Dragon mothers and other epiphanies
1. My son is depressed. Like, depressed depressed. Loss of interest in activities that used to interest him. Anhedonia. Feelings of worthlessness, sadness, hopelessness. Trouble sleeping. Increased sensitivity to rejection and failure. Crying, yelling, social withdrawal.
My seven-year-old is depressed.
Whether this is a check-mark on the "is it bipolar?" question, I don't know, but this has been going on since we took him off his meds. I told him today, look. We're going to put you back on medicine soon, and that should help you feel better. But medicine isn't going to help you your whole life. You have to find ways to make yourself better. I don't know if he's hearing me, though. In all his long, long, seven years, he's never wanted to take the reigns. He believes he is the way he was made to be. His words.
We have to change this.
2. We're at a crossroads. Again. Finally. Thank God.
The Kinglet has had several blow-ups with his therapist in the last month or so, allowing her for the first-time to really get an eyeful of What He is Like. Even though these are awful to watch, this is a good thing. Now we can make decisions about his treatment.
Which is to say, we're not certain there's a whole lot more she can do for him, at this time. Given the way he looks at the world ("I am made this way, I cannot change, I didn't make me angry, you did, and I didn't calm myself back down, it was because the door was open or the sky is blue"), talk therapy isn't going to be enough. We need more.
The therapist suggested the big Regional Children's Hospitals. I spent a few days juggling around questions of medical insurance, travel, waiting lists, and humanity and finally decided I'd rather throw more rocks at A. I. Dupont, first, before trekking to Baltimore or Philadelphia. A. I., thankfully (thank you, thank you) agreed to see us on Monday (as in yesterday Monday) for an intake assessment, and they agreed, yes, there's cause for concern.
3. Last year, when A.I. gave us a diagnosis and a report of recommendations and sent us away, I thought it was because "they were busy". What I realize, now, is that he wasn't offered any services at the hospital because he didn't qualify for them... he never got past the intake gate. There is, I now know, a whole battery of testing that goes on after that first assessment, if it appears that there's cause for concern... which, as I said, they see now.
I think the fact that he wasn't yet medicated a year ago had a lot to do with it. And that he hadn't yet had a chance to fail, socially... or to fall into depression this deep, or get himself stuck in such an obvious mental tower.
4. There's a chance my son might be diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder. Is that how they define it now? ASD? Whatever. Same animal.
A year ago, I would have laughed at the suggestion. Now... like I've said. I don't care so much what you call it, so long as he gets the treatment he needs. And the doc at the hospital confirmed for me, yes, some of these needed services - like a social skills group - are only available (and covered) if you get the designer diagnosis.
So, at this point... give me the label. Yes, please. I'll pin it to his sweater my own damn self. Just give him the treatment. Give him a chance.
But first, we have to hurry up and wait. He's on a waiting list. October, maybe, before they can start the testing. He'll already be back in school (where? who knows?) and being evaluated for his IEP. Would have preferred to have the hospital do it first, and let the school take up the slack. With all their good (individual) intentions, I don't believe the School District, as an entity, has the best resources or perspective to spearhead my child's future.
5. Because that's really what we're talking about here. His future. This is, yes, life and death.
6. I am not the best mother. I get angry. I get frustrated. I snap at him, I say true things that must be hard for a seven-year-old to hear. I lose the ability to smile at him, to overlook, to redirect. I give up, for whole hours at a time. And I can't fix him. Ultimately, he's going to have to do that. But there are still things I can fight for. I promise I can do that much.
7. Ever since I was pregnant, I've been drawn to dragons. I asked for dragons at my baby shower. Saved pictures, coloring books, toys. All this time, I thought they were for him - his totem. His symbol to aspire to.
Turns out, the dragon was for me all along.
My seven-year-old is depressed.
Whether this is a check-mark on the "is it bipolar?" question, I don't know, but this has been going on since we took him off his meds. I told him today, look. We're going to put you back on medicine soon, and that should help you feel better. But medicine isn't going to help you your whole life. You have to find ways to make yourself better. I don't know if he's hearing me, though. In all his long, long, seven years, he's never wanted to take the reigns. He believes he is the way he was made to be. His words.
We have to change this.
2. We're at a crossroads. Again. Finally. Thank God.
The Kinglet has had several blow-ups with his therapist in the last month or so, allowing her for the first-time to really get an eyeful of What He is Like. Even though these are awful to watch, this is a good thing. Now we can make decisions about his treatment.
Which is to say, we're not certain there's a whole lot more she can do for him, at this time. Given the way he looks at the world ("I am made this way, I cannot change, I didn't make me angry, you did, and I didn't calm myself back down, it was because the door was open or the sky is blue"), talk therapy isn't going to be enough. We need more.
The therapist suggested the big Regional Children's Hospitals. I spent a few days juggling around questions of medical insurance, travel, waiting lists, and humanity and finally decided I'd rather throw more rocks at A. I. Dupont, first, before trekking to Baltimore or Philadelphia. A. I., thankfully (thank you, thank you) agreed to see us on Monday (as in yesterday Monday) for an intake assessment, and they agreed, yes, there's cause for concern.
3. Last year, when A.I. gave us a diagnosis and a report of recommendations and sent us away, I thought it was because "they were busy". What I realize, now, is that he wasn't offered any services at the hospital because he didn't qualify for them... he never got past the intake gate. There is, I now know, a whole battery of testing that goes on after that first assessment, if it appears that there's cause for concern... which, as I said, they see now.
I think the fact that he wasn't yet medicated a year ago had a lot to do with it. And that he hadn't yet had a chance to fail, socially... or to fall into depression this deep, or get himself stuck in such an obvious mental tower.
4. There's a chance my son might be diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder. Is that how they define it now? ASD? Whatever. Same animal.
A year ago, I would have laughed at the suggestion. Now... like I've said. I don't care so much what you call it, so long as he gets the treatment he needs. And the doc at the hospital confirmed for me, yes, some of these needed services - like a social skills group - are only available (and covered) if you get the designer diagnosis.
So, at this point... give me the label. Yes, please. I'll pin it to his sweater my own damn self. Just give him the treatment. Give him a chance.
But first, we have to hurry up and wait. He's on a waiting list. October, maybe, before they can start the testing. He'll already be back in school (where? who knows?) and being evaluated for his IEP. Would have preferred to have the hospital do it first, and let the school take up the slack. With all their good (individual) intentions, I don't believe the School District, as an entity, has the best resources or perspective to spearhead my child's future.
5. Because that's really what we're talking about here. His future. This is, yes, life and death.
6. I am not the best mother. I get angry. I get frustrated. I snap at him, I say true things that must be hard for a seven-year-old to hear. I lose the ability to smile at him, to overlook, to redirect. I give up, for whole hours at a time. And I can't fix him. Ultimately, he's going to have to do that. But there are still things I can fight for. I promise I can do that much.
7. Ever since I was pregnant, I've been drawn to dragons. I asked for dragons at my baby shower. Saved pictures, coloring books, toys. All this time, I thought they were for him - his totem. His symbol to aspire to.
Turns out, the dragon was for me all along.