The Epic Illness

Sick.

Sick.Sick.Sick. On my back for the last six days, sweating, swearing, crying. My eyes are like two orbs of molten lava, dripping hot, sticky pain into my body. My skin hurts to look at, prickly, chilled. But no actual fever. Body aches, leg pain, back, arm, jaw (WTF?! JAW??). Tired, so very tired. The walls of my stomach throb dully and the world continues to turn on a off-kilter axis. I'm sick.

Other than making great relationships with school secretaries and university office answering machines - I'm hardly upright.


Send soup.

Or death.


DAG

My Parenting Journey

I've shared a little here and there about the struggles I've had with my 8 year old son (Thing One). For the last two years the struggle has been to try and get some psychiatric assessment for him in the face of a referral based health system.

Finally, I was able to get that. After a long hard road, I took him to be evaluated and here are the results. Thing One has been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) and Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD). These are companion disorders, and they are wreaking havoc in our home. We now have him taking 25mg of Zoloft (a SSRI to help ease the anxiety), and I am now currently enrolled in a Triple P (positive parenting) class for one on one tutoring in behaviour modification. In theory, these classes should help me to condition him to remove the "unwanted behaviours" and reinforce the positive ones. But - I am warned, this is a long process and behaviours are hard to change.

I can see that the Zoloft helps him (however minimally) to control his anxiety levels. Where he was once the child who needed to hear the fire safety plan every night for 8 months, he now accepts things more easily. He transferred to a new school and before school program this year with ease. Gone were the tell-tale signs of stress and repetitive behaviours (for the most part). But, now we see an increase in the oppositional and defiant behaviours.

It is so very difficult to look at this eight year old boy, right into his baby blue eyes and feel all of the love I have for him at that moment, at every moment, and accept the ugly words coming from his mouth. I've heard it all, been told to shut up, to leave him the "f" alone, that he hates me, wants to live somewhere else. All because I asked him to please brush his teeth. I have experienced his hate, his rage, his fists. Been pinched and slapped and watched him destroy my possessions. All because I told him we couldn't buy two boxes of cereal.

I've seen him walk by Thing Two and push her, slap her, pinch her, just because he's angry and she happens to be there. I've sent him for time outs exhaustingly, taken away his favorite possessions, retracted treats and special outings and gotten absolutely nowhere. I'm at the end of my rope with this kid and I don't know what to do. I fear that his life, social/emotional/home/school will be so deeply affected that he'll never experience true happiness. My heart is heavy and my reserves are empty.

Yesterday, the Aftermath asked me "How much of this are we supposed to take?"


My answer?

All of it.
Until there is no more.

Because that is the depth of a mother's love.

Sigh.

If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got...

Yes Hi (rapid breath)....

*gasp*

Ok - sorry, I've been gone, missing, AWOL or otherwise engaged. I've been BURIED under the enormous undertaking that is Teacher's College, trying desperately to find my way, my niche and my god- DAMNED day planner.

I'm an organizational nightmare.

That is all.

DAG.

And So We Begin Again

Today marks the day that I've officially been found just as long as I was unofficially lost. Today it has been fifteen years since I first met my dad, and I was fifteen on that day. We're equal - reached stasis - our equilibrium is restored. We've been building, rebuilding, restoring and breaking down until we're calmed in this dual symbiosis.

For those of you interested, you may have read HERE about the day I met my dad. This a true account, written many moons ago about the day that changed my life. And kept it changing.

Now, I'm an adult. With children of my own. Children who have Mommies and Daddies in their lives and haven't experienced the pain of not knowing where they've come from. I'm proud to say I've worked hard to prevent them from that black hole. More importantly, they have a "Papa" who loves them dearly and they're little lives are enriched because of it. I cannot imagine being here, being me (albeit a constant shifting definition of me) without my dad.

When I was broken and untrusting, lost inside myself - hiding from the world and its hurts - he reached for me. He held out an unwavering hand and doled out love in copious amounts. He drowned me in it, although at first I couldn't swim. He dove in and supported me, never overburdened, never tiring. When I started to cut through that water with more confidence he stepped back, but always right behind me. Out of the ashes I was reborn - the pheonix, the teenager, then the woman. His love makes me a better Mom, a better daughter, a better friend. He has shown me that although the world can hurt - and DOES, it is better to be hurt and experience greatness than to bunk down in the bogs of fear.

Today, and all other days of my life - I thank him. Thankyou Dad, for restoring myself, my confidence, my worth. For seeing that which was lacking and filling those fractures, quenching my thirsts - driving me on. Without you, I am only a scared girl on a cold street in a strange town. I love you.

We've come a long road, the long way round. Here's to a smoother path together.

My father has written his own post on this momentous day - you can read it here.

Modern Day Bonnie and Clyde

The Aftermath and I got excited and pulled out the photography equipment last night for some late night fun...