Gratitude

It's been seven months since the specialist told us that Seth was manageable without medication. At first that was a blow to my already tender nerves.

Now, as I've had time to adjust, I can see how fortunate we are. Even though he still has many symptoms that are difficult and frustrating to manage, we are learning. He is able to cope and control himself without medication. We can see what works and what doesn't (even though sometimes what worked yesterday doesn't work today) without wondering if the method is working or if his medication kicked in.

We are lucky.

Not just that Seth is manageable. But that he's ours.

Interesting Thought...

The night before Seth's doctor's appointment, we had this conversation:

Me: "We're going to your doctor tomorrow."
Seth: "Which doctor?" No fear, just curiosity.
Me: "Your ADHD doctor."
Seth: Gasp! "Is he going to take it out?!"
Me: No adequate response as I lamely remind him it's not something they can take out and that he'll have it forever.
Seth: "Oh. OK."

Even though his ADHD is not who he is, it's a part of what has made him become who he is, and it will continue to help shape and mold him in the future.

Some days, yes. I want it out.

Some days, we're good. We got this. For real.

And all the days in between? Well. Chocolate can do amazing things to settle a woman's nerves.

My Adjusting Eyes

Have you ever had the lights turned off suddenly, plunging you in to total darkness? But as you blink it all in, slowly you'll notice that you're not in total darkness. That there is, in fact, traces of light. Your eyes adjust and you can pick out details to your surroundings that you couldn't see at first?

That's how my life is at this very moment. As in, right now.

When Seth was diagnosed with ADHD, it was something we sort of expected. Now we had a label and a course. Deal with it as best as we could until we were able to be taught by professionals how to raise our child.

After three months of waiting and sort of treading water (ironically, my fingers typed "dreading,"), we finally met with the pediatric neurologist.

This was the appointment I'd been waiting for. This was the boat to come and pluck me out of the ocean as I clung to the lifesaver.

The doctor met with us. Talked with us for almost an hour as he observed Seth. He asked us questions and watched Seth interact with his sister and us. He performed a neurological exam on Seth that had him in hiccups because he laughed so hard. (Seth was hiccuping, not the doc.)

Then, he sat down and told us what I never expected to hear.

Seth is doing great. He doesn't need any professional intervention at this point.

Wait...What?!

To the outsider looking in, this is great news.

To me, the lights just got shut off, leaving me in total darkness.

Lemme tell you something. I'm literally hanging on by a thread. Every night for three months, I take a deep breath and count down the days until we see the doctor. Every day I wonder what the doctor will tell us to do in order to be better parents. To manage his mood swings better. To help him focus. To keep him on track. To stay calm and not get frustrated at x, y and z.

And then, the doctor tells us that Seth is doing great and doesn't need anything. His ADHD is mild compared to a lot of children. He's doing great with what he has!

I had to do deep breathing exercises as the doctor talked in order to keep the panic at bay. I sort of glided through the rest of the conversation, trying to snatch my fleeting thoughts, like grabbing dandelion fluff out of a breeze.

"Ok, then I'm gonna need some help figuring out how to manage some things at home," I said in a borderline panicked voice.

"What is it you need help with specifically?" The doctor asked.

"Uh, well, I don't know. I just know I need help."

He watched me for a minute until I could scrounge up enough words in the English language to tell him what I need. The fact was, I wasn't sure what I needed. He'd pulled the rug out from under me and I still wasn't on my feet yet.

It never even occured to me that I'd go in and walk away with nothing. No helps at all.

The doc gave me a few suggestions, and honestly, I was already doing them. I dug a little more and got more suggestions for things that, again, I'm already doing. Everything I've learned, I've learned from reading and taking online webinars. So I asked if he had any reading material suggestions.  

We left the doctor, and I was able to somehow keep it under control until we drove to the store. And then there was a teeny crack in the dam and the flood waters busted loose. "This was our one chance, and I blew it!" I cried. I felt like I'd failed. Like maybe I talked a little too much about how accomplished Seth his, and not enough about how much of a struggle it is for him to do simple things, like put on a pair of socks. The doctor didn't get to see how it takes me forty five minutes to get my son dressed because he's so distracted, he can't remember what he's supposed to be doing. That I can't do the dishes and ask Seth to do anything because it will not get done. I have to stop whatever I'm doing, and stand over him and repeat instructions over and over and over until the task is complete. All the while, Seth is saying, "Mom, stop reminding me!" But then he'll pause and say, "What am I supposed to be doing again?" I'm going crazy following my five year old around, telling him to do things. And the more I tell, the more I yell.

I'm tired of yelling. Like, really tired of it.

I sobbed, but only for a minute. I did not want my son to see me like that and to know that he - or rather his condition - was the cause!

We went along our merry way for the rest of the day. We made the best of our "trip to town" and hit all the big stores. I had emotionally checked out though. I was still blinking in the darkness.

Hours later, after I'd begun to stir in my walking slumber, my sweet, knowing husband, finally showed me some of the light I'd missed earlier. He reminded me of some things that the doctor had said that I'd missed while belly breathing away the panic.

The doctor said that the challenges Seth faces will be balanced out by his strong characteristics. Specifically, how intelligent his is, and his tender heart. He said that. After knowing Seth for 45 minutes, he could already see that Seth has a tender heart.

He said a lot of kids would have been driving him up the wall by that point of the examination, but that Seth was a very pleasant boy.

As we were leaving, the doctor told us, "He's a very special boy."

Yes we do.

Our special boy is so smart. He's already reading. Today in church, he was able to sing, "Love at Home" with me because he read the words as I pointed them out. Tonight during scripture study, he asked where Tyler was at and was able to follow along as his dad read because he. can. read. He's smart enough to figure out complex ideas. He knows composers music by ear. He knows his full name (can say, spell and write it), address and phone number. And while a few of his numbers are backwards when he writes them, he can still write them! He knows about God, Jesus Christ, and his brother Eli who is his brother forever.

He loves babies. He loves to snuggle babies and talks sweetly to little kids. And though he sometimes gets too close to their faces for the kids' comfort, Seth still tries to let them know they are loved and adored by him.

He has the best laugh. Seriously, the best.

And now that he's starting to understand that his brain works differently, he's become a part of the solution. He knows that sounds trigger him. He doesn't do well with a lot of sound. If the radio is on, I have to turn it off if I want him to hear what I'm saying.

Just last week he was able to verbalize to me on two different occasions that he was struggling because of the noise, and he was on the verge of a meltdown.

Wow.

So, even though it's still a little dark in here, and I still feel like I'm hanging on to the life preserver in the ocean, I also feel like the sun is peeping out from behind the clouds.

Instead of sprinting through this, I'm in for the marathon. I just didn't realize it until a few days ago.

It's still hard, and I'm still struggling, but I'm so grateful for my special boy.

A Tick

I am coming to discover that Seth has distinct and different emotional outbursts. I'm still learning all the layers and intricacies of those. We'll have to come back to them at a later date.

One thing we've noticed for sure is that Seth hits himself in the forehead. Sometimes he does it with a fist, sometimes he does it with his palm. It's never very hard, but he doesn't seem to appear he's doing it.

Sometimes it's when he's upset, sometimes when he's frustrated, and occasionally when he's just happy and laughing.

I shall watch this some more, I think.

Meal times

Dinner tonight. I sat at the head of the table. Abigail sat on my right. Seth sat on my left.

Seth dancing.
Me to S: "Hold still and eat."
Seth holds still but shakes his head.
Me to S: Hold still and eat please."
Seth holds still but begins  humming/singing
Me to S: "Stop singing please and eat.
Me to A: "You too."
Me to S: "Don't hit your head. Eat your dinner please."
Me to A: "Use your spoon and take a bite."
Me to S: "You too."
Me to A: "Get your foot off the table."
Me to S: "Get your foot off the table."
Tyler to A: "Foot off the table
Seth: burp
Me to S: "Get your foot off the table, and what do you say?"
Seth: "'Scuze me. Screech!" His hand smacks his forehead.
Me to S: "Eat your dinner please.
The kids look at each other.
Me to both: "The next person to put their foot on the table is excused from the table with no food."

My head was constantly moving left and right. As soon as I'd finish correcting behavior on one side, another would pop up on the left.

Meal times are hard at our house. Seth is confined. He has a simple task to complete and yet he makes it so difficult to do so. There are very few other situations in which his ADHD is more apparent than at mealtimes. He's constantly moving. He'll take a bite of food and stand up while he's chewing. He'll do a few ninja moves and sit down. He'll take another bite, then rhythmically bang his fists on his head. He'll reach out and touch everyone and everything. He'll squeeze my arm and tell me he loves me and then kick his sister under the table. He'll lay down on the bench and hold his breath. He makes noises. All kinds of noises and hand gestures to accentuate him.

I used to hate sitting down for meals with my kids for that reason. I'm always getting after them to do this or stop doing that. Tonight was a perfect example of why I used to hate meals. I still don't love them, but at least I'm able to manage my frustration. When I was dealing with frustration and anger, it was unbearable.

Now I'm not scolding. I'm teaching and reminding. Seth knows how to eat. He just needs to be reminded that it's time to eat and not time to tell the same knock knock joke 80 times. (Especially since he tells it wrong but he's convinced I'm the one telling it wrong.)

And honestly? Now Tyler and I will catch each others eyes over the kids' heads and laugh.

It's good to laugh at these things, right?  

Day Three of ADHD

Living life with ADHD means that we’ll have to make sacrifices. If we don’t, we’re going to pay the price later on.

For example. Last night we went to my brother and sister-in-law’s house for dinner.

Ok, back that thought train up.

Yesterday morning, we went to my nephews’ basketball games. They spilled over passed lunch time. But we had the pizza parlor reserved for almost two o’clock. By the time we finished eating, it was almost three o’clock. But the fun wasn’t over! For the rest of the day, we were in and out and all around flying by the seat of our pants.

And it was great. Seth was great. He had one outburst as we were leaving a fun activity. He holed himself up in a time out and screamed at me that he couldn’t handle me anymore. After I reminded him (Kinda forcefully) that he was allowed to be upset and frustrated, but he was not allowed to yell, he took a shuddering breath, wiped his eyes and said, “Mom. Did you know that some venus fly traps have teeth?”

Thus it is with a kid with ADHD.

The day of games, family and fun ended around 9pm last night.  Over an hour and a half passed Seth’s bedtime. I shook my head the whole way home and said, “We should have left an hour ago.”

This morning, Seth was a terror. An absolute terror. I was physically shoving his church clothes on as he screamed “I hate this day!”

Fortunately, he was able to calm down enough to be good for his teachers at Sunday school. Thank heavens. But all day we’ve been dealing with the consequences of staying out late.

I told my husband, “We cannot go out anymore on Saturday nights.”

He sighed in defeat and said, “I know.”

I wanted to echo his sad little sigh.

It stinks. We don’t like having to stick to a set routine. We don’t like that we can’t just pick up and go out without worrying how Seth is going to react. For years we’ve avoided fun activities because we know when it’s all said and done, our son is going to make a scene when it’s time to go.

We don’t like that.

We rearrange our schedules to make sure he’s not too over stimulated. To make sure he sleeps enough and eats at the right times. He throws fits. In public. And we handle it with patience and calm – which sometimes seems like our five-year-old is walking all over us.

But you know what?

Seth is worth it.

Day Two of ADHD

This morning Seth burst into my room with his “night vision goggles” trained on my face. Meaning two laser points of light were stabbing my sleep weary eyes.

I waved him off with muffled outrage and he disappeared. I blinked at the clock. It was early. Very early.

Today we have plans to go out and do things. And I’m nervous. What if he has a melt down? What if he has an episode where he has an emotional out burst and yells? What if he’s crazy and people look at him like he’s that kid?

And then I remember that we’ve been taking him in public and hanging out with friends for five years now. Why should an official diagnosis hold us back?

Yes, he is sometimes unruly. He says embarrassing things. He forgets and ignores and talks out of turn. But you know what? We’ve been dealing with this for five years.

We got this.

Day One of ADHD

I know today is not his “first” day of ADHD, but it’s our first full day with the knowledge that this is really what’s happening inside his little brain and body.

I admit, when Seth walked into my bedroom this morning and said, “Hi, Mom.” At first I responded by saying, “What?” And then I thought, what is wrong with me?

What’s wrong with me? Well. My relationship with Seth has been straining increasingly thin the last few months especially. I don’t always enjoy being around him because obnoxious. He talks. All. The. Time. He makes these bizarre noises and can’t keep himself quiet. He freaks out over the smallest things and shrieks until my ears start bleeding. He follows me around the house asking me the same question over and over and over and over again, like he didn’t hear the answer the first dozen times I said it. He ignores me when I ask him to do something until I finally pop my lid and yell at him. And then he cries. And then I have guilt for being Monster Mom.

Even the seven hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep does little to soothe my frazzled nerves.

And then, I remember the words of the therapist yesterday.

He can’t help it. It’s not who he is, it’s something he has to deal with. His brain is working so hard. You will help him cope with it and teach him how to appropriately respond, but you’ll never make it go away. If it’s hard for you as the parent, think of what it’s like for him.

And then I think of his laugh when I tell him a joke. I remember how he snuggled me and kissed my arm last night and told me I was his favorite mom. And how he sat down and read Green Eggs & Ham all by himself.

And I blink and see the sleepy face of my darling little boy. And I swallow and say, “Good morning, buddy.”

And he smiles and says, “Morning.” Then he tells me he wants to go find his camera and take pictures.

Knowing he has a disorder helps me not get angry at him. I don’t yell at him anymore. It’d be like yelling at my dad, telling him to see better, without his glasses. That’s ridiculous. He can’t help his eyesight. My kid can’t help his brain.

And though I don’t get mad, it’s still frustrating to have to follow Seth around reminding him twenty times to put his pants on.

End of Day 1: Well. It started better than it ended, though in some ways, the end was better.

While getting his pajamas, Seth pulled out his regular undies to wear. I reminded him that he needs night time undies. He couldn’t find any, and we discovered they were all dirty. So I told him to grab a pull up.

“I HATE Pull Ups!” Which he’s never complained about before. But what I heard was, “I’m unhappy t hat I don’t get to do the thing that I wanted.” So I just hugged him and gave him a kiss and gently pushed him toward the bathroom to grab a pull up. After that it was like pulling teeth to get him to go to the bathroom and put his pajamas on.

By the time he did all that, everyone was waiting for us so we could read scriptures. And wouldn’t you know it? None of the ones we were reading had his favorite phrase: And it came to pass. He refused to read any of them. So we skipped him. And then the wailing began. He tossed and kicked and cried. We read as though he wasn’t bothering us, then we went in the other room to say prayers.

As we knelt to pray, Seth was in the living room dying a slow and painful death. I can still hear his wails of despair.

And Tyler and I broke into a fit of giggles.

Isn’t it better to laugh than to cry? Or yell.

Tyler calmly picked him up and put him in bed. Poor Seth fell right asleep.

I was glad tonight that we have extra knowledge because a meltdown like that would have sent me to the pantry for a stiff drink. And by stiff drink, I mean water with a squirt of caffeinated Mio.

Peace out.