Showing posts with label Life in the Agent's Scope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life in the Agent's Scope. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Monday, September 5, 2011
Double Exposure Photography
I've been working hard over here, partnering up with my very talented cousin to revamp Double Exposure Photography.
I am very excited to announce our new website (we are still building our portfolios) and wanted to share it with you all!
Come on over to Double Exposure and see what we've been up to!
Thanks!!
DAG.
I am very excited to announce our new website (we are still building our portfolios) and wanted to share it with you all!
Come on over to Double Exposure and see what we've been up to!
Thanks!!
DAG.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
We Got Heart
It might have been a hundred degrees out there. The team may have gotten slaughtered EVERY game. You should have reached your limit by mid-afternoon.
But you didn't. You played hard, rose to the challenge, bonded with the team and made me proud. We may not have a trophy - but we got heart. Good game kiddo.Saturday, June 18, 2011
Dinner for Two: Or - Roasting my House Dress, 2.0
I had the I planned a delicious roast beef, tender and steaming. Falling apart when you glance in its general direction, to die for and better than your mother's. Add to that sauteed golden potatoes with garlic, rosemary, paprika and fresh onions and some steamed carrots. Of course, I must have dessert. Let them eat cake!
The fact that it probably isn't a great plan to make the pie for the first time WHEN OTHERS ARE EATING IT notwithstanding, last night I made a pie. For the purposes of today, we will call it Pie #1. Of course it was baked to perfection and steaming hot with all its pecan-y goodness. It was NOT undercooked in the center and overcooked on the top, it did NOT smell a little like burning, and I so totally COULD insert a knife gently in the center. I swear.
Last night, I tossed and turned in my bed, agonizing over Pie #1. Guest of Honour has been speaking of Pecan Pie for...um seven odd months now. He? Is expecting damn good pie! I must deliver! This morning, I mulled over Pie #1 again. It didn't look any better by the morning light, coffee or not. So I began Pie #2.
Dear Pie #2: You are expected to be delicious in all of the traditional ways. I expect you to supersede your forlorn burned brother, Pie #1. You must elicit nothing but moans of appreciation and eye rolling from Guest of Honour, and should you fail to deliver on any or all of said requirements, I will feed you to the raccoon of doom. I promise you this.
It looks good, flaky light crust, toasted pecans and beautiful brown top... it looks like the picture. It had better taste of it, or he is eating my roasted house dress. And liking it.
Dear Roast Beef #1....
{image from Etsy}
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Only the Whisper Hits the Pavement
I've decided that I have become a blogging slacker. To remedy this, I have given the blog a whole new feel...
I've been reinventing my workspace as I get ready to begin writing my thesis. It's funny how when you really look at it, your old working space (the one that's gotten you through five years of university) is really a friggin mess. How did I EVER birth any of those endless essays, fits of genius or manaical opinions in such UTTER chaos?
I've chosen to move my workspace into my bedroom, where all is quieted in soothing tones of silver, teal and chocolate brown. Instead of kids toys and general mayhem, I've got an orchid, some plants, some comfort.... SOME PEACE! I've swept aside the piles of papers and books, coffee cups and pen shrapnel. I've come away with something more soothing and condusive to the writing process.
It is, in some way - like a rite of passage. As I grow from passive student to opinion producer; from school to career; in all honesty from child to adult, my workspace has changed around me. It is my hope that in changing the atmosphere of my blogging space, so too will my writing.
Wiping away the coffee stains on my life....
I've been reinventing my workspace as I get ready to begin writing my thesis. It's funny how when you really look at it, your old working space (the one that's gotten you through five years of university) is really a friggin mess. How did I EVER birth any of those endless essays, fits of genius or manaical opinions in such UTTER chaos?
I've chosen to move my workspace into my bedroom, where all is quieted in soothing tones of silver, teal and chocolate brown. Instead of kids toys and general mayhem, I've got an orchid, some plants, some comfort.... SOME PEACE! I've swept aside the piles of papers and books, coffee cups and pen shrapnel. I've come away with something more soothing and condusive to the writing process.
It is, in some way - like a rite of passage. As I grow from passive student to opinion producer; from school to career; in all honesty from child to adult, my workspace has changed around me. It is my hope that in changing the atmosphere of my blogging space, so too will my writing.
Wiping away the coffee stains on my life....
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Keeping Abreast of the Situation
HELLO ALL!
Deep breath - where to begin, where to begin. I'd love to create this long, witty blog that will have you in stitches - but I'm still in stitches so let's go back to the drawing board.
I've been flat on my back for the last two weeks, and am just now beginning to join the human race again after a recovery from hell. I had the breast reduction surgery on March 8th, and its been rocky. Of course that led to three weeks off from the Masters of Education program - leaving me up to the proverbial tits in work (pun intended)!
All inappropriate joking aside - I thought I'd take a few moments to talk about this whole plastic surgery thing, and tell some truths to those who are thinking about it.
First shocker: it's not as bad as you think it will be!! And I'm being completely honest. Here in Ontario, it is day surgery. So basically I went in at 7 am and was on my way home around 2 pm. I spent three hours in the recovery room, and 2 hours in actual surgery. I WILL say, however - that is SUCKS when you first wake up after surgery (before the pain meds come along). I woke up FREEZING and in serious ouch. To top it off, the breathing tube they placed in my airway compressed my lip against my teeth, so I had a major fat lip as well! Thankfully, the lovely recovery nurses brought me a warm blanket (actually blew hot air on me) and some morphine for my IV. That made the world a little better.
Who am I kidding? That made the world a WHOLE lot better half an hour later after they gave me enough to take off the edge...
...of consciousness.
The tricky part at first was the drainage tubes that ran into each breast, and the little self-contained collection drums that were suspended from my bra. The entry points were very tender and it was hard to wear regular sized clothing. They were removed a day later (SUCK), and it was easier to move around after that. I have to admit that taking care of myself was not an option, so I shipped Thing One and Thing Two off to Dad's for the week, and stayed with a special person who was able to wake me for my pain meds (every four hours), cook me meals, assist me with getting dressed and helping me wash my hair in the sink. I was also fortunate to lean on my old friend Jenny to get me to appointments and help me once I returned back home. I thank those two very much for all their help and support. And of course - dear old Dad was my chauffeur and nurses aid on the day of surgery.
The pain was not what I thought it would be. To be honest - the problem areas were: drainage tubes, pot holes, seatbelts and anything that flies through the air. The pain was not how I imagined it, it was a severe discomfort. It felt like I was a breast feeding mom who missed sixteen meals (SO FULL AND UNCOMFORTABLE), but without relief. Certain parts of the breast were numb, probably thankfully so, but it creates an uncomfortable irritating feeling. I used ice packs to bring down the swelling, which did help. I should mention that although nipple sensation has been completely restored (PHEW), some sections of the breast are still numb.
During week two, I developed an infection in ole Lefty - which created a hot, swollen and painful addition to my recovery. I was placed on a 10 day cycle of antibiotics, which helped. To be honest, currently the right one is feeling quite well and minimally irritated, but the left is still causing me issues. I think perhaps the infection has just slowed the healing process on that side a little, so I'm anxious to have them catch up to each other. It's still swelling now and again and feeling irritated. It's almost like I've been wearing a bra with sandpaper on one side. I can't seem to get it comfortable. I am hoping it continues to improve.
Last Friday I had the sutures removed. Which is somewhat of a misnomer. They are dissolvable stitches, so they needed to clip the knots on either side of each breast and at each nipple. I have to admit that burned A LOT, but I was happy to have only that to deal with, and not the actual removal of each stitch. It did make me feel a bit like a patchwork quilt, and I'm still a little afraid of just busting apart. Like one minute everything is fine, and the next there are shards of breast flying in the face of my colleagues. I'm sure I'll get over that.
I was forbidden to shower until the stitches were dealt with, which was an arduous process of bathing from the waist down, then drying off and washing my hair with a measuring cup. I was happy to finally clean myself properly, however I did (and still do) get a little freaked out touching them. It's like alien breasts - they don't look or feel like mine, and the incisions freak me out exponentially. I''m sure once the numbness subsides and the scars aren't so fresh - we will become better acquainted.
So - all in all - I'm week three and doing ok. This lefty is going to have to get it together soon, I'm becoming frustrated with the irritated feeling and the swelling, but I have to remember to have patience as my body adjusts and heals. I'm beginning to get my energy back - but am finding I still tire very easily and would prefer to nap every day, although it is not a luxury I can afford. At the end of the day - I think it was worth it. Although I have to buy all new clothing because my shirt fronts sag to my bellybutton.
Argh.
DAG.
Deep breath - where to begin, where to begin. I'd love to create this long, witty blog that will have you in stitches - but I'm still in stitches so let's go back to the drawing board.
I've been flat on my back for the last two weeks, and am just now beginning to join the human race again after a recovery from hell. I had the breast reduction surgery on March 8th, and its been rocky. Of course that led to three weeks off from the Masters of Education program - leaving me up to the proverbial tits in work (pun intended)!
All inappropriate joking aside - I thought I'd take a few moments to talk about this whole plastic surgery thing, and tell some truths to those who are thinking about it.
First shocker: it's not as bad as you think it will be!! And I'm being completely honest. Here in Ontario, it is day surgery. So basically I went in at 7 am and was on my way home around 2 pm. I spent three hours in the recovery room, and 2 hours in actual surgery. I WILL say, however - that is SUCKS when you first wake up after surgery (before the pain meds come along). I woke up FREEZING and in serious ouch. To top it off, the breathing tube they placed in my airway compressed my lip against my teeth, so I had a major fat lip as well! Thankfully, the lovely recovery nurses brought me a warm blanket (actually blew hot air on me) and some morphine for my IV. That made the world a little better.
Who am I kidding? That made the world a WHOLE lot better half an hour later after they gave me enough to take off the edge...
...of consciousness.
The tricky part at first was the drainage tubes that ran into each breast, and the little self-contained collection drums that were suspended from my bra. The entry points were very tender and it was hard to wear regular sized clothing. They were removed a day later (SUCK), and it was easier to move around after that. I have to admit that taking care of myself was not an option, so I shipped Thing One and Thing Two off to Dad's for the week, and stayed with a special person who was able to wake me for my pain meds (every four hours), cook me meals, assist me with getting dressed and helping me wash my hair in the sink. I was also fortunate to lean on my old friend Jenny to get me to appointments and help me once I returned back home. I thank those two very much for all their help and support. And of course - dear old Dad was my chauffeur and nurses aid on the day of surgery.
The pain was not what I thought it would be. To be honest - the problem areas were: drainage tubes, pot holes, seatbelts and anything that flies through the air. The pain was not how I imagined it, it was a severe discomfort. It felt like I was a breast feeding mom who missed sixteen meals (SO FULL AND UNCOMFORTABLE), but without relief. Certain parts of the breast were numb, probably thankfully so, but it creates an uncomfortable irritating feeling. I used ice packs to bring down the swelling, which did help. I should mention that although nipple sensation has been completely restored (PHEW), some sections of the breast are still numb.
During week two, I developed an infection in ole Lefty - which created a hot, swollen and painful addition to my recovery. I was placed on a 10 day cycle of antibiotics, which helped. To be honest, currently the right one is feeling quite well and minimally irritated, but the left is still causing me issues. I think perhaps the infection has just slowed the healing process on that side a little, so I'm anxious to have them catch up to each other. It's still swelling now and again and feeling irritated. It's almost like I've been wearing a bra with sandpaper on one side. I can't seem to get it comfortable. I am hoping it continues to improve.
Last Friday I had the sutures removed. Which is somewhat of a misnomer. They are dissolvable stitches, so they needed to clip the knots on either side of each breast and at each nipple. I have to admit that burned A LOT, but I was happy to have only that to deal with, and not the actual removal of each stitch. It did make me feel a bit like a patchwork quilt, and I'm still a little afraid of just busting apart. Like one minute everything is fine, and the next there are shards of breast flying in the face of my colleagues. I'm sure I'll get over that.
I was forbidden to shower until the stitches were dealt with, which was an arduous process of bathing from the waist down, then drying off and washing my hair with a measuring cup. I was happy to finally clean myself properly, however I did (and still do) get a little freaked out touching them. It's like alien breasts - they don't look or feel like mine, and the incisions freak me out exponentially. I''m sure once the numbness subsides and the scars aren't so fresh - we will become better acquainted.
So - all in all - I'm week three and doing ok. This lefty is going to have to get it together soon, I'm becoming frustrated with the irritated feeling and the swelling, but I have to remember to have patience as my body adjusts and heals. I'm beginning to get my energy back - but am finding I still tire very easily and would prefer to nap every day, although it is not a luxury I can afford. At the end of the day - I think it was worth it. Although I have to buy all new clothing because my shirt fronts sag to my bellybutton.
Argh.
DAG.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Finding Strength in Cliche Dreams...
This post has been a long time coming. Perhaps thirty-one years long, I cannot be sure. Somehow I had always hoped to arrive at this point - while at the same time feeling quite sure it would never come. Isn't it funny.
We all like to think we are strong. That the experiences of our childhood do not truly affect us - or make us less than what we should be. That WE will overcome it through our own perseverance, strength and determination. We use these as walls to build around our hearts - impenetrable fortresses of our own personal will that somehow prove our resiliency. But do they?
All my life I have longed to be loved. Truly loved, cared for and respected for just the person that I am, flaws and all. Although that search has led me through dark alleys and into the arms of blackness and back, somewhere I forgot what I was looking for. At some point, I raised those walls of strength to prove that I am independent, secure and self-sufficient. That trust is not something that I need to give away, but something to find within myself. In doing that - I stopped growing.
I have had a few great relationships and some terrible ones. I thought I was giving everything, working my hardest and yet failing miserably at each attempt. I walk away from those ruins with some beautiful memories and some lessons learned. I also walk away with deeper questions for myself. When the walls came tumbling down, the pyres burned and what was left of them were consumed in the inevitable stench of bitterness. I noticed that I, too, was in shambles. If I am honest with myself, I have been in shambles for some time now.
So what to do with it? As we all do, I laid in the corner and licked my wounds. I spent months carefully peering through the holes left behind, trying desperately to match up those tattered edges with who I thought I was. When I couldn't make that happen, I retreated.
And here is where the cliche comes alive. I breathe life into it, only because for me? It is everything.
Love heals all.
I can say I have never put much stock in these lofty ideals - and now I know why - I had no idea what love really was. I had a version - where I hid behind my strength and mistrust and asked others to jump over insurmountable obstacles. And yet I wondered why they failed. Every. Time. I had no idea that the one thing I held back was the very thing I had to give - myself.
How could I have ever imagined that tearing down these barriers that protected me would make me the strongest I have ever been? That the fear of placing the most tender part of me in someone else's hands would be the most frightening - and yet most freeing - thing of all? The commitment has been tried and tested - first by you and then by me - pulled at, turned inside out and then lovingly cradled. I have been afraid - really afraid. Trembling, overwhelming and teary afraid. Your strength has propped me up and allowed me to release the reins on my heart. To trust in your weight beneath me, the shelter of your arms and the warmth in your heart. And when I could finally stand, I was more than strong enough to prop you up too.
We haven't taught each other how to love. We must have known how - somewhere deep inside ourselves. However, we are still teaching each other, and ourselves, how to allow it to come. Like waves, it crashes over us, consumes us and erases the fallen sandcastles of old hurts. It leaves us refreshed and intact. Perhaps then, the cliche could be modified. It may not be that love heals all - perhaps just the *right* love can heal our fears, quell our anxieties and soothe old wounds. The questions I ask myself now have drastically changed. No longer do I need to re-evaluate my relationships or meter out my heart. Now I go freely forward with you - in the face of risking the sweetest part of me - the most fragile side, asking myself: how can I show you TODAY how much more I love you when, as you say, "there is no conceivable scale that could ever measure how much love that is."
We all like to think we are strong. That the experiences of our childhood do not truly affect us - or make us less than what we should be. That WE will overcome it through our own perseverance, strength and determination. We use these as walls to build around our hearts - impenetrable fortresses of our own personal will that somehow prove our resiliency. But do they?
All my life I have longed to be loved. Truly loved, cared for and respected for just the person that I am, flaws and all. Although that search has led me through dark alleys and into the arms of blackness and back, somewhere I forgot what I was looking for. At some point, I raised those walls of strength to prove that I am independent, secure and self-sufficient. That trust is not something that I need to give away, but something to find within myself. In doing that - I stopped growing.
I have had a few great relationships and some terrible ones. I thought I was giving everything, working my hardest and yet failing miserably at each attempt. I walk away from those ruins with some beautiful memories and some lessons learned. I also walk away with deeper questions for myself. When the walls came tumbling down, the pyres burned and what was left of them were consumed in the inevitable stench of bitterness. I noticed that I, too, was in shambles. If I am honest with myself, I have been in shambles for some time now.
So what to do with it? As we all do, I laid in the corner and licked my wounds. I spent months carefully peering through the holes left behind, trying desperately to match up those tattered edges with who I thought I was. When I couldn't make that happen, I retreated.
And here is where the cliche comes alive. I breathe life into it, only because for me? It is everything.
Love heals all.
I can say I have never put much stock in these lofty ideals - and now I know why - I had no idea what love really was. I had a version - where I hid behind my strength and mistrust and asked others to jump over insurmountable obstacles. And yet I wondered why they failed. Every. Time. I had no idea that the one thing I held back was the very thing I had to give - myself.
How could I have ever imagined that tearing down these barriers that protected me would make me the strongest I have ever been? That the fear of placing the most tender part of me in someone else's hands would be the most frightening - and yet most freeing - thing of all? The commitment has been tried and tested - first by you and then by me - pulled at, turned inside out and then lovingly cradled. I have been afraid - really afraid. Trembling, overwhelming and teary afraid. Your strength has propped me up and allowed me to release the reins on my heart. To trust in your weight beneath me, the shelter of your arms and the warmth in your heart. And when I could finally stand, I was more than strong enough to prop you up too.
We haven't taught each other how to love. We must have known how - somewhere deep inside ourselves. However, we are still teaching each other, and ourselves, how to allow it to come. Like waves, it crashes over us, consumes us and erases the fallen sandcastles of old hurts. It leaves us refreshed and intact. Perhaps then, the cliche could be modified. It may not be that love heals all - perhaps just the *right* love can heal our fears, quell our anxieties and soothe old wounds. The questions I ask myself now have drastically changed. No longer do I need to re-evaluate my relationships or meter out my heart. Now I go freely forward with you - in the face of risking the sweetest part of me - the most fragile side, asking myself: how can I show you TODAY how much more I love you when, as you say, "there is no conceivable scale that could ever measure how much love that is."
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Aaaaaaannnnndddd Plastic Surgeons Take over the World!
Hello!!!
It's been some time since I've posted anything out here in the virtual desert, but I thought I'd write a little note to share something up and coming.
I? Am finally!!??!! going to have my breast reduction!!!!
It's scheduled for March 8, which means that I'll be needing to pull away from the university rat race for a week or so, but hey - its totally worth it! I've arranged for Thing One and Thing Two to sleep elsewhere for a couple nights while I suffer and made all the arrangements to be sure I'm not totally on my own.
I'm looking forward to bathing suits that fit and bras that are cheaper and prettier. Cause we all know that anything over a DD is total grandma land. Ugh.
Wish me luck!
It's been some time since I've posted anything out here in the virtual desert, but I thought I'd write a little note to share something up and coming.
I? Am finally!!??!! going to have my breast reduction!!!!
It's scheduled for March 8, which means that I'll be needing to pull away from the university rat race for a week or so, but hey - its totally worth it! I've arranged for Thing One and Thing Two to sleep elsewhere for a couple nights while I suffer and made all the arrangements to be sure I'm not totally on my own.
I'm looking forward to bathing suits that fit and bras that are cheaper and prettier. Cause we all know that anything over a DD is total grandma land. Ugh.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Random Love Notes from My Inbox
Coming home from class tonight I found a random love note in my inbox:
"You are my lover, my friend, my partner in life
The reason I breath and truly love life
You're the snow that falls down on a slow winter's day
My passion, my love, the reason I gaze
You're the sole reason I love
Please never go away"
To the man who wrote me such words:
You my love? Are ADORABLE. Thank you for loving me enough to write these beautiful little things and sending them my way. I couldn't be happier - loving you is the easiest thing I've ever had to do. You make my life shiny.
"You are my lover, my friend, my partner in life
The reason I breath and truly love life
You're the snow that falls down on a slow winter's day
My passion, my love, the reason I gaze
You're the sole reason I love
Please never go away"
To the man who wrote me such words:
You my love? Are ADORABLE. Thank you for loving me enough to write these beautiful little things and sending them my way. I couldn't be happier - loving you is the easiest thing I've ever had to do. You make my life shiny.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Amor est Vitae Essentia
Never could I have EVER known that I would feel this happy.
It is this warmth, every morning when I open my eyes and I think of you, it crashes over me like waves - warming my toes, tummy, arms... my heart. It starts a smile tickling across my face, ear to ear -a silly teenage grin that never wipes off.
I start my day - EVERY day, knowing that I am loved. And that I love. Real storybook love - where nothing matters, there are no boundaries, no rules - no exceptions. That my flaws are loved - that I love yours. That there is nothing in this world that can take it apart - this crazy head-over-heels, tight chested perfection.
That we are so connected - that I often pick up my phone just before your text rings in, or that just the moment that I am thinking of you - the telephone rings and I hear the deep rich sound of your voice. That we can talk about anything, be completely vulnerable, lay in bed for hours just sharing minds, souls and skins. That we do not ask anything of each other, or expect anything more than simple honesty, respect and love. That we didn't plan this thing of ours - that we came crashing into each others lives just when we needed each other.
Fiercely, madly - truly...
You.
It is this warmth, every morning when I open my eyes and I think of you, it crashes over me like waves - warming my toes, tummy, arms... my heart. It starts a smile tickling across my face, ear to ear -a silly teenage grin that never wipes off.
I start my day - EVERY day, knowing that I am loved. And that I love. Real storybook love - where nothing matters, there are no boundaries, no rules - no exceptions. That my flaws are loved - that I love yours. That there is nothing in this world that can take it apart - this crazy head-over-heels, tight chested perfection.
That we are so connected - that I often pick up my phone just before your text rings in, or that just the moment that I am thinking of you - the telephone rings and I hear the deep rich sound of your voice. That we can talk about anything, be completely vulnerable, lay in bed for hours just sharing minds, souls and skins. That we do not ask anything of each other, or expect anything more than simple honesty, respect and love. That we didn't plan this thing of ours - that we came crashing into each others lives just when we needed each other.
Fiercely, madly - truly...
You.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Winter
Winter!
Quiet, snowy evenings - perfect for a peaceful walk.
Except when it includes smashing windows and screaming children.
Last night, Thing One tripped and fell - going right through a double paned window in the living room. Luckily - he doesn't have a SCRATCH on him, but WOW! It was cold in here last night.
One piece of cardboard does not a window make.
Well, the window has been replaced - and no one is hurt so I scratch it up to life. OY VEY!
Just for the record, I? Am very very happy. You know who you are - and I have never felt so loved. Thank you for reminding me of what love can really conquer.
Christmas is just around the corner...
Quiet, snowy evenings - perfect for a peaceful walk.
Except when it includes smashing windows and screaming children.
Last night, Thing One tripped and fell - going right through a double paned window in the living room. Luckily - he doesn't have a SCRATCH on him, but WOW! It was cold in here last night.
One piece of cardboard does not a window make.
Well, the window has been replaced - and no one is hurt so I scratch it up to life. OY VEY!
Just for the record, I? Am very very happy. You know who you are - and I have never felt so loved. Thank you for reminding me of what love can really conquer.
Christmas is just around the corner...
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Between Brock and a Hard Place
I do not know for sure just how many of you read me. Further, if you do meander through my crazy haze (and I THANK you for it), I don't know how long you've been at it.
So - those of you who have, do know that I am a single mother with two children. You also know that one of my children suffers with anxiety and child psychosis NOS. You also may know, that I am (and have been for the last seven years) a university student. Last year I almost lost the opportunity to be awarded my teaching degree due to Thing One's hospitalization, but I pulled the rabbit from the leg trap and will receive my B.ed in October.
Also? I just began my Masters of Education. The problem is: I don't know how long I'll be able to attend classes.
Last spring, I had a major malfunction with my crappy car. As in, the wheels fell off. Literally. Balljoint malfunction, drive axle snapped and wheels? Fell off. While I was driving it. The day AFTER I transported my children two hours on the most dangerous highway in Ontario. For those of you who remember, said car has let me down in the past, namely when the transmission died at 120kms/hr on the 403. In the rain. At night. My children and I got soaked waiting for a friend and a tow truck to rescue us off the embankment at the side of the highway. Obviously, this car was a death trap.
And so? I got a loan. And got a new car.
Now OSAP says I shouldn't have a reliable car, and its a $16000.00 asset. WHA??!
Where I grew up - basic accounting goes something like this: asset-liability= value. Apparently not in the province of Ontario. Here, asset - liability = asset anyhow and by the way, if you sell it to PAY the LOAN, then you're also considered to have $16000.00 in your proverbial pocket. Which also? Disqualifies you from getting an educational loan. Further, Brock University wants their tuition yesterday, but I'm eight weeks out from a review of said asset decision.
I? Am between a Brock and a HARD PLACE.
Further, OSAP loans fund our living expenses, and I'm not seeing any of that money either (and for the record, it's been denied). So, I've applied for some retail jobs at the mall because there is no work for teachers to pay the bills. Which? I'm totally fine with.
But - I can't afford my $3300.00 tuition bill. If I drop out of school then my loans come due at Christmas time (ho, ho, ho), to the tune of $700.00 per month. For the rest of my life. If I get a student line of credit at the bank, I need a cosigner (which I don't have), and if I DO get it, that screws me for any funding in the future, while obligating me to pay interest from the first dollar spent.
And even worse? Is the attitude of people around me who behave as if earning your Masters degree in Education is equivalent to a pedicure: nice, but an unnecessary luxury. They turn their eyes away from the fact that only 15% of the population is smart enough to DO this program, and that I beat out THOUSANDS of people for this seat. Just this past Friday, a government employee offered her opinion to me: "Well, its not going to do anything for you anyway. Might as well get a job at Community Living". First? Since when did a teaching degree qualify me as a Social Worker. My answer?
"Well (insert asshat employee name here), I don't believe in quitting. When the going gets tough I certainly do not throw in the towel. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to continue to try to find a way to make this happen."
Why are people allowed to throw their misguided opinions around?
For now, I am attending night classes for as long as the university will allow me. Which won't be too long, considering they'd like their tuition paid. Here's hoping the tuition fairies leave it under my pillow while I sleep.
I'm desperately trying to achieve my career (one I've worked SEVEN years towards), and yet not one ounce of encouragement from anyone. Tough luck Charlie, you're on your own.
Yes. Suppose I am.
If any of you come across someone in this situation? Please encourage them. Encourage them for having the moxie to get off their butts and the system and do something with their lives. Give them a pat on the back for bucking down, raising their kids, working their magic and earning their career, one loaned dollar at a time. And if you can help it, throw five bucks in their general direction. They could use it.
Whatever you do, DO NOT offer your crappy opinion that they should walk away from years of hard work and self improvement. Do not, like some, feel the hard bitterness in their gullet for not achieving the same goal, and in turn deny someone else from getting it.
Evolve.
So - those of you who have, do know that I am a single mother with two children. You also know that one of my children suffers with anxiety and child psychosis NOS. You also may know, that I am (and have been for the last seven years) a university student. Last year I almost lost the opportunity to be awarded my teaching degree due to Thing One's hospitalization, but I pulled the rabbit from the leg trap and will receive my B.ed in October.
Also? I just began my Masters of Education. The problem is: I don't know how long I'll be able to attend classes.
Last spring, I had a major malfunction with my crappy car. As in, the wheels fell off. Literally. Balljoint malfunction, drive axle snapped and wheels? Fell off. While I was driving it. The day AFTER I transported my children two hours on the most dangerous highway in Ontario. For those of you who remember, said car has let me down in the past, namely when the transmission died at 120kms/hr on the 403. In the rain. At night. My children and I got soaked waiting for a friend and a tow truck to rescue us off the embankment at the side of the highway. Obviously, this car was a death trap.
And so? I got a loan. And got a new car.
Now OSAP says I shouldn't have a reliable car, and its a $16000.00 asset. WHA??!
Where I grew up - basic accounting goes something like this: asset-liability= value. Apparently not in the province of Ontario. Here, asset - liability = asset anyhow and by the way, if you sell it to PAY the LOAN, then you're also considered to have $16000.00 in your proverbial pocket. Which also? Disqualifies you from getting an educational loan. Further, Brock University wants their tuition yesterday, but I'm eight weeks out from a review of said asset decision.
I? Am between a Brock and a HARD PLACE.
Further, OSAP loans fund our living expenses, and I'm not seeing any of that money either (and for the record, it's been denied). So, I've applied for some retail jobs at the mall because there is no work for teachers to pay the bills. Which? I'm totally fine with.
But - I can't afford my $3300.00 tuition bill. If I drop out of school then my loans come due at Christmas time (ho, ho, ho), to the tune of $700.00 per month. For the rest of my life. If I get a student line of credit at the bank, I need a cosigner (which I don't have), and if I DO get it, that screws me for any funding in the future, while obligating me to pay interest from the first dollar spent.
And even worse? Is the attitude of people around me who behave as if earning your Masters degree in Education is equivalent to a pedicure: nice, but an unnecessary luxury. They turn their eyes away from the fact that only 15% of the population is smart enough to DO this program, and that I beat out THOUSANDS of people for this seat. Just this past Friday, a government employee offered her opinion to me: "Well, its not going to do anything for you anyway. Might as well get a job at Community Living". First? Since when did a teaching degree qualify me as a Social Worker. My answer?
"Well (insert asshat employee name here), I don't believe in quitting. When the going gets tough I certainly do not throw in the towel. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to continue to try to find a way to make this happen."
Why are people allowed to throw their misguided opinions around?
For now, I am attending night classes for as long as the university will allow me. Which won't be too long, considering they'd like their tuition paid. Here's hoping the tuition fairies leave it under my pillow while I sleep.
I'm desperately trying to achieve my career (one I've worked SEVEN years towards), and yet not one ounce of encouragement from anyone. Tough luck Charlie, you're on your own.
Yes. Suppose I am.
If any of you come across someone in this situation? Please encourage them. Encourage them for having the moxie to get off their butts and the system and do something with their lives. Give them a pat on the back for bucking down, raising their kids, working their magic and earning their career, one loaned dollar at a time. And if you can help it, throw five bucks in their general direction. They could use it.
Whatever you do, DO NOT offer your crappy opinion that they should walk away from years of hard work and self improvement. Do not, like some, feel the hard bitterness in their gullet for not achieving the same goal, and in turn deny someone else from getting it.
Evolve.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Home
It seems to me that every time I pick up and start over, there is a period of time where I am drifting. It's coming upon two weeks since we moved back to our old stomping grounds and I think I'm starting to adjust.
For the first week, I had this feeling like I was an alien, dropped off in this quiet corner of grass and sunshine and was totally disconnected from all that was yesterday, and all that will be tomorrow. I tried to make this house look like home, to reconnect with who I am and where I am going. At first the pieces just didn't seem to fit together, off by just a hair no matter how hard I pushed on their edges.
But finally I am feeling a settling around me. As I sit here writing this, I hear the summer sound of a neighbour's lawn mower, followed by the scent of fresh cut grass- and I wonder. When was the last time I heard this? Life in a small apartment box has robbed us of those wondrous moments - the smell of the rain on the grass, the cool feel of the lawn between our toes on a hot day, the stars that rivet the night sky. I missed this. I hear the kiddos playing an intense game of hide and seek with other neighbourhood kids, see the abandoned soccer balls and sidewalk chalk in the yard and feel contentment.
I've reconnected with old friends and made new ones, spent lazy afternoons in the park sun watching all of our children splashing in the water. We've laughed and eaten and shared our yesterdays. We've gone home with the smell of summer sun in our hair and fading sunscreen between our fingers - happy. We've chased white bottomed rabbits through the grasses in the park and stood silent sentries as they moved in front of us.
The kids sleep the deep sleep of spent energy, reeking of the outdoors in the damp hair around their temples.
I may not be who I was yesterday, but as we continue to set roots in this quiet corner, I certainly look forward to who I will be tomorrow.
For the first week, I had this feeling like I was an alien, dropped off in this quiet corner of grass and sunshine and was totally disconnected from all that was yesterday, and all that will be tomorrow. I tried to make this house look like home, to reconnect with who I am and where I am going. At first the pieces just didn't seem to fit together, off by just a hair no matter how hard I pushed on their edges.
But finally I am feeling a settling around me. As I sit here writing this, I hear the summer sound of a neighbour's lawn mower, followed by the scent of fresh cut grass- and I wonder. When was the last time I heard this? Life in a small apartment box has robbed us of those wondrous moments - the smell of the rain on the grass, the cool feel of the lawn between our toes on a hot day, the stars that rivet the night sky. I missed this. I hear the kiddos playing an intense game of hide and seek with other neighbourhood kids, see the abandoned soccer balls and sidewalk chalk in the yard and feel contentment.
I've reconnected with old friends and made new ones, spent lazy afternoons in the park sun watching all of our children splashing in the water. We've laughed and eaten and shared our yesterdays. We've gone home with the smell of summer sun in our hair and fading sunscreen between our fingers - happy. We've chased white bottomed rabbits through the grasses in the park and stood silent sentries as they moved in front of us.
The kids sleep the deep sleep of spent energy, reeking of the outdoors in the damp hair around their temples.
I may not be who I was yesterday, but as we continue to set roots in this quiet corner, I certainly look forward to who I will be tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Here We Go 'Round the Mulberry Bush! OR Who do I punch first? The monkey or the weasel??
Thankyou to all of you that commented on my last post about Thing One's return to the nest. I was, and AM, very happy to have him home again and feeling better.
This week we attended a follow-up appointment with Dr. Brain. Which? Left me nothing but frustrated. I canNOT keep pulling out my hair, there will truly be nothing left.
While Thing One was in paeds psych, he was under the care of a different child psychologist. We'll call him "The Monkey". On the weekends, we were cared for by the original Dr. Brain (The Weasel). I do not have a great history of confidence with The Weasel. She has a very poor bedside manner to say the least (which is NOT good when you're dealing with sensitive mental health issues and their impacts on families). In my first appointment she actually commented "OH, I see..." and nodded emphatically when she discovered that I was a single mother. As if that answered everything, as if attending "positive parenting" classes would be enough to cure my son from his issues.
(Which I did attend, to appease her, but I'm still unsure why I felt the need to prove my parenting prowess....)
Over the last year we've changed meds, diagnosis and opinions. I've been questioned, turned inside out, disbelieved and dismissed. During Thing One's observation period in hospital, Dr. Monkey was quite distressed about the Prozac factor and quickly took him off the drug. He maintained the Seroquel (and still does), and after two weeks of leeching this from his system, the symptoms of psychosis abated.
It is my understanding from Dr. Monkey, that Prozac was the culprit, and that it can happen in children, and has. I did some layman research myself and found the same results. Yesterday, after a week has gone by since Thing One was released, we visited Dr. Weasel, who began the appointment by asking me what the result was from the hospital. Apparently SHE hasn't recieved the report from Dr. Weasel just yet.
Then, she looked at me like I had four heads and calmly told me there are NO case studies showing Prozac to cause symptoms of psychosis and she has no idea what Dr. Monkey is talking about. She was so adamant she insisted that if we were to accept that reasoning, then we should be WRITING A CASE STUDY on my son's experiences since its NEVER happened before.
Colour me confused.
We discussed the recurrence of Thing One's mood swings, temper and aggression (something that abated during his Prozac course and has now reappeared since we've removed the drug). Despite that being true, she now thinks that it's not anxiety that's causing the behaviour changes but the need for limits in the family. (HOLY FREAKIN CRAP BATMAN. I've been down this road...) So now, we are back to serving up the latest token economy to cease Thing One from hitting his sister when he's mad 83 times a day. Which? Doesn't work.
Know why?
I set limits. Have ALWAYS set limits. Have tried the token economy, it fails in the face of a child who cannot control wild emotional response. In fact, in some cases it actually exacerbated his issues, as he began worrying about his performance and chance for rewards. Which makes him anxious. Which makes him volatile. Which leads to explosive behaviour... it's round and round we go.
So, like I said before, WTF? Who do we believe, and WHAT do we do now? Thing One is WAY unregulated and both Doctors can't see eye to eye on anything.
Who do I punch first?
This week we attended a follow-up appointment with Dr. Brain. Which? Left me nothing but frustrated. I canNOT keep pulling out my hair, there will truly be nothing left.
While Thing One was in paeds psych, he was under the care of a different child psychologist. We'll call him "The Monkey". On the weekends, we were cared for by the original Dr. Brain (The Weasel). I do not have a great history of confidence with The Weasel. She has a very poor bedside manner to say the least (which is NOT good when you're dealing with sensitive mental health issues and their impacts on families). In my first appointment she actually commented "OH, I see..." and nodded emphatically when she discovered that I was a single mother. As if that answered everything, as if attending "positive parenting" classes would be enough to cure my son from his issues.
(Which I did attend, to appease her, but I'm still unsure why I felt the need to prove my parenting prowess....)
Over the last year we've changed meds, diagnosis and opinions. I've been questioned, turned inside out, disbelieved and dismissed. During Thing One's observation period in hospital, Dr. Monkey was quite distressed about the Prozac factor and quickly took him off the drug. He maintained the Seroquel (and still does), and after two weeks of leeching this from his system, the symptoms of psychosis abated.
It is my understanding from Dr. Monkey, that Prozac was the culprit, and that it can happen in children, and has. I did some layman research myself and found the same results. Yesterday, after a week has gone by since Thing One was released, we visited Dr. Weasel, who began the appointment by asking me what the result was from the hospital. Apparently SHE hasn't recieved the report from Dr. Weasel just yet.
Then, she looked at me like I had four heads and calmly told me there are NO case studies showing Prozac to cause symptoms of psychosis and she has no idea what Dr. Monkey is talking about. She was so adamant she insisted that if we were to accept that reasoning, then we should be WRITING A CASE STUDY on my son's experiences since its NEVER happened before.
Colour me confused.
We discussed the recurrence of Thing One's mood swings, temper and aggression (something that abated during his Prozac course and has now reappeared since we've removed the drug). Despite that being true, she now thinks that it's not anxiety that's causing the behaviour changes but the need for limits in the family. (HOLY FREAKIN CRAP BATMAN. I've been down this road...) So now, we are back to serving up the latest token economy to cease Thing One from hitting his sister when he's mad 83 times a day. Which? Doesn't work.
Know why?
I set limits. Have ALWAYS set limits. Have tried the token economy, it fails in the face of a child who cannot control wild emotional response. In fact, in some cases it actually exacerbated his issues, as he began worrying about his performance and chance for rewards. Which makes him anxious. Which makes him volatile. Which leads to explosive behaviour... it's round and round we go.
So, like I said before, WTF? Who do we believe, and WHAT do we do now? Thing One is WAY unregulated and both Doctors can't see eye to eye on anything.
Who do I punch first?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Prozac: The Good, The Bad and the UTTERLY RIDICULOUS
Update time!
Thing One has finally come home (WOOT WOOT)!!
After a very LONG two weeks, and very expensive parking - I have my boy back where he belongs. The first week was SOOO difficult, with the continuing hallucinations and depersonalization - but we've conquered it.
The consensus is - the psychosis was induced by the anti-depressant Prozac. Let this be a warning to all other parents out there... avoid AVOID AVOID this drug. Thing One started taking it after Zoloft failed to help with his anxiety disorder, back in late December or early January. It wasn't until late March that he began presenting with the psychotic symptoms, and they got progressively worse. He lost his personality, his feelings (complete apathy), became very aggressive and harbored suicidal and homicidal ideation. When he was initially hospitalized, they weaned him from this drug while continuing the Seroquel (because it has anti-anxiety properties). The first week didn't produce much change (as you've read earlier), but once it began to exit his system we experienced a GREAT improvement.
Prozac builds in the body and takes time to exit the system. It can take a few weeks before it finally leaves the body, and once it began happening, Thing One's psychotic symptoms disappeared one by one. He did (and still does) have wicked mood swings since coming off the Prozac. I'm not sure what we will need to do for that, but I'll take mood swings over hearing voices ANY DAY. He continues on the Seroquel, and Dr. Brain advised me that his anxiety levels are really much higher than we initially anticipated. According to them, there is actually very LITTLE time during the day that he isn't at an extreme level of anxiety. Which sucks, because he has Generalized Anxiety Disorder, so there is no way to remove him for a break from whatever makes him anxious. It is everything and nothing, all the time.
DO NOT give this drug to your children! When I consented to this medication, I WAS NOT informed of this side effect! I asked very specifically what we could expect or should watch for and I was told that these types of side effects are so negligible that it didn't even need to be discussed!
Not.
True.
Prozac made my son into a different person. Instead of controlling his anxiety and making his life easier to live it turned him into a possible schizophrenic. Be AWARE of these things, lend credit to what you read when you google it and remember to insist on ALL the information. There are many other options (SSRI's), but a lot of them are going to carry the same types of side effects. Try to opt for one that doesn't accumulate in the system, if you have to use them at all.
Thing One is still not better as a whole. His anxiety and ODD are still rampant however I can be sure that he will not harm himself or the rest of the family in the dead of the night. I'm sure, when he's old enough to understand what happened to him, he'd choose the anxiety any day.
Now - to just get the meds tweaked just right....
Breathing a HUGE sigh of relief, and again thanking all those who cared for us during this horrible TERRIBLE ordeal... I'm off to cuddle with my boy.
DAG
Thing One has finally come home (WOOT WOOT)!!
After a very LONG two weeks, and very expensive parking - I have my boy back where he belongs. The first week was SOOO difficult, with the continuing hallucinations and depersonalization - but we've conquered it.
The consensus is - the psychosis was induced by the anti-depressant Prozac. Let this be a warning to all other parents out there... avoid AVOID AVOID this drug. Thing One started taking it after Zoloft failed to help with his anxiety disorder, back in late December or early January. It wasn't until late March that he began presenting with the psychotic symptoms, and they got progressively worse. He lost his personality, his feelings (complete apathy), became very aggressive and harbored suicidal and homicidal ideation. When he was initially hospitalized, they weaned him from this drug while continuing the Seroquel (because it has anti-anxiety properties). The first week didn't produce much change (as you've read earlier), but once it began to exit his system we experienced a GREAT improvement.
Prozac builds in the body and takes time to exit the system. It can take a few weeks before it finally leaves the body, and once it began happening, Thing One's psychotic symptoms disappeared one by one. He did (and still does) have wicked mood swings since coming off the Prozac. I'm not sure what we will need to do for that, but I'll take mood swings over hearing voices ANY DAY. He continues on the Seroquel, and Dr. Brain advised me that his anxiety levels are really much higher than we initially anticipated. According to them, there is actually very LITTLE time during the day that he isn't at an extreme level of anxiety. Which sucks, because he has Generalized Anxiety Disorder, so there is no way to remove him for a break from whatever makes him anxious. It is everything and nothing, all the time.
DO NOT give this drug to your children! When I consented to this medication, I WAS NOT informed of this side effect! I asked very specifically what we could expect or should watch for and I was told that these types of side effects are so negligible that it didn't even need to be discussed!
Not.
True.
Prozac made my son into a different person. Instead of controlling his anxiety and making his life easier to live it turned him into a possible schizophrenic. Be AWARE of these things, lend credit to what you read when you google it and remember to insist on ALL the information. There are many other options (SSRI's), but a lot of them are going to carry the same types of side effects. Try to opt for one that doesn't accumulate in the system, if you have to use them at all.
Thing One is still not better as a whole. His anxiety and ODD are still rampant however I can be sure that he will not harm himself or the rest of the family in the dead of the night. I'm sure, when he's old enough to understand what happened to him, he'd choose the anxiety any day.
Now - to just get the meds tweaked just right....
Breathing a HUGE sigh of relief, and again thanking all those who cared for us during this horrible TERRIBLE ordeal... I'm off to cuddle with my boy.
DAG
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Mental Health System is designed to make me crazy.
Dr. Brain continued to say that she wasn't sure if this was obsessive compulsive (so the hallucinations are actually obsessive intrusive thoughts and images he cannot stop) or bipolar or schizophrenia. She says his issues are complex. I broke down (FINALLY) in that meeting. She passed me a kleenex box and said "I've been waiting for you to fall apart".
*Blink* *Blink*
I hope I met your expectations. Did you have money riding on it?!?
I shared with her my GREAT concern that the staff isn't observing Thing One. They said Sunday morning (when my Mom and brother and I arrived) that he had a great morning.
Yet, he came out of the lounge looking like his best friend had just died. I seriously appeared like he was going to burst into tears at any moment. But when we asked, he said "I'm fine". Clearly NOT fine. Clearly NOT "great". He sat across the room doodling on a magnet board in the window sill and did not interact with us for some time.
I told Dr. Brain that I was worried that he was going to come home at square one and I'd be sleeping across his doorway again because he thought he'd harm himself or others. She said she was committed to finding out how to help him, that his issues were "complex" and that we couldn't live like we were before he went in. Obviously.
The afternoon only got worse. I took him to a movie on a day pass. Half way through (everything had been fine and he'd been laughing just a moment ago) he suddenly sat up in his seat and looked at me like I was an alien. He said "Mommy?" like he was surprised to see me there. I said yes? Then he said something mumbly and quick, which I thought I heard "we need to go back". I said, go where? He stared at me and slowly said, Nevermind. I said, "what's wrong?". He looked around and said slowly, "nothing". I said "are you confused"? He clearly seemed disoriented and unsure. He said, "yeah, I didn't really know where I was for a few minutes". He then asked to leave although we were only an hour into the movie. On the way out he said he needed to go to the bathroom, and asked me to hold Jack the dog.
He was in there for 20 minutes. Aftermath showed up and I sent him in to check on Thing One. Apparently, Thing One hasn't pooped the whole time he was at the hospital (almost a week now), so he was clearly clearing the decks. We waited outside. When he came out finally he told Aftermath about that moment in the theatre and how he had no idea where he was for a few moments. Then we decided to go to the park so he could ride his scooter. In the car he burst into tears again and I asked what was wrong. He told me he was just "so proud". I said proud of what? He said proud of Jack. I said why? He said "because when I was in the bathroom trying to poop I could hear Jack saying "you can do it!", I've never had a stuffed animal that encouraged me and talked to me and I'm so proud that he helped me through it". He sobbed away in my backseat.
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH HIM.
When we got there, he rode around for a few minutes and then went across the parking lot from us, sat down on the concrete with his back to us and sat for a good 5 or 10 minutes. Then he wanted to go to the playground part, so we did. He slid down the slide once and then laid down on the rocks and just stayed there. I finally took him back to the hospital. I talked to the nurse, who mused perhaps I am a trigger for his anxiety and so is the dark. I looked at her sideways because she's clearly out of her god-damn mind.
He had a good day today, I spent a good chunk of the day with him. Except he really has no interest in me. I get there and he goes off to play in the lounge or the gaming room and wants me to wait in his room till he gets back. I don't understand why my son doesn't want to be around me.
I met with the other doctor (Dr. K) who runs the unit and he's telling me that Thing One's continuing on the Seroquel but he doesn't think this is bipolar or schizophrenia and that Noah's hallucinations are a product of severe anxiety. I don't understand that either, its not like these things happen when he's uber-anxious. They just do randomly. So from the sounds of it, I'm going to have a little boy coming home on an anti psychotic and a new SSRI (he's talking about starting Luvox now), which in my opinion leaves us in the EXACT SAME POSITION WE ENTERED UNDER. I'm so frustrated Ive been crying my eyes out because I feel like I did this to him for nothing. I justified the trauma of staying in the hospital by thinking that they'd get to the bottom of what was happening with him. It clearly is not the case. Also - I don't think the left hand knows what the right is doing, especially because both Dr.s are talking about totally different disorders and totally different symptoms. I'm going OUT OF MY MIND.
I really feel like no one is in our corner or committed to helping my son alleviate what is clearly TORMENTING him.
And it's tormenting me.
Clearly.
*Blink* *Blink*
I hope I met your expectations. Did you have money riding on it?!?
I shared with her my GREAT concern that the staff isn't observing Thing One. They said Sunday morning (when my Mom and brother and I arrived) that he had a great morning.
Yet, he came out of the lounge looking like his best friend had just died. I seriously appeared like he was going to burst into tears at any moment. But when we asked, he said "I'm fine". Clearly NOT fine. Clearly NOT "great". He sat across the room doodling on a magnet board in the window sill and did not interact with us for some time.
I told Dr. Brain that I was worried that he was going to come home at square one and I'd be sleeping across his doorway again because he thought he'd harm himself or others. She said she was committed to finding out how to help him, that his issues were "complex" and that we couldn't live like we were before he went in. Obviously.
The afternoon only got worse. I took him to a movie on a day pass. Half way through (everything had been fine and he'd been laughing just a moment ago) he suddenly sat up in his seat and looked at me like I was an alien. He said "Mommy?" like he was surprised to see me there. I said yes? Then he said something mumbly and quick, which I thought I heard "we need to go back". I said, go where? He stared at me and slowly said, Nevermind. I said, "what's wrong?". He looked around and said slowly, "nothing". I said "are you confused"? He clearly seemed disoriented and unsure. He said, "yeah, I didn't really know where I was for a few minutes". He then asked to leave although we were only an hour into the movie. On the way out he said he needed to go to the bathroom, and asked me to hold Jack the dog.
He was in there for 20 minutes. Aftermath showed up and I sent him in to check on Thing One. Apparently, Thing One hasn't pooped the whole time he was at the hospital (almost a week now), so he was clearly clearing the decks. We waited outside. When he came out finally he told Aftermath about that moment in the theatre and how he had no idea where he was for a few moments. Then we decided to go to the park so he could ride his scooter. In the car he burst into tears again and I asked what was wrong. He told me he was just "so proud". I said proud of what? He said proud of Jack. I said why? He said "because when I was in the bathroom trying to poop I could hear Jack saying "you can do it!", I've never had a stuffed animal that encouraged me and talked to me and I'm so proud that he helped me through it". He sobbed away in my backseat.
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH HIM.
When we got there, he rode around for a few minutes and then went across the parking lot from us, sat down on the concrete with his back to us and sat for a good 5 or 10 minutes. Then he wanted to go to the playground part, so we did. He slid down the slide once and then laid down on the rocks and just stayed there. I finally took him back to the hospital. I talked to the nurse, who mused perhaps I am a trigger for his anxiety and so is the dark. I looked at her sideways because she's clearly out of her god-damn mind.
He had a good day today, I spent a good chunk of the day with him. Except he really has no interest in me. I get there and he goes off to play in the lounge or the gaming room and wants me to wait in his room till he gets back. I don't understand why my son doesn't want to be around me.
I met with the other doctor (Dr. K) who runs the unit and he's telling me that Thing One's continuing on the Seroquel but he doesn't think this is bipolar or schizophrenia and that Noah's hallucinations are a product of severe anxiety. I don't understand that either, its not like these things happen when he's uber-anxious. They just do randomly. So from the sounds of it, I'm going to have a little boy coming home on an anti psychotic and a new SSRI (he's talking about starting Luvox now), which in my opinion leaves us in the EXACT SAME POSITION WE ENTERED UNDER. I'm so frustrated Ive been crying my eyes out because I feel like I did this to him for nothing. I justified the trauma of staying in the hospital by thinking that they'd get to the bottom of what was happening with him. It clearly is not the case. Also - I don't think the left hand knows what the right is doing, especially because both Dr.s are talking about totally different disorders and totally different symptoms. I'm going OUT OF MY MIND.
I really feel like no one is in our corner or committed to helping my son alleviate what is clearly TORMENTING him.
And it's tormenting me.
Clearly.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Groping through the fog
Dealing with child mental illness isn't easy. You cannot see it, measure its advances or prepare for attack. It's insidious, growing like cancer in the recesses of the mind and I hate it.
I keep hearing that the three most important things a mother does is keep their children happy, healthy and safe. I can do NONE of these things. Superficially I can alter their environment to promote these ideals, but when the "badness" is in his brain my hands are tied. More than that, Thing Two suffers as she continues to be his punching bag, his victim, his enemy. He is the problem AND the victim and I don't know how to make her world safe again either.
The Seroquel had been working to at least sedate him. He had been sleeping through the night without incident the first week and most of last. But its effects are slowly wearing off. Last night I found him asleep in the living room once again, awoken and frightened by "the man". I worry that he doesn't get enough rest from the torment of his demons. I worry more that he wanders while we sleep.
This weekend, Thing One threatened to kill myself and my daughter. He was raging, out of control and screamed "I'LL KILL YOU ALL!! I PROMISE YOU!!". After he calmed down, I spoke to him about that comment. He admitted that he considers killing myself and Thing Two "sometimes, but not everyday". He says the voices tell him to do it while I'm sleeping, but he's afraid I might wake up. It's chilling. Then, he burst into tears and ran from me. I grabbed him, gathered him in my arms while he sobbed that he didn't want to think those bad thoughts and he just wanted to be normal. He worries that his sick brain will never get better.
I can offer nothing to assuage him.
Last night, after one of the biggest meltdowns I've seen with him to date, he went for a walk with my dad and Thing Two. They came across some dandelion puffs and made wishes on the wind. Thing Two wishes fervently that Thing One's brain would not be sick anymore. They cried for each other. I died a little inside.
I feel like I'm sailing on the seeds of those wishes, bending to the wind and the whims of an unkind fate.
DAG
I keep hearing that the three most important things a mother does is keep their children happy, healthy and safe. I can do NONE of these things. Superficially I can alter their environment to promote these ideals, but when the "badness" is in his brain my hands are tied. More than that, Thing Two suffers as she continues to be his punching bag, his victim, his enemy. He is the problem AND the victim and I don't know how to make her world safe again either.
The Seroquel had been working to at least sedate him. He had been sleeping through the night without incident the first week and most of last. But its effects are slowly wearing off. Last night I found him asleep in the living room once again, awoken and frightened by "the man". I worry that he doesn't get enough rest from the torment of his demons. I worry more that he wanders while we sleep.
This weekend, Thing One threatened to kill myself and my daughter. He was raging, out of control and screamed "I'LL KILL YOU ALL!! I PROMISE YOU!!". After he calmed down, I spoke to him about that comment. He admitted that he considers killing myself and Thing Two "sometimes, but not everyday". He says the voices tell him to do it while I'm sleeping, but he's afraid I might wake up. It's chilling. Then, he burst into tears and ran from me. I grabbed him, gathered him in my arms while he sobbed that he didn't want to think those bad thoughts and he just wanted to be normal. He worries that his sick brain will never get better.
I can offer nothing to assuage him.
Last night, after one of the biggest meltdowns I've seen with him to date, he went for a walk with my dad and Thing Two. They came across some dandelion puffs and made wishes on the wind. Thing Two wishes fervently that Thing One's brain would not be sick anymore. They cried for each other. I died a little inside.
I feel like I'm sailing on the seeds of those wishes, bending to the wind and the whims of an unkind fate.
DAG
Monday, April 26, 2010
Genesis
As some of you already know, my parenting journey with Thing One has been a rocky one. He was diagnosed last September with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Oppositional Defiant Disorder. We tried and rejected Zoloft and settled with Prozac.
Despite those efforts, Thing One didn't change very much. We had some reduction in anxiety but all the anger, aggression, defiance and depression lingered and lingered...
Over the last month, there has been a dramatic increase in aggressive behaviour, both at home and on the school yard. He had many verbal arguments and physical altercations with his peers and became even more unfocused in the classroom. There was less eye contact, no interactions. Thing One retreated into his angry self and pushed us all away with his words and his curses. His grades continued to suffer, despite an acommodated, and then modified Individual Education Plan.
And then the thing happened. The giant red flag, the MOTHER of all red flags that sent me reeling and then rushing to the phone to schedule an appointment with our child psychiatrist (Dr. Brain). It isn't easy to talk about this, to tell others the horrors of my child's first slip from reality. In in interest of helping other parents, helping ourselves and refusing to hide from the stigma of mental illness I have chosen to tell it here.
I discovered that Thing One had been smearing feces on the walls and furniture in his room. He didn't have an answer why he did it, said he didn't know, couldn't tell me, didn't understand. He had NO emotion during this discussion, in fact - behaved as though this was a perfectly normal Saturday morning. That afternoon he began shrinking - anxiety building as he complained about the closeness and crowding of the local market, the issues surrounding any simple daily activity.
And then - the hallucinations. The came from nowhere - a man who wakes him in the night at tells him to sneak out of the house and runaway while we sleep, to jump off the balcony - to do it, do it, DO IT, you won't get in trouble!" The whispery things that make it hard for him to concentrate on what we are saying to him. The bugs in the corner that "the man" makes come. The paranoia that "the man" takes his toys, moves them around or makes them disappear for awhile. When they return, they are broken. The disrupted sleep, waking night after night and wandering about the house. Falling back asleep under the coffee table in the living room.
The Seroquel is helping. He's been sleeping right through the night (sedation is the main side effect). I've seen glimpses of the little boy I used to know (more than 2 years ago). But "the man", the whispers, the voices are still here. We are beginning a journey to eradicate those things that torment him.
He is broken.
The worst of it is that I cannot see where the sickness lives, how it grows, what he sees. I can't fix it or put my hands on it or even evaluate it. I have to rely on the reports of a 9 year old boy who barely understands what's happening to him.
What's happening to all of us...
Despite those efforts, Thing One didn't change very much. We had some reduction in anxiety but all the anger, aggression, defiance and depression lingered and lingered...
Over the last month, there has been a dramatic increase in aggressive behaviour, both at home and on the school yard. He had many verbal arguments and physical altercations with his peers and became even more unfocused in the classroom. There was less eye contact, no interactions. Thing One retreated into his angry self and pushed us all away with his words and his curses. His grades continued to suffer, despite an acommodated, and then modified Individual Education Plan.
And then the thing happened. The giant red flag, the MOTHER of all red flags that sent me reeling and then rushing to the phone to schedule an appointment with our child psychiatrist (Dr. Brain). It isn't easy to talk about this, to tell others the horrors of my child's first slip from reality. In in interest of helping other parents, helping ourselves and refusing to hide from the stigma of mental illness I have chosen to tell it here.
I discovered that Thing One had been smearing feces on the walls and furniture in his room. He didn't have an answer why he did it, said he didn't know, couldn't tell me, didn't understand. He had NO emotion during this discussion, in fact - behaved as though this was a perfectly normal Saturday morning. That afternoon he began shrinking - anxiety building as he complained about the closeness and crowding of the local market, the issues surrounding any simple daily activity.
And then - the hallucinations. The came from nowhere - a man who wakes him in the night at tells him to sneak out of the house and runaway while we sleep, to jump off the balcony - to do it, do it, DO IT, you won't get in trouble!" The whispery things that make it hard for him to concentrate on what we are saying to him. The bugs in the corner that "the man" makes come. The paranoia that "the man" takes his toys, moves them around or makes them disappear for awhile. When they return, they are broken. The disrupted sleep, waking night after night and wandering about the house. Falling back asleep under the coffee table in the living room.
The Seroquel is helping. He's been sleeping right through the night (sedation is the main side effect). I've seen glimpses of the little boy I used to know (more than 2 years ago). But "the man", the whispers, the voices are still here. We are beginning a journey to eradicate those things that torment him.
He is broken.
The worst of it is that I cannot see where the sickness lives, how it grows, what he sees. I can't fix it or put my hands on it or even evaluate it. I have to rely on the reports of a 9 year old boy who barely understands what's happening to him.
What's happening to all of us...
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
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