I spent a long time writing this post, erasing, re-writing, debating, questioning … and I have mixed feelings about publishing it. I know that we all struggle as parents sometimes, and I know that, for the most part, I am a good parent. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough. Sometimes it’s hard to admit that “good enough” has to be good enough.
They say about kids with ADHD that the adults in their lives are constantly holding their successes against them. “I know he can stop being impulsive – he did just fine yesterday!” or “I know she can sit still and concentrate – I’ve seen her do it!” The fact is that the only thing that ADHD kids are consistent about is their inherent inconsistency. There are successful moments when the whole universe falls into alignment – but that doesn’t change the underlying disorder that kids with ADHD suffer from.
This I know, and embrace, and believe. But sometimes knowing that a child can’t help themselves doesn’t change the frustration in the moment when things aren’t falling into place. Thing is, J-man went a solid six weeks with nearly no behavioural issues, with nearly no fighting about taking his medicine, with nearly no less-than-optimal days at school, with nothing but successes packed in his corner. So when things started falling apart again a couple weeks ago, well, it was really hard to remember that he can’t control this and that just because things were working for a while doesn’t mean that the current behaviour is totally within his power to change.
Two weeks ago, I called Ye Olde Developmental Pediatrician to say that it’s just getting harder, not easier, to get him to take his morning medications. It had been relatively easy when he was taking Prozac, but we found that the Prozac was over-activating the ADHD (a common side effect of Prozac in kids is hyperactivity). Our next try was Zoloft, which wasn’t helping at ALL and his anxiety about taking medicine by mouth became completely out of control. YODP and I had a heart-to-heart about it and he said, you know? Maybe we just need to accept that J just can’t take medicine by mouth right now and we need to just see how he’ll do in the short term with the Daytrana and Clonidine patches alone. If you can’t solve the problem, eliminate it.
So we tried that.
And… it was a colossal disaster.
I admit, the hardest part of the only-patches trial for me was the feeling of failure. I had failed this child, again, in trying to help him push through his anxiety so he could just take the medicine, for the love of pete. After all – we *know* he can take medicine without fighting it – he did it for six solid weeks! Surely he can do it now! Except, see? That’s me, holding his success against him rather than helping him through the less-successful times. But we pushed through it, got him back on Prozac, had a few excellent medicine-taking days, and though he was a little more active than I’d like, thanks to the Prozac, he was otherwise having success.
The trick, I found (at least for a few days) was to not allow him to see me getting tense over his medicine. He picked out a special treat ahead of time (I used to make him wait until he was done taking the medicine) and then put the treat AND his medicine on the table and walked away. Walking away was the key. If I saw him hemming and hawing or whining or crying about the medicine, I lost all sense of empathy and just got tense – which only made matters worse. Leaving him alone meant he pretty much took his medicine within a “reasonable” period of time – even if not as quickly as I would have liked. But it worked.
Until today.
Today he wouldn’t take it. “I wish I could take my medicine in the kitchen.” Fine, we moved to the kitchen. “I wish I could take my medicine at the table.” Fine. We moved back to the table. “I wish…” and I walked away, realizing I was falling into the trap I’d so gracefully avoided the rest of the week. When I came back, twenty minutes later, he had eaten his special treat – but hadn’t touched his medicine. I wasn’t graceful about it, either. I was, I’m ashamed to say, furious. And again, I was failing him.
Today was a very bad day for a lot of reasons, despite there having been a lot of good. It’s days like today that me wonder if I will simply fall into the traps my own parents fell into. My memories of my mother while I was growing up are… universally unpleasant. I know that there were lots of good times, and she did lots of good things for and with us. I know that she probably had more strong points as a mother than weaknesses. But that’s not what’s etched into my permanent memory of her in that period. Will my children see me the same way?
I realize now, that what I needed to do was walk away. Forget about the stupid medicine. Let him be unmedicated for a day. Truthfully, the consequences of an unmedicated child wouldn’t have been any worse than the consequences of fighting about it for so long. More than two hours before that kid finally took his medicine. And he didn’t do it until we had both calmed down. A lot. I went into his room once with the medicine in my hand – I had been crying from the frustration – and he said, “Are you okay?” He was concerned about me and my puffy red eyes. In the midst of this unbelievable struggle, this boy needed to make sure his mommy was okay.
The fact is, when we have days that we struggle, like today, I forget about the joy that he brings to everyone around him. I need to re-group and re-focus on all the positives that he has. He’s the most kind-hearted child I have ever met, and I can’t honestly imagine our lives without him. He cares about everyone, he’s concerned if the triplets are upset, he brings them blankets when they’re sad. If I’m sick, he covers me up and tucks me in, pats my arm and says, “I hope you feel better soon.” When he sits down for dinner he asks, “Are you going to join me? Do you think you can eat a pretzel today?” Unfortunately, I haven’t been keeping even pretzels down anymore. “That’s okay, Eema – you can just sit with me until you feel better.”
He is, in so many ways, thriving. Things are starting to fall in place with his speech pathologist and he’s really getting the hang of this reading thing – he’s started to recognize a few words on sight. He can write his name – a feat that seemed impossible a year ago (though, I admit I wasn’t so pleased to discover that he had practiced writing his name with a marker… on his wall!). He loves school and is engaged and interested in learning. On his good days, which to be honest far outweigh the less-good days, he is eager to learn, gets upset if he thinks the class isn’t going to do “centers” (when they focus on math or reading or science, or whatever). He is a beam of sunshine most days. He is a leader in his class – and all the kids look up to him. On his good days, he’s a powerful and positive leader. Fortunately, he mostly has good days.
He shares, he loves, he giggles, he laughs. And yes, he struggles. Don’t we all?
Sometimes, we get lost and can’t see the whole forest – just the one tree that isn’t faring as well as the others. But if I’m honest with myself – the positives far outweigh the hard times. It’s just that when things are going well, we forget to notice them.
But this little boy has nothing but love in his heart. He has so much joy to bring to the world. He has brought so much joy into our lives with his toothless grin and his dreams of a future filled with unlimited bionicles, bakugan, and dinosaurs. I just hope that tomorrow, when I’m struggling to hide my tension about him taking his medicine, I can remember and focus on all the good instead of focusing on that moment and ruining it all. After all – the truth is, he can’t control this right now. He can’t just decide not to fight the medicine. The medicine is treating a disorder that is characterized by a true inability to be consistent, a true inability to control impulses. Sometimes knowing that he “can’t help it” doesn’t make it easier in the moment. But it does help when you’re trying to find a tiny grain of empathy in your body for your child.
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ChezPerky 