Treadmills and Pirate Ships

It's incredible how powerful you can feel when you just push yourself to your own limits, both physically and mentally. Every day, I climb on a treadmill and don't stop pounding away until I have sweat pouring off me and my legs feel weak. I put on thumping, face paced and angry music, gritting my teeth as I watch the calories click by. I don't have any quaint notions of trimming back down to a "stripper bod", but I want to recarve myself into a lean(ish) fighting machine again. Because that's what I feel like I need to be right now. When I slide my jeans back on and realize they are fitting losely, I feel the strength to want to do this again, tomorrow. This is for me, now, no one else. It's allowed me to start kind of eating normally again, because I'm pushing away the self-manufactured guilt of eating a damn tortilla chip. Meh, I'll burn it off tomorrow. And I do.
My brain is on it's own treadmill, of sorts. I have stacks of books I pour through on brain dysfunctions, and new parenting techniques for children with these conditions. I spend hours scanning through websites of neurological studies and educational procedures for kids like him. I cram information into myself every night, because I want...I need the absolute best for him. There's no option to be a bad parent here, it's go full bore or give up. And this mama doesn't give up. So I study, I research, I collect every scrap of information that I can until I start seeing double and have to cross check with three different books what I just read. My head spins with case studies and diagnosis criteria, but I force all the information in so I know I'm on the right path, and know what questions to ask which doctor.
And then, there's the relaxed moment I have in my own doctor's office. Confronting fears, yes, it's scary, but at least it's progress. The discussions about my past turn now to discussions of what I want in my future. Granted, I have to accept my past, and learn from it, but we're working on it. I'm even letting go of a bit of the bitterness, and coming to terms with what went wrong, and what I should've seen. We've built an amusing metaphor about what I want now, and it consists of a pretty little blue house with a dog in the yard, but the picket fence I painted black with spikes. I should expect only to be accepted for all of me, not just tolerated for portions of me.
That person should think I am beautiful, even when I don't.
They should love and encourage my intellect, and match it with theirs.
They should want me as much as I want them.
They should appreciate the "grown up" moments, of cooking dinner together and checking out an art gallery.
They should love my not so grown up moments, playing video games and collecting Jack Skellingtons, and share in my stupid excitement over a muppet movie.
They shouldn't think I'll outgrow the hello kitty thing.
They should love my son, and genuinely want to be a part of his life.
They will NEVER see his disability as a hindrance, and will see (and love) the beauty inside of him.
They should be truely supportive, hold my hand when I need it, and allow me to hold theirs.
They should appreciate all I give, and remember to tell me that when I think they didn't notice.
They'll have a quiet dinner with the folks, and still enjoy seeing me in a corset down at the club.
They can be cool with me going off and painting for days at a time, because we'll reconnect over dinner every night.
They'll get that I want to game, because they will, too.
They should want to build that future together with me, instead of just sitting by watching me attempt it on my own.
"I want to turn to that person and say...can I build a pirate ship in the backyard?"
"and he should say back..I love you and I'll go make the flag!"
I don't want to look for him right now, because I need to let go of a lot of resentment and distrust still. I need time to crawl back into my own skin, and be okay with that skin. I need to take care of my son right now, and not have any distractions. But in a year or so, maybe, just maybe...I'll go see if I can find that first mate.

Mama soldiers on

I'm feeling rather victorious today. It's one of those mommy days wear at the end I feel like I should be sheathing a sword, wiping off braveheart makeup, and drinking mead by a campfire telling of my many victories in battle.
We've certainly not been without our battles as of late. At times I've felt like life just declared a giant goddamn jihad on me and kiddo. But one by one we've stood up and toppled the enemy, or are at least making some severe headway into their territory.
For starters, my ex is pretty much leaving me alone, and providing the information I need as fast as he's able. He's either smart enough to realize that what I'm doing is what's best for our child, or just knows if he tries to mess with me I'll unleash an unholy wrath upon him. Either works for me, as the state of calm has provided me a breather. I know it's foolish to think he and I will be on smooth sailing for good, but at least getting a temporary repreive from him being a complete ass is a good thing.
And kiddo, well, he's doing a lot better. The meds have him more able to focus, which in turn keeps him from losing control all the time. I watched, from another room, him do his entire homework sheet by himself. In the past, I had to sit next to him, wrangling his focus back to the page with every single question. 1 sheet of 1st grade math would take over an hour. But now, in just 15 minutes he chirps "I'm done!"
The therapy sessions have allowed him to start using words during his troubled times, which he didn't before. The devastation at this recent loss he's felt is now quite palpable, and he's grown very clingy to his support structure (myself, his teachers). But instead of going into a complete panic, he now can verbalize that he needs a hug, or just to be held, or blurts out a fearful question. I expect he'll greive for some time, but at least I am now in better control of my own so as I may help him cope with this.
We'll be seeing a pediatric neuropsychologist for a full diagnostic evaluation on his delays, and will hopefully be moving towards the "big answer". That doctor will be writing up enhancements to the current IEP to help him in a more focused way than before. My biggest battle, facing the district's desire to change his placement, has officially been qwelched. I have full written assurances that they will follow Doc Lewis's IEP enhancements to the letter, and will be integrating a biweekly therapy report as we get them. Apparently seeing the crazy lengths I am willing to go to just to ensure he's got what he needs will scare the bejesus out of any administrator.
Has this been an arduous path? God, yes. The battle to the court room, the frantic doctor lineup, dragging him all over the northend to each doctor appointment and back, facing busses, rain, and meltdowns every step of the way. The night we came home after getting through the third doctor visit, perscription in hand, I remember just sitting here, bawling. Feeling victorious, yet overwhelmed, and alone, I cried until I was shaking, then laid on the couch and stared at the wall. Then I got back up, dragged myself back to the computer, and ordered the obscure reference books his therapist suggested I read.
I still feel really foolish about having to see my own therapist, but at least he's a doctor I feel comfortable working with. I told him I didn't want to be a little girl whining on a couch because a boy threw something in my hair and he laughed. I'm warily re-acquainting myself with food, and have "given myself permission" to eat raw vegetables. I made and froze a bunch of meatballs in hopes that I can just seduce myself into a full meal. I don't want to feel like this anymore, worthless, like I was trash just discarded at the curb. The hunger only makes it worse, because after weeks my body is wracked with hunger pains and my digestive system is rebelling on all fronts. But the doc and I will work towards rebuilding me into a human, beyond just the "supermom" mode I've autopiloted into. The cape is easy to put on when you don't want to be the woman underneith it.
With the tax refund, I was able to get myself things that "retail therapied" my heart into a better place. A box of hair dye, a pretty outfit, and an incredibly oddball bedset that can only be described as "very me". I'm reaching out to socialize, and find myself coming back into my own skin with each moment I enjoy with my awesome friends. The road out of this mess is becoming more well lit and easier to travel every day. I just need to take it one very small step at a time.

Progress, blessed progress

Wow, who knew we'd get so much accomplished in a few hours yesterday. Earlier in Jan, I was sort of just desperately throwing darts at a board to get him in for help, calling every doctor on the school psychologist's referral list, and snapping up any appointment offered. You see, I've been wanting to approach his issues on multiple fronts, from psychologists to neuropathologists. I want every possible answer out there as to what's going on with kiddo, and how to best help him. I consider his issues to be multilayered, and they need a multilayered approach. While I was positive one diagnosis would be ADHD, there was definitely more to the story. We can't just put a big stamp across the whole thing, because his symptoms have been so all over the board.

Severe development delays
Severe cognitive delays
Receptive language disorder (indeterminant cause, presumed related to above)
recent:
complete lack of impulse control
Lack of focus ability
Manic states
increased behavioral meltdowns, fits, violence
unawareness of what occured during above
diminished capacity for attention
very recent:
downturn in negative behavior
increase in clinginess
desperate requests for reassurance

I had made an appointment with a Psychologist (Dr. A), and an ARNP (Dr. B) in my dart board approach. Little did I know how fortuitous it was to make those to in conjunction, apparently they work together on a frequent basis. I filled out multiple behavior analysis questionairres, and sent some off to the teachers to fill out as well. Once the courts made their little stamp, I was able to get the plane off the ground and move forward with the appointments. I had hoped through one of them I could snag a consult with a neuropathologist.

Dr. A and I spent several hours together yesterday, as well as her with kiddo. She had one of the more detailed questionairres regarding Anthony's behavior, as well as I had provided her with every scrap of paper ever given to me by the district (IEPs, FBAs, etc). After taking in everything, including our family histories, she gave the initial evaluation of ADHD with an underlying anxiety disorder. Both were exacerbating eachother, causing the lines to blur, but also cause the downward spiral in his behavior. The ADHD gave him the inability to focus, which was exhausting and frustrating to him. The anxiety disorder would of course flare under these circumstances, resulting in the subsequent meltdowns. Our course of action is to medicate him for the ADHD, relieving some of his stress, then counter the anxiety with multiple levels of therapy. Once those are wrestled into control, we can take a much closer look at the over development, receptive language, and cognitive delays. She recommended a particular doctor who is reknowned for ful neuropsych evaluations, although warned me it could take months to get in. But if I was managing the immediate needs, I could wait a little longer to get the big picture on the delays. My primary concern is to help him with what he needs help with right NOW, which is the meltdowns at school.

She agreed completely that a placement change would be the worse possible thing for him. Not only would it rip him away from his support structure (hello, anxiety!), but it would put him in a place where he'd be seeing a model of much worse behavioral issues. As he tends to pick up on these things, it would become increasingly difficult to determine which were learned and which were inherent when trying to decipher the delay issues.

When I asked about the most recent behaviors, she said that was the anxiety disorder showing it's face in light of the turmoil at home. More than likely kiddo was picking up on Scott's beginning to pull out of the relationship in earnest, whereas I was putting blinders up. The unresolved stress from that, my feelings of lack of support, all of that was being swept under the table, but "piling up under the rug", so to speak. Regardless of the trauma of the inevitable abandonment that occured later, all of the unacknowledged tension was stressing out a child who cannot contain their feelings of anxiety. Thus, the surge in tantrums at school. The recent few weeks he's actually shown a lack of those freakouts, and it was at the exact time Scott had walked out. While the beginnings of his fears of abandonment are now apparent via the clinginess and constant need for reassurance of other's presence in his life, the huge ball of tension is now over, therefor his anxiety is ultimately reduced.

I took him up to the med specialist today, thinking it would be abother 3 hour appointment of me needing to explain just what's up, but Anthony surprised me with showing her exactly his problems. No sooner had we walked in than he began escalating into a full meltdown. I shouldn't have been surprised. It was his second day of not going to school, an unfamiliar place and person, a big scary office with no toys or distractions. The chaos the situation provided essentially primed him for his plummet. It began with a manic state of scrambling around flipping switches and ignoring my pleas to sit, then escalated quickly to him shoving furniture across the floor, kicking walls, and screaming. He rammed me, tried to shove the doctor, and actually managed to shove a two seat bench clear across the room. The climax was when I had to restrain him, and he began screaming uncontrollably and kicking wildly, and punching. Yea, mama's got a few more bruises now, he landed two to my head and several to the ribcage.
She looked at me and said she was pleased she could witness first hand what was happening, rather than have to piece it together from all the reports. It was very clear my child was quickly losing control, and in desperate need of help. We decided on Aderoll as an immediate med, with multiple followups to tweak it. This will be a long road as well, of trial and error, but at least we're on a road.

The part that surprised me about all of this was during the psych appointment yesterday, her request of myself. During the discussion of family history (including my own), and of course home life and recent events, apparently she put together a much more alarming picture of me than I had previously thought. She's asking me to seek professional help regarding issues of abandonment, aggressive rejection fears, and lastly, unchecked eating disorder. I was loath to admit the last part, and still feel a lot of shame admitting it now. I don't really want to talk about that until I am actually in help for it, tho, so don't mind if I gloss the subject. Suffice to say all three have been around for ages, and perhaps the doc is right, it's time I actually get help for them. Her concern is that my unchecked anorexia manifests itself in front of my child as a need for perfection in the home, which could cause him more anxiety. The other two obviously were present during the last few months of not knowing the lack of stability in my relationship, and were causing my child stress, in addition to sparking the anorexia to rear its ugly head again.

The irony to this is that I hadn't sought professional help earlier because, well, I like to think I'm strong enough to handle anything on my own. But apparently that's my downfall. If I simply allow myself to "get over it" but hardening up, remaining angry, resentful, and fearful, I am really only setting my child up to see a poor example. What I see as strength becomes a weakness in the eyes of a child who needs to grow up thinking that the world is an ok place, and not something to constantly be afraid of. I don't want to cry on someone's couch, and I feel like a stupid little girl whining about how a boy rejected me. But ultimately, these issues are pretty severe, and I need to buck up and get help for the sake of my child. *sigh*