Professor Mother Blog

January 24, 2012

Fighting Fog

Filed under: Bipolar,Gifted,Home Things,Medication issues,Tourette's Syndrome — profmother @ 12:14 am

This evening, holding my son- who has been quiet and subdued all evening.  

Me: What’s wrong, Ray?

silence.

Me: Anything you want to talk about?

silence- the silence gets to me.  It’s not a loaded silence.  Just a still.  

Ray: What do you want to talk about?

Me: Any words in your head?

Ray: No

Me: Any feelings in your head?

Ray: No

silence

Me: If you were a color, what color would you be?

Ray: Gray

Me: If you were a shape, what shape would you be?

Ray: A sphere

Me: If you were weather, what kind of weather would you be?

Ray: A cloud

Me: A stormy cloud, a gray cloud, or a big puffy cloud?

Ray: A rain cloud.

Silence. 

Me: What does the rain cloud want to do?  Feel better?  Get some sleep?  Feel happy?

Ray: You know.

***************

The problem is that I don’t know.  I’m never quite sure what son I’m going to have on a day-to-day basis: Do we get the angry, resistant, black mood Ray; the quiet, not-really-there Ray; the run-around and talk a mile-a-minute Ray; the anxious and wring his hands Ray, the focused scholar and look-how-smart-I-am Ray?  While all kids go through “moods”, his are intense.  Even when he’s gray.

Jess, from Diary of a Mom, talks about fighting “dragons with rubber swords”.  I feel like I’m fighting fog with pointed sticks.  We have the “stick” of medication, which nibbles around the edges of issues- creating other issues in the wake.   We have the pointed stick of therapy, in which he refuses to engage- or worse, pretends to be completely normal (a play therapist told us that it was our problem, not his when he was 4).  We have safety and structure in our house, which leads to agoraphobia.  We sortof have labels: Anxiety Disorder, mild Tourette’s, mild giftedness, not quite autism, not quite bipolar, not schizophrenia. In dark times, James and I have to remind each other- he has special needs.  And just because there’s no good label doesn’t mean that the needs aren’t there.

I’m grateful for many things: I’m grateful that he has never tried to hurt himself or anyone or anything.  I’m grateful that he has never talked about not wanting to be here.  I’m grateful that he’s smart and funny and that he can do academics well enough that everyone around him is frustrated that he’s underachieving- but not failing.  I’m grateful that he has a few good friends.  I’m grateful that I have enough background to have consistency, behavior charts, and metaphors to help him.

But I’m terrified.   I feel like I’m keeping him from falling off the edge through pure will- and he’s only 9.  I’m terrified of adolescence.  I’m terrified of his genetics.  I’m terrified of losing my child to alcoholism, to suicide, to a place where he won’t let us help him. I’m terrified to speak possibilities aloud for fear of them coming true.

And I don’t know what to do about the monsters in the fog that never quite reveal themselves enough to fight.  If you can’t see something well enough to fight, it can’t be vanquished.  It just shifts and morphs.

Into the gray.

Ray, I have no idea what to do.  But I’ll do anything to help you.

February 5, 2011

Medication Meditation

In the midst of my whining about my week, I got an email that reminded me that cars and cats notwithstanding, there are other roads and other issues that are not just small piranha bites, but great big Great White Shark weeks. 

Let’s-call-her “Abbie” asked me about our decision to put Ray on medication.  She’s being pressured by her doctor and doesn’t know what to do.

Abbie, we faced the same decision point.  We agonized, we worried, and we knew that any direction we went would be unknown, scary and would make someone irritated.  Someone who would get in our face and say “How could you… I told you… Don’t you think…?”  There were several things we used to close out the many, many voices around us and to keep focused.

1)

The first thing we kept in mind was Ray’s history.  Ray was BORN fussy- unhappy and anxious and not eating.  He was only comforted in my arms as a baby.  He was also born bright and verbal and funny, but with an “edge” to him.  There’s something about his face that I recognize now in other children’s- his face is tight and sharp around his cheeks, and his eyes are wide-open and active.  I’ve seen it in my friend Linda’s son; I’ve seen it on the faces of other children I work with.  Something about the eyes… a little too alert and an awful lot of anxious thinking.   

The other thing that I held on to was that I can never, never predict Ray’s moods. Some of the time he’s wonderful- he’s funny and he’s creative and he’s loving.  I like to think of these times as the “real” Ray- the person he is  until the neurological storms in his brain cloud his thinking, hijacks his reactions.  These storms appear to have little relationship to events around him- I can’t find the cause and effect.  I can be firm and we have a lousy day.  I can be stressed and frazzled, and he’s fine.  Or the other way around. 

We are always surprised when Ray’s issues come up- you would think that we would be used to this by now.  But the up-and-down is so hard.  We spend an awful lot of time calming him down; an awful lot of time being consistent, consistent, consistent- until we collapse from our own exhaustion and our own loss of control. We’ve tried monitoring his diet- does that trigger things?  We’ve tried keeping things calm.  Sometimes these work- sometimes they don’t.  Of course, stress triggers it- that we know.  But beyond that… ? We always feel if we could find the “key” that triggers him, we would solve this.  But we can’t. 

Ray’s Tourette’s tics are the least of his issues.  When he was spitting- well, yes, that was gross.  That made him different.  But his throat-clearing, the shuffling of his feet at doorway edges, the tapping of his fingers- those get lost in the midst of his overall movements.  I know he moves on purpose to hide his tics- to take the edge off of them.  He’s constantly shifting.  And we can live with that. 

But what hurts my heart so much is when he can’t follow a conversation- when he asks a question, and when I’m two words into an explanation, he says “Never mind!” and wanders away from me.  It hurts when homework can be so, so hard- not because he doesn’t know it, but because he can’t pay attention long enough to do it.  We call those the “butterfly moments” because when he’s trying to pay attention to you, he’s really with you, but otherwise, he’s off and drifting. 

Unless he’s anxious, which is when he gets fixated and oppositional.  Lately, he’s been fixated on football.  It’s expanded beyond UGA football, to hating Auburn, to wanting the Green Bay Packers to win the Super Bowl- even though he’s never been to Green Bay, nor have any affiliation with them.  But because I’m rooting for the Steelers, because Emily was cheering on Auburn, he has to take the other side.  It’s funny, and it’s annoying because everything, everything becomes a fight. 

“Who do you want to win, Mommy?”  “Ok, Ray, I’ll take the Steelers because we used to live near Pittsburgh.”  “Well, I think they’re awful!  I want the Green Bay Packers!”  It would be funny if it weren’t my own child with whom I can’t even share a fan moment. 

So- that’s Ray… a long history of erratic, unhappy behavior that has no clear-cut label.  A recipe of a little autism, a little Tourette’s, a little ADHD, and a little ODD.  Some people call these “manufactured labels for bad parenting”.  Well, I gotta tell you, they’ve not seen my son when he’s coherent and when he’s clouded by neurological storms.  I can see the differences; and I can assure you that there is a clear-cut biology involved here. 

2)

Which led us to the latest, newest doctor who recommended medication.  ”You wouldn’t withhold insulin from a diabetes patient.  You wouldn’t say he should be able to control his heart if he needed heart medication,” she said to us. “Well, his brain isn’t making enough of the stuff to keep him alert.  Being this way is not his choice- he’s reacting to the brain chemistry in his head.  It’s already there.  It’s like telling someone who has had too much to drink that they aren’t really drunk- it’s just an excuse.  No, they’re reacting to the mixture of chemicals in their brain.  But their chemicals wear off.  Ray’s doesn’t.  And so we have to help him get the balance right.  If we don’t help him, there are lots of studies that find that these kids self-medicate. And they don’t pick things like coffee- they find that they like themselves better on cocaine and meth.  I’m not telling you your kid is going to become a drug addict.  But we do know that kids who are not helped through legal means are much more likely to help themselves through illegal means.”

I gotta tell you that we did not like her approach.  She was scaring us and she was more than a wee bit arrogant. 

But she was right.  I did my own research- and to quote from Essortment, “Illegal drugs are used to obtain a “high” feeling or to escape from reality. Ritalin works to improve one’s awareness and to improve their attention span and concentration. The two drugs serve two completely opposite purposes. Many counselors have claimed that children that struggle with ADHD, without the help of Ritalin or other prescribed medications, may be more likely to use illegal drugs as a way to help them cope with the stress of ADHD.”  The use of meth and cocaine are only barely related to the use of stimulant medication- they’re much more related to demographics of poverty and parental upheaval and school failure. And we’re working with the teachers, with tutors and with my own knowledge to make sure that Ray does not fail

There are other sides that claim that drugs are the easy way out- that I’m teaching my son that life gets easier with a pill and not from hard work- that I’m looking for an easy fix for… once again, bad parenting. 

And once again, I know- I KNOW that while I may get tired and we are certainly responsible for aiding some of the misbehaviors when we get tired and irritable, most of Ray’s issues are biological.  We have a daughter who does not have these same issues.  I have taught hundreds of children- some with issues, some without.  I come from a family with a history of Tourette’s and issues- a family that I did not grow up around.   There is a biological root to some of this. 

And so, we looked at medication.

3)

The thing we held on to was that medication was a choice that we could always unmake.  If a particular dose, a particular prescription didn’t work, or we didn’t like what it was doing, then we could take him off of it.  No harm, no foul was the agreement.  We would follow our parental instincts and snatch him off of it if it wasn’t right for him.

And  I have to say… medication has made a world of difference for us.  It hasn’t changed Ray’s basic “Ray-ness”- it’s just taken the edge off.  I’m less worried about him.  I can see him building up successes to keep him going.  I don’t cry all the time anymore.  We still struggle with him.  That “in-between” time between when his Daytrana- which is a stimulant- and he goes to bed with his Clonodine is… challenging.  But we have more good days than bad.  The bad days- wow… they’re really bad.  The good days- well, they’re sweet.

The Daytrana makes him more aware- and so, his tics are not necessarily worse, but he is aware of them more.  The Clonodine seems to have alleviated some of the more significant tics- the overt ones.  The ones he has now can be hidden easier.  He’s more focused in his anxiety now- it’s not as free-floating.  He can sometimes describe now what he’s anxious about- and that insight has been marvelous because we can help him when he can share.  And sometimes, he can’t.  But inch by inch, we’re seeing progress.  And regression.  But mostly progress.

My goal with medication is to teach him what those neurological synapses feel like- so that he can find his way back to them when he needs to have success.  If yoga or meditation can help him find his way as well, then I’ll try those too- but he’s still young.  That level of concentration is something to grow into- and he can’t even start up that hill until he learns what it feels like. 

But I was bound and determined that I was not going to let my issues and worries with medication get in the way of what my son needed.  Could we have done this without medication?  Possibly?  But at what cost?  I’ve read up on nutritional means- but it’s hard enough getting him to eat anything, much less “good for you” stuff.  I get vitamin supplements into him by pure will and out-stubbornning him.  He DOES eat a “balanced” diet- mostly.  But I decided that I was not the food police because I couldn’t control that much of an 8-year’s life.  If I were to control his eating to that degree, he would not learn control of himself in other ways.  And so, we teach good nutrition. But we do not control his every choice.  I give him freedom within structure.  And medication helps us with that. 

I also had to keep in mind the needs of his sister- who has her own issues.  I have to be there for her.  And let’s not forget that James and I need a break with just each other sometimes.  We have to be there for our friends and our family as well.  And let’s not forget our pets.  Ray is not an isolated set of issues- he’s part of a system. 

****************

*I* know that I am not drugging my kid into submission.  Heck, I can still barely keep things stable as it is.  But I do know that 1) this is biological, and biological causes require biological fixes- and environmental changes that can create biological change, 2) we made the best choice for Ray and for our entire family at the time, 3) we make a new choice every single morning, and 4) as he ages, the issues will change, and our solutions to them may change. 

And the last thing I know is that we made this choice very, very carefully with a lot of informed thought.  I would NEVER tell another parent what to do- they have to make their own choices very, very carefully-keeping in mind what is best for their child and what is best for their family. 

November 7, 2010

Falling Back

Filed under: Autism,Bipolar,Tourette's Syndrome — profmother @ 2:00 pm

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping…. into the future.  Until Daylight Savings Time ends, of course.  Until we have regression.  And we’re having regression…

We’ve been having a good run of things-a very good run.  A few months of relative calm, a few months of good balance with medication and a few months of feeling like we’re on top of this.  

And that’s why this past week feels so… so foreign.  Why it’s snapping back to THAT place- that place of desperation, that place of frustration and that place of grief.  Again.  It’s almost Pavlovian how fast it comes back. 

Ray’s stopped eating.  Again.  Whether his lack of eating is a cause or a symptom of his issues is something that I would dearly love to know.  Probably both, but it’s a vicious cycle I appear to be unable to intervene in once it gets going.  And I never seem to be able to “catch” it before he’s gone off the rails so completely that there’s no going back.  Yesterday he took 3 hours to eat one piece of sausage.  I was holding fast that he WAS GOING TO eat and that he couldn’t get out of it.  No, he couldn’t go to his room.  No, he couldn’t substitute it with something with carbs- he HAD to eat either a protein or a vegetable.  No, I didn’t have any bacon.  No, he couldn’t eat McDonalds instead.  And no, he couldn’t play in the last game of soccer until he ate.  And so he missed it- he missed his last game because he couldn’t choke down the food that is necessary. 

There’s a fine line with Ray between anxiety and control issues.  If he had been unable to eat at all, I would have found another way, but when he kept trying to offer me alternatives that he preferred- alternatives that did not meet my criteria of protein or a vegetable that was healthy- I knew that the issue was control, not anxiety.  The more he dug in, the more I dug back.  It’s such a battle of wills sometime, and I feel like so much is on the line- that if I “give in” he will fall apart even more than he does already. 

It hurts my heart so much that he uses food as a means of a control battle.  He fights us on homework, cleaning his room, etc., but food is the battle that is the most trouble.  I offer him choices- I provide options, and he fights me on those.  Last Wednesday, I asked him to come up with – and he could make it himself- a meal that had a protein and a vegetable.  He chose Mexicali Round Steak from my Crock-Pot cookbook.  Yum!  He was excited, he chopped and he put it all in together.  We all left for school, excited at what was for dinner that night.  That night… he didn’t “like it”.  Could he have buttered toast instead?  Could he have candy?  I said “No”, and he ate nothing.  I offered that he could have candy when he was done with the dinner he had come up with.  He ate nothing.  He dug in his heels that he was not going to eat and I dug right back.  We finally compromised on peanut butter crackers- of which he only ate 2.  He went to bed- hungry.  Again. 

This ongoing challenge is made worse because he’s dreadfully underweight.  He’s 8 1/2, and weighs 48 pounds.  He’s weighed 48-49 pounds for a year and a half.  My friend Elaine was shocked when she saw him without a shirt on- he looks like one of “those” commercials- those “please give money to feed the hungry” commercials.  He refuses to drink supplementary shakes, he refuses to eat anything other than toast and candy.  He would rather go hungry. 

The horrible thing is that he has done this literally his whole life.  He would nurse until he wasn’t hungry anymore- not until he was full.  20 minutes after he had nursed, he would be on full throttle screaming and I knew that it was because he was hungry.  I would offer; he would refuse.  I would dribble milk onto his lips and he would finally take the nipple, and release it a few minutes later.  We would have peace for a moment, until the whole cycle repeated itself.  He weaned himself at 11 months because he refused it altogether.  Between 1 year and 2 years of age, he was diagnosed as “failure to thrive” because he did not gain any weight- not one ounce. 

We do know what to do- we have a whole range of things to do.  We have tried yelling; we have tried firm silence.  We have tried firm schedules of meals; we have tried allowing him to graze during the day.  We have tried rewarding good eating with toast or candy, and we have tried giving him control over what he eats.  We’ve tried letting him eat whatever he wants as long as he gets his vitamin or the supplementary shake; and we’ve tried serving balanced meals. We have a nutrition web site on our Favorites for him to reference and see what he’s eating.  Each of these might work- at different times.  And each time he does this, I’m never quite sure what combination of things to try now… what will work today?  And when he refuses the vitamin and the shake, I feel stuck.  He digs in and I have to dig right back.

And so yesterday was spent on the sidelines of a really great soccer game that my husband was coaching that came down to a sudden death in penalty kicks between Ray’s team and the opposing team.   He was not going to eat the sausage, and I was not going to buy McDonalds.   And so he missed it- he stood there and ticced and ticced and ticced and refused to eat. 

My poor husband- as a coach, he needed Ray.  There were injuries and there were skills that Ray has that the team needed.  At one point in the game, he came over to ask if Ray could play- his team needed him.  I pointed to the 1/2 piece of sausage still left and told Ray that if he ate it, he could go and join his team.  He said “No”, and I had to tell James that Ray wouldn’t play.  It just killed me to see Ray ticcing away, watching his team, and refusing to eat. They won, by the way. 

And it kills me when Ray screams at me “I hate you!” and I have to remain firm, remain firm.  That if I give in, then he and I both fall apart.  Then he eats nothing but toast and candy and will never do homework.  Then he will never learn self-control because he doesn’t know what control looks like.  Then, the autism/bipolar/anorexia… whatever it is- wins. 

And that’s one thing that I will never allow to win in this fight for my son.  But it sure is hard.  And it sure involves a lot of tears.  It’s so hard when we Fall Back…

And the great irony is that the more my son refuses to eat, the more I seek solace in the same foods that he wants.  I eat the “good for you” stuff to model for him what healthy eating is and to encourage him to keep me company in this food, and then I drown my worries in the stuff that he craves as well.  Ben and Jerry’s does fix things for an evening- but takes a hell of a toll on me.  The irony of our having opposite weight problems does not escape me….

August 10, 2010

All Shook Up

Filed under: Autism,Bipolar — profmother @ 5:26 am

Yesterday, I turned my son upside down in front of Staples in an effort to tickle the “evil jujus” out of him.

He had been in a snarly mood all day.  He woke up grouchy and kept pushing my buttons all day long- “NO!” was the word of the day.  He informed me that I couldn’t tell him to eat; I wasn’t the boss of his body- he was.  I calmly informed him that he was indeed, and that I expected him to make good choices for himself, but he was having none of it.  Everything- from the song playing on the radio, to the weather to the direction we were heading to the grocery store- was wrong and something I had done on purpose to make him angry.  We call these the “evil jujus”- the moments when the bipolar/autism/anxiety- whatever- is in control and Ray is out of control.

I was about to rise to the bait, when I remembered something that I read in Susan Senator’s book, “Making Peace with Autism“.  She described her son Nathan as seeking for some kind of response- any sort of strong response- and that negative emotions were easier and stronger to get, so he would seek out negative attention on some days.  On the days that he was needing to feel the most grounded, he sought the strongest emotion.  She would turn the tables on him by providing him with strong positive emotion- by sitting down and laughing with him- uproarious emotional laughing, the kind that makes you cry.  The kind you get up from feeling good, not bad.

It was worth a shot.  So, I turned to Ray in the back seat and growled at him, “If you don’t stop right now, I’m going to have to tickle you really, really hard!”  He looked shocked, and then turned his head with a little smile on his face, trying not to laugh, trying to hold on to that snarl that he had been working on.  James said “Oh, look, he’s laughing!”, which immediately produced a “No, I’m not!  You can’t tell me what to do!”

When we pulled into the parking lot at Staples, he headed back down that well-trodden path of resistance. “I’m going to stay right here.  You can’t make me!” as we got out of the car.  We got out, and he followed, about 10 feet away, grumbling, “I don’t want to go to Staples.  Staples is stupid.  They don’t even have any staples here!”.  It was a stream of negative words that was focused on me, on us, on what was wrong with the world- that had been going on since 9am.

Which explains why, if you were in Staples yesterday afternoon, you witnessed a half-crazed mom turn around very quickly, grab her son, and turn him upside down, right in front of the doors, singing “I’m going to tickling those evil jujus out of you.  Goodbye, evil jujus!”  I realized as I was tickling him, that it helped me release all of that pent-up frustration as well and that he was laughing, although a bit shocked at the same time.  I figured if he wanted sensation, by God, I was going to give him sensation.  And I’m quite sure that tickling, even upside-down tickling, complete with maniacal laughter, was better than the physical lashing out from which I was restraining myself.

And those evil jujus?  Mostly shook out… they reappeared a few more times during the day, but would go back into their gabbling, dark, evil place when I walked away from the confrontation.  We went to Staples, bought some school supplies and went back home, where “The Pink Panther” movie helped them go away some more.

Thank you, Susan.

another example of how moms help each other- even virtually!

July 20, 2010

Not Exactly Easy Like a Sunday Morning

Filed under: Autism,Bipolar,Tourette's Syndrome — profmother @ 11:09 pm

I watch my happy, chirpy son these past few days, and I wonder how he can switch so fast from one extreme to another- how he can change his mood, his outlook and his behavior that leaves the rest of us gasping.  And exhausted.

Sunday was the day before James was to come join us.  Camp is over, which means that there is no schedule, there is no routine and there is no structure.  Which means that Ray was completely beside himself. 

My mom and I took the children to the Santa Fe Children’s Museum this past  Sunday.  It was relatively quiet, and Elizabeth was in her element- face painting- ahhh the sensuality of that activity!  Bubbles- ahhh- the sensuality of that activity!  And designing roll patterns for balls to roll down- ahhh- the intellectualism of that activity!  She waited, patiently, for her turn on the rock climbing wall, and didn’t even sulk when the place closed before they could get to her.  She played with the puppets, played with the concaves of sound that transported whispers over a huge distance.  She remembered when she made fairy houses two years ago and was deeply confused because she knew, she truly knew that fairies weren’t real, and yet the adults- the ones who knew better- were telling her to make small houses for these wee creatures.  She made them, and then proceeded to look for fairies everywhere.  This past Sunday, she chuckled at her little-girl self who didn’t recognize the line between imagination and reality.  Elizabeth had a wonderful time.

Ray… Ray stood in the middle of the room and rocked.  I have never in my memory seen him literally wringing his hands from anxiety and rocking side to side.  Rocking, rocking.  Watching, watching.  I sat down at the side and he sat next to me, curling up his arms around his head like a pretzel and rocking for several minutes.  I talked- using my chatter so that he could “see” what was around him, so that the stream of words could help him ease back from what ever abyss he was staring into.  “Look Ray, see the little girl lifting the bubble wands?  She’s got a triangle-shaped one!  It’s amazing how even a triangle shape makes a funny-shaped curved bubble!  And my goodness- I can see the albino frogs from here- they sure have white bellies, don’t they?  Do you see the balls moving down those wavy things?  That’s using friction and force when they crash into each other.  See how the two balls stop dead when they crash?  When they’re going the same speed, neither one has enough force to move the other one anywhere…” I chattered, pulled all of my long-forgotten physics knowledge off of my memory shelf and tried to reach my child.

He watched for over an hour, until the rhythms of animals eased him out of his scary place.  He watched a snake eat a mouse, and while I was grossed out, the normalness of eating, the basic necessity of eating, brought him out of his shell.  He finally interacted with the pin activity where you press all of the plastic pins in and then go around to the other side and press parts of your body against it.  It’s a very sensual, pin-pricky activity, and one that he pressed his hands in- again and again.  Talk about being on pins-and-needles…

And the next day, he woke up chirpy.  Monday, the tension was eased.  He was happy to go and get James from the airport.  His waiting for Daddy was over.  He was resistant to eating, of course (some things never change),  but he was back to “Ray”.  I, however, am haunted by the vision of his overwhelming anxiety as he rocked and rocked, wringing his hands.  He might have recovered, but I will take a little time.

July 7, 2010

You Just Need To…

Filed under: ADHD,Autism,Bipolar,Tourette's Syndrome — profmother @ 12:56 am
  • Be more firm with him
  • Not put up with that
  • Make him clean it up
  • Ignore her when she does that
  • Reduce the sugar
  • Give him coffee
  • Stop relying on medication
  • Tell him to stop that

“Wow, you DO have a lot to deal with!”

Somehow, we’re in a pattern of other people- random people, people who love us, people who know our children- giving us advice where they know the answers because our answers aren’t somehow good enough or aren’t working well enough.  Or at least it feels that way.  I know that, for people who love us, such advice, solicited or not, comes from a place of shared frustration, a place where you have to try something else, because whatever “this” is now, isn’t working.  And for those who know us, it comes from a feeling of confidence- a place of “well, this works for our child when our child is acting out, so I suggest that you try it too”.

But I have to say- I’m getting really tired of it.

Yes, I know that my son is disorganized.  Yes, I know that my daughter is whiny.  Yes, I know that James and I are dysfunctional at times.  Yes, I know that our household is noisy and chaotic.  This is not news to me.  And yes, I know that I have to be firm, and make them clean up and help him replace behaviors and tell her to stop acting that way.  I know all of this.  I know that there is a fine line between spoiled and autism.  A fine line between poor parenting and Oppositional Defiance. A fine line between labels and excuses.

But I also know that we’re tired.  We’re tired of constantly battling- battling fear and anxiety and contrary behavior and overload.  We’re tired of always having to be “on top of our game”.  We’re tired of the stress when the other parent makes a choice we wouldn’t have and the fall out is extreme.  We’re tired of making sure that we’re on the same page at all times.  We’re tired of managing our children and not enjoying them.  We’re tired of dealing with our own anxieties, sensory overloads and sadness- the issues that our children inherited naturally.  We’re tired of finding our own coping strategies and losing the balance of our lives.  We’re tired of people who have had only one child, or no children, or three perfectly-behaved children make judgments about parenting two children with a variety of needs.  We’re tired of people sympathizing at the daily challenges we face, and then implying that it’s our own fault.

  • To those who love us- we’re doing our best
  • To those who know us- try walking in our shoes before you pass on your words of wisdom
  • And to those random people- I would like to tell you what you need to do…

But I am a good Southern woman, and I will simply say “Bless their hearts”.

June 15, 2010

A Glimpse Inside

Filed under: Bipolar,Tourette's Syndrome — profmother @ 4:14 am

Every now and then, I get a glimpse inside Ray’s head… and I’m not quite sure whether to be humbled at the depth of his thinking, or frightened at the possibilities…

After dinner a few nights ago, we went out for frozen yogurt- a treat for a long day at camp and teaching.  Ray was leaning against his dad because why sit in a seat when you can get some touching?, and eating his yogurt when out of the blue he started sharing.

Ray: Mommy, sometimes, when you ask me a question, a lie comes into my head and it just sits there, and it’s so loud.

Me: Well, that’s natural.  Sometimes, when we don’t want to do something or don’t like the answer, we think of what we’d rather do or rather have.

Ray: But sometimes, I have the lie so much in my head that it’s what comes out.

Me: That’s part of growing up-being able to have two thoughts in your head and having to resist the one that you know is the wrong one.  Please, please don’t let my kid be telling me he’s a pathological liar.

Ray: Hmmm.  Eats the drip of chocolate.

Me: Do you mean that you have two thoughts and you’re not sure which one is the lie, or do you just WANT the lie to be real sometimes and that’s what comes out?  Or you’re not sure which one is the truth? So… is this a moral dilemma, or does he not know reality from fantasy?

Ray: I want it so much and it’s all I can think about, so it’s what comes out and then you yell at me.  Hmmm- “Mother’s voice” as voice of God?  Is he talking about this morning when I asked him if he had on underwear and well… he didn’t, or is this something bigger?

Me: Well, I know that you’re big enough now to make the right choice and to recognize that you should tell the truth.  It’s actually a very important part of growing up- being able to resist some of your own thoughts and value the truth.  When you tell the truth, those lie thoughts go right away.

Ray: But how can I have thoughts that are bad?  Why am I thinking things that are wrong? Ahhhh, lovey- a question philosophers have been dealing with for thousands of years. At least he knows right from wrong..

Me: Some people say it’s the devil inside of you.  Some people say that it’s just the part of you that’s still a baby and the grownup part tries to control it.  It’s a very big thing.  As long as YOU know which is the truth and those are the words that come out.

Ray: Mommy, you know the “b” word that’s in Avatar?  Sometimes it just sits in my head and it wants to come out so bad.  It’s just there… and I’m afraid that sometime it’s going to come out when I’m not paying attention and I’ll get in trouble.  Oh man, is this coprolalia- the Tourette’s where they curse?  Is he describing what it feels like?

Me: You’re right- that’s a word that needs to stay inside. Oh Lordy, I can only imagine the phone calls I’ll get from third grade teachers  if THIS happens!  Let’s focus on control…   It’s not one that needs to come out and I’m glad that you’re in charge of that.  It can be scary to have lots of different thoughts, but it’s all part of growing up and getting in charge of your thinking. Deep breathing helps.  Drinking some water helps.  All of us have lots of different kinds of thoughts in our heads, but they’re just thoughts.  It’s a very normal part of growing up.

And with that, Elizabeth interrupted, unable to handle the full-on Mommy attention that Ray was getting, and our conversation was over.  James, who had been silent witness to this and didn’t want to interrupt the moment, looked at me and said, “Wow”.

Wow, indeed. I’ve been pondering ever since.  Is this part of his growing up?  Somewhere around 7 or 8, children turn a corner developmentally and go into Piaget’s Concrete Operational stage where they become aware of their own thinking.  Is this that?  Is he describing the struggles we all go through as we try to steer the ebb and flow of our thinking?  When we recognize that you have thoughts in conflict with each other?

Or is he describing his own struggles with Tourette’s- unable to fully control his own words that come out of his mouth?

Or is it something deeper?  Something darker?  Is he describing that fine line of sanity we all walk as our brain thinks things and we realize that we’re not fully in control?  That conversation in our head that is directed at the “self”, as Virginia Woolf said, and the “chatter” that doesn’t always feel part of who we are?

I have no idea.  But I was awed at his ability to tell me and his desire to share with me.

And I think he’s a pretty amazing kid. It’s not often someone gets to see inside someone else’s head.

June 10, 2010

Inalienable Right

Filed under: Bipolar — profmother @ 9:27 am

And do you know what happiness is? Happiness is the smell of a new car. It’s freedom from fear. It’s a billboard on the side of a road that screams with reassurance that whatever you’re doing is OK. You are OK.- Don Draper, Mad Men

…they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…- United States Declaration of Independence

I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of happiness recently.  What IS happiness?  Is that that moment when everything is all right in the world?  Is it a sense of direction and purpose?  Is it ignorance and contentment?  Is it guaranteed?  Do we need drugs for happiness to last, or do we remember its sweet taste like we remember chocolate and we long for it?  Are we supposed to be happy all the time?

When we’re not happy, what are we supposed to do?  Get over it?  Wait for it to appear again- plan for it to appear again- like a season in a cyclical pattern or a random event spit out by the cosmos?  Are we supposed to reframe our experience so that we tell ourselves that we are happy, we just didn’t realize it?   Take medication to make it not hurt as much?

And is happiness an event, like a wedding or the birth of a child- the “happiest day of my life”?   Is it a feeling?  Is it when we’re creating or when we’re enjoying the results of our creativity?  Is it an awareness of God or a Higher Power? Is it just the right combination of chemicals in your brain?  Or, as some have suggested, is it a virus?  Is it a tipping point of the right number of friends- real friends-and the right placement within your social network?

Are you born happy?  Or do you, to steal an old quote, achieve happiness, or do you have happiness thrust upon you?

And if someone cannot function because they’re unhappy, are they unhappy because they expect to be happy?   We’re certainly being sold recipes for happiness- “Buy this, and you’ll be happy!”  Our culture seems to show only happy people.  My son told me a few months ago that he was looking forward to high school because that’s when you’re the prettiest and most popular- an image clearly sold to him through Disney and commercials.  And in my experience horribly untrue. Are we more unhappy because we’re expecting more happiness- and missing?  Were we actually happier when we didn’t know we should be?

I watch loved ones and friends and myself struggle with depression and anxiety and stress- and I listen to my son scream himself to sleep and I watch my husband retreat into a silent shell and I watch myself cry- and I wonder… How can happiness  be so strong and yet so fragile?

What you call love was invented by guys like me to sell nylons- Don Draper

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads? Albert Camus

May 31, 2010

I’m Not Crazy- I’m Just Out of Context

Filed under: Bipolar,Gifted — profmother @ 11:06 pm

I’m not crazy
I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me…

–Matchbox 20

A study from the Karolinska Institute in Sweden just found that people who were schizophrenic and people who were highly creative had very similar brain scans.  The portion of the brain responsible for filtering information, the thalamus, which also regulates dopamine, were similarly depressed.  This inability to regulate attention and “ideas” might account for the “out of the box” creative thinking, as well as the mania and hallucinations of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.

The difference appears to be in how a person responds to these ideas.  If they are able to regulate their emotional reactions, the ideas are “creative”.  If they respond negatively and are disturbed, or appear to be disturbed, then they are diagnosed with a mental illnesses. One man’s craziness is another person’s creativity.

Certainly, we know that mental illness and creativity overlap, and the more self-expressive the art or ideas, the more they overlap.  While there are creative mathematicians, they operate within a framework of accepted rules.  Despite the iconic image of the “mad scientist”, there are more depressed writers than chemists. The context of the creativity defines the acceptable degree of craziness.

In my conversations with my brother, who had bipolar disorder, I would be struck at his insights, until after a while I realized just how far afield he had gone and that he was becoming agitated and losing contact with “reality”.  There are many famous examples of creativity and craziness living side by side- Salvador Dali and VanGogh, to name a few.  But the difference is that my brother didn’t “produce” anything that was deemed valuable, while Dali and VanGogh had products that others wanted.

In other words, it may not be the actual thoughts that are the problem, it may be the reaction to them, whether from the person themselves or others, that determines whether there is a “problem”, or there is “creativity”.

Perhaps a relationship can be found to other research just out from the University of Southern California that has found that the “click” of comprehension or the clarifying of a creative thought fires the same centers in your brain that opium fires.  That means that learning and creating can be as pleasurable as drugs.  You can see it in a classroom of children when they are learning at their ideal rate; when they are being challenged.  Pupils get extended- both within the eye and the students themselves.

I’ve certainly felt it- that moment of “wow, things make SENSE now!” and I can put things together in new and unusual ways because I’ve just figured out how they go together.  I feel it when I teach and when I write and when I learn math.  It’s the moment in bipolar disorder when the mania starts and the understanding begins to flow.  It also may mean that the clarifying of the thought, the “eureka” moment, the “by George, I’ve got it” might be the difference between craziness and creativity.

And perhaps the critical element just might be in the audience and the context.  Creativity was recently cited by a study of global CEOs as a key element in their company’s value.  They needed to think in new and innovative ways, and to be able to communicate that vision to others.  Creativity unchecked, with no product to focus on, with no “learning” to share, with no one to communicate, might just be called mental illness.

Craziness just might be a job requirement for many positions these days…

May 18, 2010

All Summer in a Day

Filed under: Autism,Bipolar,Home Things — profmother @ 3:30 am

There is a wonderful and terrible short story by Ray Bradbury called “All Summer in a Day”.  It’s about a little girl, Margot, who moved to Venus from Earth and longs for the sunshine because it always rains on Venus.  She is terribly distraught and the other children make fun of her because they have never seen sunshine and think she’s making it up.  They lock her in a closet and during her time in the closet, the sun comes out for one hour.  The children are amazed and play in the sun.  It begins to rain again, perhaps for good, and when they return to the classroom, they remember that Margot is still locked in the closet and she missed it.

The story is heartbreaking.

*****

Two reasons for this story.  The first is that I just bought our entire summer.  A bike for my husband- either two months late for birthday, or one month early for Father’s Day, but just what he needs this summer and on sale at Target, a family pool pass at our local pool, three swim suits, two weeks of summer camp for the children while I teach this June and a language arts (Michael Thompson’s work) and math curriculum (Singapore Math) activity to keep them- and me- still connected with learning.  Our whole summer came down to this one day of planning.  Phew!  Lots of biking, lots of beach, lots of pool, lots of learning.

And secondly, having a child with no single label, but characteristics of many, is somewhat like waiting for the sunshine while it rains on  Venus.  We remember the sun, we remember the moments of joy, but then the rain sets in and doesn’t let up.  You plan, you buy lots of things for good times, and then you wait… wondering if the good times will really and truly materialize.  If you’ll get your money’s worth.  If it will happen as you’ve hoped.

Ray spent all day Sunday at home, grounded in his room for much of it.  He was horrible to me.  Horrible to his dad.  Horrible to his sister.  He pushed every button and got on every nerve.  At one point, I left to go walk on the beach to find balance- and to avoid throwing things.  James and I alternated taking Elizabeth out- to a soccer party for Ray’s team that James coached, to the pool, to Target.   All day long Ray growled; he sulked; he insulted my cooking. I sat at the table after dinner with my head in my hands while James and I just looked at each other mutely.  ”I just don’t see how it can continue,” I wondered.  ”I know,” he said back, equally numb.

It ended with Ray finally choking down his hamburger and five bites of spinach.  We then all went for an inaugural bike ride that lasted all of about 10 minutes as we did the loop in our neighborhood.  And during this ride, after all day long of blackness, something clicked.  Ray came back coherent.  And cute.  And giggly.  And we ended the weekend, snuggled up watching “Extreme Home Makeover”- Ray’s favorite show- and he said in a small voice, “I love you, Mommy”.

We always analyze- what set him off?  He’s starting to come down sick.  Is that it?  Maybe he’s hungry with low blood sugar- a battle we fight constantly with Ray.  Maybe that was it.  Maybe he’s anxious about the end of school and asking for consistency.  And what helped?  Exercise?  Food?  Knowing the weekend was ending?

Ray’s good moments are like sunshine on Venus… and it’s heartbreaking.

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