increasing internal chaos.
Ten!

 

Read the entire poem and more about Lydia here…

 

Dr. Paul

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