It's Bell Let's Talk Day in Canada, and it's a great opportunity to get the conversation going about children's mental illness. As parents, we're so very hesitant to share with people that our children have mental health problems. But why is that?
For one thing, we're afraid that they won't understand. Fair enough, they might not. But how is not talking about it going to help change that?
Secondly, we're afraid people might judge us or our children. Another good point. But let's be honest here -- children with mental illnesses that manifest outwardly in bad behaviour simply look like brats to the outside world and we, their parents, look lazy and negligent. Ergo, we're already being judged. So once again, how is not talking about it going to help?
Third, the term "mental illness" is pretty damn scary. It calls to mind the mental institutions of old and images of sociopaths and other people society says we should be afraid of. But are those images accurate, or are we buying into the very stigma we need to fight?
The fact remains that 1 in 5 children will suffer from a mental illness at some point, and not talking about it isn't going to make it go away. What it will do, however, is continue to alienate them and the people who love them.
Ask yourself this. If 1 in 5 children has a mental illness, why do so many parents feel alone? Answer? Because nobody talks about it.
So here's what I'm proposing. What if rather than hiding from it, we talked about it? What if rather than being embarrassed about it, we educated people about it? What if rather than complaining about it, we did something about it?
As scary as it can be, I don’t think we’re going to change the perception of mental illness unless we embrace it.
Who's with me?
Note: This is a slightly revised version of a post I put up last year.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Message to an ODD Grandmother
The other day I received a beautiful email that touched my heart, and I wanted to share it with you.
Hello ODD Mom...thank you so much for doing this blog...my daughter is coping with an ODD 7 yr. old boy and I feel so helpless to help her. I look forward to getting your blog and getting some insight on this condition. God Bless you for your help! Nana
Dear Nana,
Thank you so much for your beautiful email -- your love for your daughter and your grandson shines through. Having a child with mental health issues can be extremely lonely. Many parents don't have anyone to talk to about it or someone who understands what they're going through. Although you may feel helpless to help your daughter, I want to tell you that you're not. You may not be able to make everything all better for her, which as a mother I know you want to do, but you can do more than you think.
- Tell her you love her.
- Tell her you're proud of her.
- Tell her she's a good mother.
- Share positive things about your grandson with your daughter. Parents of children with ODD don't often hear a whole lot of nice things about their children, but every parent needs to. Does he have a kind smile? An infectious laugh? A curious nature? A great sense of humour? A great imagination? Is he smart? Is he good with animals? Is he patient with a younger sibling? Does he notice things other people miss? The possibilities are endless, even if you have to get creative.
- Ask her what you can do to help -- come prepared with ideas. Having a child with ODD can make even everyday tasks difficult. Can you pick up groceries every now and then? Can you provide a casserole for the family to eat every couple of weeks so she doesn't have to cook? Can you help clean the house once in a while? Can you take the other kids to their activities or pick them up after school?
- Offer to take your grandson off her hands for an hour, even if it's only long enough for her to go to the library, get her hair cut, have a nap, or do the groceries. If you can handle him for two hours, then rent a movie, pop some popcorn, and spend some time with him.
- Listen to her when she needs to talk.
- Respect her decisions. If she tells you that a certain behaviour needs to be treated a certain way, do it. If she asks you not to feed him a certain food because she's noticed it sets him off, believe her.
- Invite the whole family over for dinner but make sure it's a relaxing time, not a stressful event. Set the kids up in front of the TV, feed them their favourite dinner, and allow your daughter to sit down for a quiet supper. Look after her for a few hours -- you'd be amazed how good that feels when you're spending all your energy on someone else.
- Love your grandson unconditionally. Tell him you love him and that you love spending time with him. Kids with ODD often have a hard time fitting in, and so that unconditional love is so important. Parents of children with ODD often feel that their children are unwelcome, so that unconditional love is important for them as well. (Note: Unconditional love doesn't mean letting your grandson get away with murder. Children with ODD may not take kindly to discipline, but they still need it.)
Thursday, December 13, 2012
The Gluten Conspiracy
Don't worry, I'm not about to go off on some tangent about how gluten is the devil and the government is covering it all up in order to subsidize wheat farmers. Gluten is the devil, however, at least when fed to my child.
See, that's what all this has come down to. Well, not all, but at least the problems Bear has been having for the last few months.
Let me back up a bit. When Bear was first diagnosed with ADHD and ODD in the spring of 2009 (is that all????), my very cautious family doctor wouldn't start him on meds until we had his heart tested. Off we trotted to the local medical lab for the test, the results of which prompted a phone call from our doctor. The tests had shown an abnormality and he was referring us to a pediatric heart specialist for further testing. We knew it would be six months to a year before we'd get into the specialist and then probably another few months before we'd get any meds sorted out, so we decided to visit a naturopath in the meantime. (For the record, Bear's heart was just fine. The machine had been calibrated for adults, not children, so his results were quite normal. Grrrrrr...)
The naturopath suggested we test Bear for heavy metals and food sensitivities, so we did. Heavy metals came back normal, but the results of the food sensitivities showed that Bear was off-the-charts sensitive (no kidding...our naturopath had never seen results like this) for eggs, gluten, soy, sunflower, and casein. We eliminated everything and fed him nothing but water and grass for three weeks. Fine...kidding...but we did eliminate all the offending foods and stuck to that diet for over two years. The difference in Bear's behaviour was night and day. His aggression and defiance nosedived (nosedove?), and his ability to concentrate increased noticeably, all within a week. This was a whole new Bear.
Every now and then over the course of the first year we would either test Bear with one of the offending foods or discover the hard way that he had eaten some of the forbidden fruit. (Don't believe me? Read A Boy, a Granola Bar, and a Suspension.) He would immediately spiral back into days of aggression and meltdowns. We learned to cancel all plans and just ride it out. After the first year, we decided to just keep on truckin' with the diet -- no more trying to reintroduce anything.
As it happened, we were at my in-laws this summer and they invited us to stay for dinner. As we hadn't planned on staying, we had nothing for Bear to eat. Oh well, we thought. We hadn't tested Bear on gluten in probably a year, so why not try him with a sandwich and see what happens. The poor little guy was in seventh heaven with his peanut butter and jam on white bread.
The next day we waited for the big kaboom...and we waited...and we waited. So we gave him some more gluten. And we waited...and waited...and...nothing. We put everything back into his diet and we didn't notice any change in his behaviour. Hallelujah!!!! Suddenly, we were back to living like a semi-normal family. Bear ate like a horse; he put on pounds and grew inches. It was amazing. And still no problems.
School started, and no problems. If anything, he was doing better than ever before. The teachers and administrators couldn't get over this "new" Bear.
And then it started. The regression. A behaviour here. A behaviour there. About a week ago it became apparent that something needed to be done, so I called the doctor to get an appointment. Knowing it would probably be a few weeks (months?) before we could get in, The ODD Dad and I discussed putting Bear back on his diet. Should we? Shouldn't we? Would it help? Would he do it?
So we did, except this time we only removed gluten. Bear had the worst reaction to gluten, so we figured we'd start there. Within five days, Bear had re-emerged from under the cloud of anger and aggression he'd been living under for weeks (months?). My Bear. My sweet Bear. My loving Bear. My funny Bear. My precious Bear. My baby Bear.
He's back.
I missed him.
See, that's what all this has come down to. Well, not all, but at least the problems Bear has been having for the last few months.
Let me back up a bit. When Bear was first diagnosed with ADHD and ODD in the spring of 2009 (is that all????), my very cautious family doctor wouldn't start him on meds until we had his heart tested. Off we trotted to the local medical lab for the test, the results of which prompted a phone call from our doctor. The tests had shown an abnormality and he was referring us to a pediatric heart specialist for further testing. We knew it would be six months to a year before we'd get into the specialist and then probably another few months before we'd get any meds sorted out, so we decided to visit a naturopath in the meantime. (For the record, Bear's heart was just fine. The machine had been calibrated for adults, not children, so his results were quite normal. Grrrrrr...)
The naturopath suggested we test Bear for heavy metals and food sensitivities, so we did. Heavy metals came back normal, but the results of the food sensitivities showed that Bear was off-the-charts sensitive (no kidding...our naturopath had never seen results like this) for eggs, gluten, soy, sunflower, and casein. We eliminated everything and fed him nothing but water and grass for three weeks. Fine...kidding...but we did eliminate all the offending foods and stuck to that diet for over two years. The difference in Bear's behaviour was night and day. His aggression and defiance nosedived (nosedove?), and his ability to concentrate increased noticeably, all within a week. This was a whole new Bear.
Every now and then over the course of the first year we would either test Bear with one of the offending foods or discover the hard way that he had eaten some of the forbidden fruit. (Don't believe me? Read A Boy, a Granola Bar, and a Suspension.) He would immediately spiral back into days of aggression and meltdowns. We learned to cancel all plans and just ride it out. After the first year, we decided to just keep on truckin' with the diet -- no more trying to reintroduce anything.
As it happened, we were at my in-laws this summer and they invited us to stay for dinner. As we hadn't planned on staying, we had nothing for Bear to eat. Oh well, we thought. We hadn't tested Bear on gluten in probably a year, so why not try him with a sandwich and see what happens. The poor little guy was in seventh heaven with his peanut butter and jam on white bread.
The next day we waited for the big kaboom...and we waited...and we waited. So we gave him some more gluten. And we waited...and waited...and...nothing. We put everything back into his diet and we didn't notice any change in his behaviour. Hallelujah!!!! Suddenly, we were back to living like a semi-normal family. Bear ate like a horse; he put on pounds and grew inches. It was amazing. And still no problems.
School started, and no problems. If anything, he was doing better than ever before. The teachers and administrators couldn't get over this "new" Bear.
And then it started. The regression. A behaviour here. A behaviour there. About a week ago it became apparent that something needed to be done, so I called the doctor to get an appointment. Knowing it would probably be a few weeks (months?) before we could get in, The ODD Dad and I discussed putting Bear back on his diet. Should we? Shouldn't we? Would it help? Would he do it?
So we did, except this time we only removed gluten. Bear had the worst reaction to gluten, so we figured we'd start there. Within five days, Bear had re-emerged from under the cloud of anger and aggression he'd been living under for weeks (months?). My Bear. My sweet Bear. My loving Bear. My funny Bear. My precious Bear. My baby Bear.
He's back.
I missed him.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Forget the Recession -- Let's Talk Regression
There's no denying that recessions are bad things, but I'm willing to bet that the "R" word that really strikes fear into the heart of the ADHD/ODD parent (or any other parent whose child has a mental illness, for that matter) is a different one.
Forget the recession...let's talk regression. Regression starts slowly, with a few long-forgotten behaviours.
"Wow!" you say to yourself or to your partner, "We haven't had to deal with that in a long time. Remember when that was an everyday occurrence?" And you smugly pat yourself on the back for having gotten your child past that stage without having smothered the little darling in the middle of the night.And then another behaviour rears its ugly head. Or perhaps you see that first behaviour more often, and you begin to wonder what's going on.
But the behaviour is sporadic, so you kind of forget about it in between episodes. Except you don't really forget about it, because you can't. Because you're the parent of a child with a mental illness, so the question about what's going on is always in the back of your mind. Because you analyze everything your child does...always...in an attempt to figure out which therapies are working and which ones aren't. And what helps and what doesn't. And what sets your child off and what doesn't. And what they can cope with today and what they can't. The watching, the waiting, the thinking...it never ends.
And then one day you realize that life has gone back to "normal." Except it's your old normal, the one you thought you had left behind. And you realize you've been tiptoeing around your child for weeks, not knowing what's going to set off the explosion. And it feels as if everything you've done, worked on, researched, endured has been for nothing. That you're back at square one, with no idea where to go from here.
This knowledge hits you when you're already exhausted from weeks of fighting and aggression, so it hits you like a punch in the stomach. And all you want to do is curl up in bed and cry, because you feel like you just don't have the energy to start all over again. I can tell you from personal experience that there are few things more disheartening than feeling like all the progress you've made over the months or years has suddenly gone out the window.
I'm going back to bed now, where I may or may not cry. (There's a good chance I will.) But once my pity party is over, I'll get back up and start all over again. Because that's what I do. I'm the parent of a child with a mental illness. That's what we do.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thanks, Bitchy-Comment Leaver, for the Reminder
Every now and then, I'm reminded of just how important it is to keep speaking out about children's mental health, even if it's just to friends and family.
This morning I found a bitchy comment on one of my posts, which is a first for me. I'd love to share it with you, but I deleted it by accident. I swear it was an accident! I was so flustered as the first words assaulted my eyes that I accidentally deleted it instead of opening it. Trust me, it would have been way more fun to have left it there and let you guys go to town!
In a nutshell, RochelleL (yes, she left her name) slammed me as a negligent mother who is "pleased" with herself for having "helped create a tiny terror," a kid who has "trained mommy." The reason Bear is repeating grade 1 is all my fault because, after all, what kind of mother would allow her child to miss 60+ days of school. Gee, thanks for pointing that out, RochelleL. It isn't as if I wrote an entire post to that exact subject (read Forever in Grade 1?).
It was obvious from some of RochelleL's references that she had read at least a few of my posts, and yet this was the picture of me that she had been left with. At first I was really angry, with all kinds of nasty names going through my head. Then I was hurt. How could someone come to that kind conclusion about me? Then I didn't care. I see stupid comments on other people's blogs all the time, so I guess it was just my turn. Then I giggled. If that's what she thinks about me from reading about us, what would she think if she saw us during one of Bear's public meltdowns? Can you imagine the look on her face? Priceless!
And then I was inspired. People like Rochelle are the reason why we need to keep talking and educating about children's mental illness. I'm beyond caring what Rochelle thinks about me, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let people judge my son.
For the record, TheODDDad and I frequently receive compliments from complete strangers on just how polite our "tiny terror" is in public. He says please and thank you and even says excuse me when he's walking past someone. My beautiful boy, despite his many challenges, knows how to treat people with respect. And that, Rochelle, is more than I can say about you. He has a mental illness. What's your excuse?
This morning I found a bitchy comment on one of my posts, which is a first for me. I'd love to share it with you, but I deleted it by accident. I swear it was an accident! I was so flustered as the first words assaulted my eyes that I accidentally deleted it instead of opening it. Trust me, it would have been way more fun to have left it there and let you guys go to town!
In a nutshell, RochelleL (yes, she left her name) slammed me as a negligent mother who is "pleased" with herself for having "helped create a tiny terror," a kid who has "trained mommy." The reason Bear is repeating grade 1 is all my fault because, after all, what kind of mother would allow her child to miss 60+ days of school. Gee, thanks for pointing that out, RochelleL. It isn't as if I wrote an entire post to that exact subject (read Forever in Grade 1?).
It was obvious from some of RochelleL's references that she had read at least a few of my posts, and yet this was the picture of me that she had been left with. At first I was really angry, with all kinds of nasty names going through my head. Then I was hurt. How could someone come to that kind conclusion about me? Then I didn't care. I see stupid comments on other people's blogs all the time, so I guess it was just my turn. Then I giggled. If that's what she thinks about me from reading about us, what would she think if she saw us during one of Bear's public meltdowns? Can you imagine the look on her face? Priceless!
And then I was inspired. People like Rochelle are the reason why we need to keep talking and educating about children's mental illness. I'm beyond caring what Rochelle thinks about me, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let people judge my son.
For the record, TheODDDad and I frequently receive compliments from complete strangers on just how polite our "tiny terror" is in public. He says please and thank you and even says excuse me when he's walking past someone. My beautiful boy, despite his many challenges, knows how to treat people with respect. And that, Rochelle, is more than I can say about you. He has a mental illness. What's your excuse?
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Love those Questions
Bear seems to have hit a stage where he's asking a lot of questions. He's always been inquisitive, but now his questions are becoming more mature.
Case in point: There's a dwarf (yes, that is the correct terminology in 2012) who works at our local grocery store. As might be expected of a 7-year-old boy, Bear is intrigued by him. This became rather embarrassing when we'd go to the grocery store because Bear's head would swivel and he'd start to giggle every time he saw him. Despite my best efforts to explain that God creates everyone differently -- some blond, some brunette, some short, some tall -- I still ended up fielding comments like "Did you see him? He's funny!"
Then came the other day, when Bear casually walked by this gentleman with little more than a glance his way.
"YES!!!" I thought to myself as we continued down the aisle. Maybe we had moved on to something more interesting. Wouldn't that be nice?
Then it came.
"Mom..." he started with that tone of voice I know so well, the one that means there's a question coming. I groaned inwardly, figuring something highly insensitive was about to voiced.
"...how does he reach things?" he asked seriously, looking around the store at shelves towering above us.
You could see the wheels turning in his sweet little head, and my heart swelled with pride at his very mature and logical question.
"Good question, Bear," I said. "I guess he uses a ladder just like we do when we can't reach something." Bear nodded thoughtfully and then took off in the direction of the toy section, his curiosity satisfied for the moment.
Then there are times like the other day, when I'm reminded just how young he is.
"Mom..." he began as he stared out the window at the crescent moon.
"...if you were on the moon, how would you stay on?" he asked with all the seriousness of a little boy with an incredible imagination. "You'd slide right off, and then how would you get back on?"
Oh, little Bear...I love how your mind works.
Case in point: There's a dwarf (yes, that is the correct terminology in 2012) who works at our local grocery store. As might be expected of a 7-year-old boy, Bear is intrigued by him. This became rather embarrassing when we'd go to the grocery store because Bear's head would swivel and he'd start to giggle every time he saw him. Despite my best efforts to explain that God creates everyone differently -- some blond, some brunette, some short, some tall -- I still ended up fielding comments like "Did you see him? He's funny!"
Then came the other day, when Bear casually walked by this gentleman with little more than a glance his way.
Then it came.
"Mom..." he started with that tone of voice I know so well, the one that means there's a question coming. I groaned inwardly, figuring something highly insensitive was about to voiced.
"...how does he reach things?" he asked seriously, looking around the store at shelves towering above us.
You could see the wheels turning in his sweet little head, and my heart swelled with pride at his very mature and logical question.
"Good question, Bear," I said. "I guess he uses a ladder just like we do when we can't reach something." Bear nodded thoughtfully and then took off in the direction of the toy section, his curiosity satisfied for the moment.
Then there are times like the other day, when I'm reminded just how young he is.
"Mom..." he began as he stared out the window at the crescent moon.
"...if you were on the moon, how would you stay on?" he asked with all the seriousness of a little boy with an incredible imagination. "You'd slide right off, and then how would you get back on?"
Oh, little Bear...I love how your mind works.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
I Hate McDonald's Playland
I had an hour with my thoughts yesterday afternoon as I drove Bear to his therapy appointment. Technically, I wasn't alone, but Bear was wrapped up in his movie, so I had time to think. In my mind, I wrote a great blog. I had it all worked out -- what I would write and how I would write it. (You look surprised. What, did you think the blog fairy appears and writes them for me?)
Then yesterday afternoon happened, and suddenly I had a whole new blog to share with you. Out with the old, in with the new.
For whatever reason, Bear was just wild yesterday. I knew it before we arrived at therapy and it was pretty obvious when we were there. Despite this, I caved to his whining and took him to McDonald's after our session. We always do something special after therapy, despite the fact that he loves going there. Why am I rewarding him for doing something he already enjoys doing? No clue, but at least we get to spend some one-on-one time together. Normally we go somewhere and play checkers, but yesterday he was dying for McDonald's playland.
No problem, I thought. He'd play for a while, burn off some energy, and all would be hunky-dory. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! (For the record, yes, that is maniacal laughter.) When it came time to leave, Bear went into complete ODD mode, which is something we haven't seen in a while. Despite my reasoning, threatening, and pleading, Bear remained in the play structure, knowing full well I couldn't get him in there. Of course, that isn't enough for a child with ODD. His refusal to comply with my reasoning/threatening/pleading was punctuated by name calling that reverberated around the room and by faces made at me through the plexiglass windows of the structure. Someone asked me how old he was, probably figuring I'd say 4 or 5. Her face dropped when I said 7, so I had to launch into the whole ADHD/ODD/mental health explanation.
I eventually walked away from the structure and hid myself by the door, where Bear couldn't see me. As soon as I disengaged, he snapped out of it. Now came the remorse and the panic, and he came flying around the corner with tears streaming down his face. Just as I would a toddler, I wiped the tears, gave him a snuggle, put on his shoes, helped him into his jacket and mitts, and we walked out of there hand-in-hand, chit-chatting away.
I'd love to say that was the last of that particular behaviour, but that would be a lie. The name calling came and went all the way home, as did the tears. I even had to pull off the road at one point to comfort him. It continued at Stitch's daycare where, despite knowing better, he ran around the parking lot, dodging cars. With Stitch in my arms, there wasn't a whole lot I could do except holler at him, which only egged him on. Home saw me carrying him into the house, with his arms and legs wrapped around me, as he sobbed on my shoulder.
I have no idea what the problem was yesterday, but I do know this -- it was bigger than him.
I know something else, too. We won't be going to McDonald's when Bear's having a bad day ever again. Mommy learned her lesson the hard way.
Then yesterday afternoon happened, and suddenly I had a whole new blog to share with you. Out with the old, in with the new.
For whatever reason, Bear was just wild yesterday. I knew it before we arrived at therapy and it was pretty obvious when we were there. Despite this, I caved to his whining and took him to McDonald's after our session. We always do something special after therapy, despite the fact that he loves going there. Why am I rewarding him for doing something he already enjoys doing? No clue, but at least we get to spend some one-on-one time together. Normally we go somewhere and play checkers, but yesterday he was dying for McDonald's playland.
No problem, I thought. He'd play for a while, burn off some energy, and all would be hunky-dory. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! (For the record, yes, that is maniacal laughter.) When it came time to leave, Bear went into complete ODD mode, which is something we haven't seen in a while. Despite my reasoning, threatening, and pleading, Bear remained in the play structure, knowing full well I couldn't get him in there. Of course, that isn't enough for a child with ODD. His refusal to comply with my reasoning/threatening/pleading was punctuated by name calling that reverberated around the room and by faces made at me through the plexiglass windows of the structure. Someone asked me how old he was, probably figuring I'd say 4 or 5. Her face dropped when I said 7, so I had to launch into the whole ADHD/ODD/mental health explanation.
I eventually walked away from the structure and hid myself by the door, where Bear couldn't see me. As soon as I disengaged, he snapped out of it. Now came the remorse and the panic, and he came flying around the corner with tears streaming down his face. Just as I would a toddler, I wiped the tears, gave him a snuggle, put on his shoes, helped him into his jacket and mitts, and we walked out of there hand-in-hand, chit-chatting away.
I'd love to say that was the last of that particular behaviour, but that would be a lie. The name calling came and went all the way home, as did the tears. I even had to pull off the road at one point to comfort him. It continued at Stitch's daycare where, despite knowing better, he ran around the parking lot, dodging cars. With Stitch in my arms, there wasn't a whole lot I could do except holler at him, which only egged him on. Home saw me carrying him into the house, with his arms and legs wrapped around me, as he sobbed on my shoulder.
I have no idea what the problem was yesterday, but I do know this -- it was bigger than him.
I know something else, too. We won't be going to McDonald's when Bear's having a bad day ever again. Mommy learned her lesson the hard way.
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