The Wolf Finally Frees Itself
— Brianna Albers

Every March, I connect with a county worker to reassess my waiver, which is a federally financed Medicaid budget covering home- and community-based programs. The questions are always the same: How has my health been over the past 12 months? What do I like to do in my free time?…

Note: This column describes the author’s experiences with Cymbalta (duloxetine), Prozac (fluoxetine), and Celebrex (celecoxib). Not everyone will have the same response to treatment. Consult your doctor before starting or stopping a therapy. After months of agony — and I mean agony — I finally decided to go off…

When it comes to sleep studies, I mainly remember orange juice. Don’t ask me why. I was young then, around 8 or 9, so I have to assume the technicians were trying to bribe me or something. My last study was in 2002, so I was a little nervous when…

Note: This column describes the author’s own experiences with Cymbalta (duloxetine). Not everyone will have the same response to treatment. Consult your doctor before starting or stopping a therapy. Every morning, my caregivers present me with a bouquet of drugs. What started as a measly two syringes has become a…

On a perfectly mundane February afternoon, my mom and I drove to downtown St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s a new ritual now that I’ve transitioned most of my care to Gillette Children’s Specialty Healthcare. Every six months or so, I spend the afternoon at their adult clinic, where I am…

Note: This column was updated Jan. 29, 2026, to clarify the usage of Medicare and Medicaid.  I knew things would change when my mom retired. For one thing, there was going to be a whole third person hanging around our house; for most of my life, it was just…

Every December, I write an end-of-the-year column. I try to make it inspiring, or at the very least optimistic, but sometimes I can’t even accomplish that. Last year’s wrap-up was essentially a long-winded way of me saying, “See you never, 2024, and good riddance.” For the most part, though,…

When I returned from the annual Cure SMA conference this summer, I knew something needed to change. I made a list of everything I’d been putting off, like finding a new therapist and setting up the photo shoot I’d been dreaming of for over a year. Then, in a…

You know that poem by Anne Boyer I love about holes? You fall into one, only to dig yourself out over weeks or months or years, only to fall into yet another hole, this one both different and familiar. Life, then, becomes a series of holes, some small…

As a lifelong proponent of therapy, I go through phases. Sometimes I don’t need the support. Sometimes I do, so I go through the whole rigamarole of finding a practitioner I vibe with. It’s not a fun process. I know so much about therapy that I am, in a word,…

Words always come to me when I need them. Lines by Ada Limón, Anne Boyer, and Marie Howe act as life preservers, guiding me back to my center. When life gets tough, I always find myself at the feet of Julian of Norwich. “All shall be well,” she says,…