This week was just a crazy up-and-down-roller-coaster of a week. On Monday Bear and I took a trip to the specialist for a follow-up on his new anti-depressants. I wasn't sure I had really noticed any difference in his anxiety levels, but it can take up to six weeks for anti-depressants to kick in and it hadn't yet been six weeks. The last time we were there Bear refused to go into the waiting room because people might look at him (we waited in the hall for an hour), so I knew this appointment would be a good test. And boy, was it ever.
Despite the fact that the waiting room was empty, Bear refused to go in. The doctor was on time, so all we had to do was walk through. For the record, this was our third or fourth visit to this particular doctor, so it wasn't exactly unknown territory. Well, he freaked. And when I say freaked, I mean freaked. I had to hand all my stuff to the receptionist to take to the examining room and then pick him up and carry him in. That wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that 40lbs of kicking, screaming, writhing, scratching, biting (oh yes...biting) Bear is very difficult to carry without dropping. My poor baby. It was really heart-breaking. The only good thing was that it proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the medicine wasn't working at all. Whether or not to change anti-depressants suddenly became a very easy decision for all involved, so now he's on something new.
Tuesday and Wednesday seemed to go off without a hitch, to the point where I wondered if I had any right to write a blog about having a child with ODD. ODD? What ODD? Then came Thursday, and all hell broke loose. Homework resulted in my being punched in the stomach. Granted, that's probably more the ADHD than the ODD, but they pretty much go hand-in-hand. That was the first time he's punched me like that (normally he kicks, hits, pinches, or throws something), and I'm not sure if I'm more disturbed by the fact that he punched me or the fact that it didn't really upset me. On one hand yay me that I didn't fly off the handle, but on the other hand...wow...how "normal" has his behaviour become to me that being punched in the stomach by my six-year-old doesn't freak me out.
Friday was a good day for him, and his teacher even sent a note home saying he had had a really good week. I just love how everyone involved at his school seems to root for him. It's really heart-warming.
Then along came today, and a much-anticipated birthday party -- except he decided he wasn't going. This is typical Bear, but only for about the last six months. His anxiety gets the worst of him and he just can't bring himself to go. The good thing is that not only are we starting to recognize the signs, but so is he. Fingers in the mouth are a tip off, that's for sure. But whereas three months ago asking him what was wrong used to send him right over the edge and even into a violent rage if we pushed too hard, now he's starting to talk about it. This morning when I asked him if he was scared, he said yes. That was progress. We haven't pushed him to go to other birthday parties or to do things that scare him despite the advice of the well-meaning, and I think that has paid off. He now trusts us when we say we're not going to make him do something, so he's willing to talk about it. In the past he would shriek "You're just trying to get me to go!!!" when I tried to question him.
The one thing I did insist on today was that we go buy a present for his friend and deliver it, but I stressed that he didn't have to stay. He was OK with that, and then added on his own that maybe he could stay if he decided to. So that was our deal. Get ready for the party, go buy the present, go deliver the present, and only stay if you want to. And lo and behold, he wanted to! He did ask me to stay with him, although rather casually, so I told him I couldn't because I had an appointment to get my hair cut (I wasn't lying). I did promise him that I would come back as soon as I was done, though, which I did. I got a flying hug when he saw me, but then I was informed that I could go.
Yay, Bear!!! You go, my angel! This is real progress and I'm hoping it's a sign of better days to come. Just the fact that he's beginning to talk about how he's feeling opens up a world of opportunity to help him.
You know, when your child has ODD, you often end up as the enemy. Kids with ODD take everything personally, so they see anything you do (like make them sit down for supper) as an attack. It was a really nice to feel like his ally for a change.
Showing posts with label Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Show all posts
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
How Many More Years of School???
I realize today is only Wednesday, but it already feels like it's been a long week. Yesterday afternoon I got my first "could you please come get him?" call of the year from the school. Mind you, it took til week three for that phone call to come, which is an improvement over last year. Last year he only made it to week two, although that was an improvement over the year before. (Fingers crossed that next year he makes it through a whole month before being sent home!)
But back to yesterday. In the school's defence, it was more of a "Bear's hiding under a counter and won't come out and we're not sure what to do now" phone call than a "come get your crazy child before someone gets hurt" phone call. (Trust me, I've had the latter as well.) The teacher said this was the first time that she hadn't been able to find a way to get him to do what he was supposed to do, which was why she was calling. Normally a promise of being able to play with Lego for a bit will do the trick, but not this time. But you have to hand it to Bear...it's a pretty gutsy six-year-old who flat out refuses to do what his teacher and the vice-principal are telling him to do. Most kids would cave at some point, especially when the teacher gets the parent on the phone. But Bear? Nope, not my Bear. Instead he crawled out from under the counter and joined in the conference call! What a kid.
Given the fact that Bear was flat out refusing to go back to class and that there was only about an hour left of school, it was decided that he would come home and do some work. That should have been a fairly simple arrangement to enforce, but this is Bear we're talking about. Homework, as we're finding out, is not something he does willingly.
What followed was about four hours of torture, both for him and for me, but extremely enlightening torture. As it turned out, there was a math test in class that afternoon, which was why Bear was refusing to go to class. You see, if he took the test, he might fail, and that wasn't an option for him. Children with ADHD are very often perfectionists with a very low tolerance for frustration, which is a dangerous combination. How do you do something perfectly when you don't have the patience to learn to do it properly in the first place? Answer? You don't do it at all. What if you're having problems with the work you're doing in class? You leave your desk and hide in the coatroom, of course. What if there's a test? You find a reason to leave the class and then you hide under a counter and refuse to go back. And if well-intentioned teachers tell you the work is easy? Well, if you find it hard when others find it easy, you internalize the message that you're stupid and a loser (his words, not mine) and then you come home and refuse to do any work because you can't do it perfectly.
In the end, no work got done, a lot of tears were shed (mine hidden, of course), but a lot of information was gleaned. That information was then shared with his class teacher and his resource teacher and by morning they were already working on a plan. (I love that school!!!)
That was yesterday. Then came today.
Today Bear's anxiety reared its ugly head again and he refused to get out of the van when we got to school. Instead, he climbed into the back seat (Before you all start emailing me, by "back seat" I mean the third row. No, he wasn't in the front at six years old, and yes, he was in a booster seat. Can I continue now?), pulled a blanket over himself, and claimed he was too tired to go to school. After a few minutes of trying to negotiate with him I headed into the school to look for reinforcements, taking baby Stitch with me. (I hate to admit it, but Bear can't be trusted around Stitch if he goes into a rage, and I wasn't sure how he was going to react when forced to go to school.) When further negotiations didn't work, I handed Stitch to the teacher who had joined me, climbed into the back of the van, and proceded to start to physically remove him from the van. Fear of his friends seeing him won the day, and he went into school on his own steam. And in typical ADHD/ODD fashion, which means the fastest mood swings you've ever seen, the boy who just minutes before had been crying and yelling at me now went happily trotting into school to play Lego, with hugs and kisses all around. Go figure.
His test, for the record, went well. So well, in fact, that he didn't even know he had written it. Alternating five-minute-periods of work and play had made his first test ever a painless experience. His teacher had already filled me in, but I decided to play dumb with him to see what he said. (Some days that's easier than others.) "So, how did your test go today," I asked on our way home from school. "Test?" he repeated, sounding a little confused. "I don't think I wrote it." "Well, you did, because your teacher told me you did and said you did really well on it," I explained. "OH!" he exclaimed, completely surprised. "Then it went well."
It's going to be a long 12 years for everyone involved.
But back to yesterday. In the school's defence, it was more of a "Bear's hiding under a counter and won't come out and we're not sure what to do now" phone call than a "come get your crazy child before someone gets hurt" phone call. (Trust me, I've had the latter as well.) The teacher said this was the first time that she hadn't been able to find a way to get him to do what he was supposed to do, which was why she was calling. Normally a promise of being able to play with Lego for a bit will do the trick, but not this time. But you have to hand it to Bear...it's a pretty gutsy six-year-old who flat out refuses to do what his teacher and the vice-principal are telling him to do. Most kids would cave at some point, especially when the teacher gets the parent on the phone. But Bear? Nope, not my Bear. Instead he crawled out from under the counter and joined in the conference call! What a kid.
Given the fact that Bear was flat out refusing to go back to class and that there was only about an hour left of school, it was decided that he would come home and do some work. That should have been a fairly simple arrangement to enforce, but this is Bear we're talking about. Homework, as we're finding out, is not something he does willingly.
What followed was about four hours of torture, both for him and for me, but extremely enlightening torture. As it turned out, there was a math test in class that afternoon, which was why Bear was refusing to go to class. You see, if he took the test, he might fail, and that wasn't an option for him. Children with ADHD are very often perfectionists with a very low tolerance for frustration, which is a dangerous combination. How do you do something perfectly when you don't have the patience to learn to do it properly in the first place? Answer? You don't do it at all. What if you're having problems with the work you're doing in class? You leave your desk and hide in the coatroom, of course. What if there's a test? You find a reason to leave the class and then you hide under a counter and refuse to go back. And if well-intentioned teachers tell you the work is easy? Well, if you find it hard when others find it easy, you internalize the message that you're stupid and a loser (his words, not mine) and then you come home and refuse to do any work because you can't do it perfectly.
In the end, no work got done, a lot of tears were shed (mine hidden, of course), but a lot of information was gleaned. That information was then shared with his class teacher and his resource teacher and by morning they were already working on a plan. (I love that school!!!)
That was yesterday. Then came today.
Today Bear's anxiety reared its ugly head again and he refused to get out of the van when we got to school. Instead, he climbed into the back seat (Before you all start emailing me, by "back seat" I mean the third row. No, he wasn't in the front at six years old, and yes, he was in a booster seat. Can I continue now?), pulled a blanket over himself, and claimed he was too tired to go to school. After a few minutes of trying to negotiate with him I headed into the school to look for reinforcements, taking baby Stitch with me. (I hate to admit it, but Bear can't be trusted around Stitch if he goes into a rage, and I wasn't sure how he was going to react when forced to go to school.) When further negotiations didn't work, I handed Stitch to the teacher who had joined me, climbed into the back of the van, and proceded to start to physically remove him from the van. Fear of his friends seeing him won the day, and he went into school on his own steam. And in typical ADHD/ODD fashion, which means the fastest mood swings you've ever seen, the boy who just minutes before had been crying and yelling at me now went happily trotting into school to play Lego, with hugs and kisses all around. Go figure.
His test, for the record, went well. So well, in fact, that he didn't even know he had written it. Alternating five-minute-periods of work and play had made his first test ever a painless experience. His teacher had already filled me in, but I decided to play dumb with him to see what he said. (Some days that's easier than others.) "So, how did your test go today," I asked on our way home from school. "Test?" he repeated, sounding a little confused. "I don't think I wrote it." "Well, you did, because your teacher told me you did and said you did really well on it," I explained. "OH!" he exclaimed, completely surprised. "Then it went well."
It's going to be a long 12 years for everyone involved.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
I'm Not a Bad Mother!!!!
NOTE: This blog was started yesterday and finished today as if it were still yesterday, so keep that in mind. And on a happy note, the police had to report the incident to CAS, but CAS called this morning to tell us they aren't opening a file on us. Yay! No one's taking my Bear away. (That got your attention, didn't it?)
I'm not even sure how to describe my day. How's this...it's not even 5:00 p.m. and someone has already asked me if I've started drinking yet. I'm out of wine, but I may just have to send Hubby out for some when he gets home.
My day started off fine, until we missed the school bus. It wasn't anybody's fault, it just happened. This is the second week of school and I think things probably went a little smoother on the bus route than last week, so the bus was a few minutes early. It happens...no biggie. There was still lots of time to get to school, so back home we headed to get in the van. That was fine, until out of nowhere Bear decided he didn't want to take the bus home today. Huh? This is the same boy who was really disappointed that he had missed the bus. OK, whatever. But my insisting that the bus was his only ride home triggered a meltdown, which led to my chasing him around the outside of the house, catching him, and then carrying 40lbs of struggling six-year-old to the van. Not a good start, but we've had worse.
We get to school and he promptly bursts into tears, begging me not to make him go in. So again...huh? So he's sitting in his car seat, sobbing, telling me that he's tired and yawning and that the teacher will say something to him if he yawns. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but when you have a child with a generalized anxiety disorder, strange statements like this aren't unusual. Last time we went to a doctor Bear didn't want to go into the waiting room because people might look at him, so we stood in the hall for an hour while we waited for our appointment. The good news is it helped the doctor diagnose the anxiety disorder! (If your child is going to go nuts on you while you're out, it's always nice when it's at the doctor.)
Anyway...back to my morning. I tried to talk him through it and even offered to go in with him to talk to his teacher, but he wasn't having it. I could tell by the way he recoiled every time I reached for his seat belt that he was not going to go willingly. I considered forcing him to go in, but that would have required carrying him in, most likely kicking and screaming. I may have done it if I hadn't had Stitch with me, but I did. And anyway, he was sobbing...didn't that mean it was real? Is forcing the issue the best thing? I have no idea. In the end I caved and took him home. Right thing? Wrong thing? Again, no idea.
Having a child with mental health issues is exhausting, so by 10 a.m. I was ready to nap with the baby. Bear was happily occupied, so I lay down for a while. I guess I was a little more tired than I thought, because I passed out. In comes Bear...could he go and play in the backyard, pretty, pretty, pretty please? Yes, fine, I agreed, but stay in the backyard. He's always been good about these things, so I didn't give it another thought.
Fast forward about an hour, and I get up. I look out the back...no Bear. Running shoes by the door, so he must be downstairs. Bear??? No answer. Go out front...no Bear. Then I notice his scooter on the lawn and his sandals carelessly lying in the grass. Where is Bear??? WHERE IS BEAR??? He only has two pairs of shoes, so I knew that wherever he was, he didn't have his shoes on. I stood there, frozen, for what seemed like hours, as I tried to process what I was seeing. The logical side of my brain knew that he was most likely at a neighbour's, but the other side of my brain flashed through every episode of "Without a Trace" I've ever seen and I knew that if he had been abducted, we needed to find him soon. Don't they always say something about the first few hours being the most critical?
Flash forward again probably 30-45 minutes, while I scour the neighbourhood on foot with Stitch in a stroller and six neighbours are out in four cars going in increasingly larger circles. By this point there have been Bear sightings on his bicycle, but about 1/2 an hour before. He's not even allowed to go to the corner by himself, so how is it that we can't find any trace of him???? Then a brain wave hits...the only place he might go by himself is to my parents', who live about 10 blocks away. We go there all the time, so he would know exactly how to get there. But surely he wouldn't...no, he couldn't...please God...let him have...
The conversation went something like this:
"Hi Dad. Don't panic, but Bear's missing."
"But...he's here."
<insert really bitchy tone here>"What do you mean he's there? How long has he been there???"
"I don't know. I guess about half-an-hour."
"And it took you this long to realize I wasn't there???"
Apparently Bear had simply walked into the house and told Grandpa that Mommy had dropped him off and gone home. That seemed strange to my dad, but then he thought maybe I had been having a bad ODD day with Bear and needed a break. I've done that before, although never without calling first, so Dad just figured I had spoken to my mother, who was napping. I swear...a comedy of errors. Or would that be a comedy of terrors?
Back home, I'm standing in the driveway, phone in hand, having just hung up, when the police car shows up. One of the neighbours helping with the search is a paramedic, so he called his buddies at the police station to tell them what was going on. Nothing makes you feel more like a bad mother than having to explain to a police officer that your son disappeared while you were napping, but no worries, he's shown up 10 blocks away at your parents, wearing no helmet or shoes (no shoes???), having crossed a number of busy streets. Sigh...
So out I trotted the explanation. He has ADHD and ODD (I'm not a bad mother), kids with ADHD have very little impulse control (I'm not a bad mother), he's never done anything like this before (I'm not a bad mother), he's not even allowed to go to the corner (I'm not a bad mother), we're working with Child & Youth Wellness to develop his skills (I'm not a bad mother)...he promised he wouldn't leave the backyard (I'm not a bad mother...please believe me...I'm not a bad mother...). OK, I may have left out all the "I'm not a bad mother" stuff, but I'm sure it was written all over my face.
When my little chat with the nice policeman was over and he now knew everything about us and our family, I asked if he would mind going to over to my parents to scare the pants off Bear. No problem...he'd be happy to. He actually went pretty easy on him, so not exactly the pants-scaring-off lesson I was hoping for, but Bear's pretty cute and I think the officer felt bad for him. I didn't actually see Bear's face when the officer stepped into the room at my parents', but I did hear Bear say "Am I going to jail?"
So has he learned his lesson? Who knows. Have we? Yup. We have an appointment with the vet next week to get him microchipped, just like the dog. (kidding...sheesh...but it really did cross my mind!)
I'm not even sure how to describe my day. How's this...it's not even 5:00 p.m. and someone has already asked me if I've started drinking yet. I'm out of wine, but I may just have to send Hubby out for some when he gets home.
My day started off fine, until we missed the school bus. It wasn't anybody's fault, it just happened. This is the second week of school and I think things probably went a little smoother on the bus route than last week, so the bus was a few minutes early. It happens...no biggie. There was still lots of time to get to school, so back home we headed to get in the van. That was fine, until out of nowhere Bear decided he didn't want to take the bus home today. Huh? This is the same boy who was really disappointed that he had missed the bus. OK, whatever. But my insisting that the bus was his only ride home triggered a meltdown, which led to my chasing him around the outside of the house, catching him, and then carrying 40lbs of struggling six-year-old to the van. Not a good start, but we've had worse.
We get to school and he promptly bursts into tears, begging me not to make him go in. So again...huh? So he's sitting in his car seat, sobbing, telling me that he's tired and yawning and that the teacher will say something to him if he yawns. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but when you have a child with a generalized anxiety disorder, strange statements like this aren't unusual. Last time we went to a doctor Bear didn't want to go into the waiting room because people might look at him, so we stood in the hall for an hour while we waited for our appointment. The good news is it helped the doctor diagnose the anxiety disorder! (If your child is going to go nuts on you while you're out, it's always nice when it's at the doctor.)
Anyway...back to my morning. I tried to talk him through it and even offered to go in with him to talk to his teacher, but he wasn't having it. I could tell by the way he recoiled every time I reached for his seat belt that he was not going to go willingly. I considered forcing him to go in, but that would have required carrying him in, most likely kicking and screaming. I may have done it if I hadn't had Stitch with me, but I did. And anyway, he was sobbing...didn't that mean it was real? Is forcing the issue the best thing? I have no idea. In the end I caved and took him home. Right thing? Wrong thing? Again, no idea.
Having a child with mental health issues is exhausting, so by 10 a.m. I was ready to nap with the baby. Bear was happily occupied, so I lay down for a while. I guess I was a little more tired than I thought, because I passed out. In comes Bear...could he go and play in the backyard, pretty, pretty, pretty please? Yes, fine, I agreed, but stay in the backyard. He's always been good about these things, so I didn't give it another thought.
Fast forward about an hour, and I get up. I look out the back...no Bear. Running shoes by the door, so he must be downstairs. Bear??? No answer. Go out front...no Bear. Then I notice his scooter on the lawn and his sandals carelessly lying in the grass. Where is Bear??? WHERE IS BEAR??? He only has two pairs of shoes, so I knew that wherever he was, he didn't have his shoes on. I stood there, frozen, for what seemed like hours, as I tried to process what I was seeing. The logical side of my brain knew that he was most likely at a neighbour's, but the other side of my brain flashed through every episode of "Without a Trace" I've ever seen and I knew that if he had been abducted, we needed to find him soon. Don't they always say something about the first few hours being the most critical?
Flash forward again probably 30-45 minutes, while I scour the neighbourhood on foot with Stitch in a stroller and six neighbours are out in four cars going in increasingly larger circles. By this point there have been Bear sightings on his bicycle, but about 1/2 an hour before. He's not even allowed to go to the corner by himself, so how is it that we can't find any trace of him???? Then a brain wave hits...the only place he might go by himself is to my parents', who live about 10 blocks away. We go there all the time, so he would know exactly how to get there. But surely he wouldn't...no, he couldn't...please God...let him have...
The conversation went something like this:
"Hi Dad. Don't panic, but Bear's missing."
"But...he's here."
<insert really bitchy tone here>"What do you mean he's there? How long has he been there???"
"I don't know. I guess about half-an-hour."
"And it took you this long to realize I wasn't there???"
Apparently Bear had simply walked into the house and told Grandpa that Mommy had dropped him off and gone home. That seemed strange to my dad, but then he thought maybe I had been having a bad ODD day with Bear and needed a break. I've done that before, although never without calling first, so Dad just figured I had spoken to my mother, who was napping. I swear...a comedy of errors. Or would that be a comedy of terrors?
Back home, I'm standing in the driveway, phone in hand, having just hung up, when the police car shows up. One of the neighbours helping with the search is a paramedic, so he called his buddies at the police station to tell them what was going on. Nothing makes you feel more like a bad mother than having to explain to a police officer that your son disappeared while you were napping, but no worries, he's shown up 10 blocks away at your parents, wearing no helmet or shoes (no shoes???), having crossed a number of busy streets. Sigh...
So out I trotted the explanation. He has ADHD and ODD (I'm not a bad mother), kids with ADHD have very little impulse control (I'm not a bad mother), he's never done anything like this before (I'm not a bad mother), he's not even allowed to go to the corner (I'm not a bad mother), we're working with Child & Youth Wellness to develop his skills (I'm not a bad mother)...he promised he wouldn't leave the backyard (I'm not a bad mother...please believe me...I'm not a bad mother...). OK, I may have left out all the "I'm not a bad mother" stuff, but I'm sure it was written all over my face.
When my little chat with the nice policeman was over and he now knew everything about us and our family, I asked if he would mind going to over to my parents to scare the pants off Bear. No problem...he'd be happy to. He actually went pretty easy on him, so not exactly the pants-scaring-off lesson I was hoping for, but Bear's pretty cute and I think the officer felt bad for him. I didn't actually see Bear's face when the officer stepped into the room at my parents', but I did hear Bear say "Am I going to jail?"
So has he learned his lesson? Who knows. Have we? Yup. We have an appointment with the vet next week to get him microchipped, just like the dog. (kidding...sheesh...but it really did cross my mind!)
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