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.
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