Between our two kids we've got apraxia of speech, sensory issues and attention deficit disorder with a side of anxiety, compulsive behaviors and, depending on the week, tics. Things may be complicated in our house but, hey, at least they're unpredictable.

Friday, March 31, 2006

Schedules, Support and Flying Solo

I can always tell when you see Dr. I. or Diane.

Dave shares this observation with me after spying the organic turkey, prepared salmon burgers and fresh hummus in the fridge—purchases from Whole Foods, the organic market located just one mile from both Max’s psychologist and speech therapist.

You should know when I see them because you should know the schedule,” I said. “You walked right into that one.”

I have no complaints about being the parent to take charge of the doctor appointments, therapy schedule, school meetings and such. I have a more flexible work schedule and, truth be told, I’m a control freak; even if Dave offered to help out with this stuff, I wouldn’t trust him to ask the right questions or give me a full report. All I ask is that he keep up with our comings and goings, ask about our appointments from time to time and show interest in what we’re doing.

I know this is a common scenario in many families—with or without special needs kids. One parent tends to take on more kid-related duties. That’s just the way things work out. And that’s fine. But it’s not like we’re divying up who does the dishes and who does the laundry. Hell, Dave’s more likely to ask me if I picked up the dry cleaning than how our latest appointment with Max’s shrink went.

I don’t want to beat him up (too much). I know there are plenty of other families with similar arrangements and equally frustrated spouses. It’s just that taking care of kids with issues is physically exhausting and mentally draining. My brain is constantly trying to process new studies, evaluate the latest report from the newest doctor we’ve consulted, read—and retain—the latest book on ADHD, and determine if the new medication we’re trying is working or not. It’s too many balls to juggle on my own.

I just want to know Dave’s there to catch them—and me—when we fall.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Headache. Relief.

Forget stimulant medication, occupational therapy, fidget toys, physical exercise, psychologist visits, fish oil pills or dietary changes. I’ve found the one thing that totally keeps Max’s ADHD under control and makes him very easy to live with:

The flu.

It kept him home from school last Friday. More than that, it kept him calm, quiet, polite, agreeable – and lying on the couch for the entire day. Granted, he had a fever. And a headache. Overall, he just didn’t feel well.

I’m not saying I wish my child to be in pain or discomfort. But it was interesting to note the one benefit to an otherwise typically unpleasant experience.

Think I’m a bad mom for finding relief in Max’s distress? Don’t worry – by the next day the worst of his symptoms – the fever, headache, chills, body aches – had been passed on to me.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

A Different Kind of Need

The first time Ari started wheezing we went to our pediatrician, got a couple of prescriptions and started using a nebulizer. Within a week or two she was fine and we chalked it up to the harsh winter weather.

The second time Ari had some wheezing it was a year later. Again, it seemed, it was triggered by the extreme cold. And again we treated her with inhalers and nebulizer treatments and it quickly became a thing of the past.

The third time it started, it was September –- we could no longer blame the climate. We could, however, blame me. I have asthma. So we knew from the beginning that both kids were at risk of developing it.

This time I took Ari to my allergist. They strongly suggested we do some allergy testing – which meant covering her back with droplets of different allergens and poking them. It’s called a skin prick test, I suppose, because when you’re lying on the table getting poked and scratched by dozens of needles one has the strong urge to call the doctor a prick. I know, I’ve had it done myself.

For an adult, it’s unpleasant. But for a four-and-a-half year old kid, it’s painful. As it is for her thirty-eight year old mom to have to stand by and watch someone hurt her child.

I held Ari’s hand and talked to her through her tears. I made promises of treats and handed her a new Polly Pocket doll and squishy hand and lollipop once the testing was over. She really was a trooper.

The whole experience made me think of all the parents whose children have a physical disability or medical condition and the pain they must experience as a matter of routine. Max’s difficulties had certainly put us through the ringer over the years, but the routine pain for us was strictly emotional. Sure, Max underwent his share of tests, but the only poking he was subjected to was limited to his brain.

Managing Ari’s asthma is pretty easy, especially compared to managing Max’s everything else. Still, with the formal diagnosis came the realization that we have yet one more thing to concern ourselves with. One more thing that needs close monitoring. One more thing that calls for daily medication. One more thing fighting for space in my already crowded and exhausted brain.

One more special need.