The Crossroads
We are hitting the cross roads of transition problems and separation anxiety coupled with some control issues. Whew, what a mess. My son has a problem with transitions. He always has but as he has matured he has been better able to handle the normal, every day transitions of school vs. home vs. going out to eat. Most people will read that last statement and think, 'ah, yes, I remember when little johnny wouldn't come out of the McDonalds play area and would scream like a banshee when it was time to go'. Now take that
same thought and put in on a six year old who needs to go to school or a playdate or just to bed. Separation is very hard on my little boy. He is getting much, much better but things like the end and beginning of school are particularly tough for him.
For us, the end result of a transition battle is a separation anxiety problem. I have just thown a HUGE tempertantrum over the end of a playdate and now I need to see my mommy. Not only see her but touch her and hold her and be with her ... only not really... because attachment disorder says that she cannot handle my dispair and I must take care of myself so I must scream and push her away.
Getting the picture yet?
Tonight we had another tornado of transition, separation and control issues. A tornado is my best description because I really cannot figure out where one starts and the other begins. It is just crazy here. It is the end of the school year so I expect this but expecting it is not the same as living through it. I worry that my son will never learn how to control this storm of emotions inside of him. I think we need professional advice again. Luckily, I can still go back to our therapist to get advice. She doesn't have a magic wand but she does have a lot more experience than I do. She has a lot of ideas.
Fingers crossed. We will make it to summer.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Blue Chair
The Blue Chair
Today, we graduated to the blue chair.
Ok, this might not sound exciting to many people but for me it is cause for celebration. My son asked me today 'will you be outside the door or in the blue chair'. I am in the blue chair. See, the blue chair is downstairs, not outside my son's second story bedroom door. The blue chair is in front of the t.v. The blue chair is freedom.
If I am in the blue chair I can talk on the phone without worrying so much that my children are listening. If I'm in the blue chair I can run to the kitchen really fast. If I'm in the blue chair, I am one BIG step further away from my son. I am in the blue chair.
In the past year I have seen my son progress so much. He is working hard on becoming independent. He works on picturing me at home or in the car. He is working on feeling safe and confident. He is doing great.
He is doing great, but the blue chair... the blue chair is amazing.
Today, we graduated to the blue chair.
Ok, this might not sound exciting to many people but for me it is cause for celebration. My son asked me today 'will you be outside the door or in the blue chair'. I am in the blue chair. See, the blue chair is downstairs, not outside my son's second story bedroom door. The blue chair is in front of the t.v. The blue chair is freedom.
If I am in the blue chair I can talk on the phone without worrying so much that my children are listening. If I'm in the blue chair I can run to the kitchen really fast. If I'm in the blue chair, I am one BIG step further away from my son. I am in the blue chair.
In the past year I have seen my son progress so much. He is working hard on becoming independent. He works on picturing me at home or in the car. He is working on feeling safe and confident. He is doing great.
He is doing great, but the blue chair... the blue chair is amazing.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Is it ok to go home to die?
Is it ever ok to send someone home to die?
I have been struggling with this question off and on for months now. My MIL is in stable health. Her medication is again on track. She is mentally present. She is also terribly homesick. Moving to IL was never her idea and honestly we always thought that she would return home when the summer arrived. Well, summer is here and we are unsure what to do.
On one hand she is in decent health for her age. She needs her medication and she needs to have a full-time caregiver but we could get both of these in Indiana. However, since October she has been in the emergency room more than a half a dozen times including two hospital stays. More than one doctor has told us that she cannot live alone. It sounds pretty cut and dry when you read the above. Obviously, she needs to stay in assisted living. The problem is her mental state. MIL is starting to fail due to depression. She is deeply unhappy everytime that I visit. She talks of how much work there is to do at home and how little there is to do here... how bored and unhappy she is... how everyone is always telling her what to do... how much she misses home.
Sending her home is a death sentence. No question about it. I don't think she could survive even with a caregiver. I'm worried that keeping her here is also a death sentence, so the question is, which is more humane? Which is the best decision?
I have no idea.
I have been struggling with this question off and on for months now. My MIL is in stable health. Her medication is again on track. She is mentally present. She is also terribly homesick. Moving to IL was never her idea and honestly we always thought that she would return home when the summer arrived. Well, summer is here and we are unsure what to do.
On one hand she is in decent health for her age. She needs her medication and she needs to have a full-time caregiver but we could get both of these in Indiana. However, since October she has been in the emergency room more than a half a dozen times including two hospital stays. More than one doctor has told us that she cannot live alone. It sounds pretty cut and dry when you read the above. Obviously, she needs to stay in assisted living. The problem is her mental state. MIL is starting to fail due to depression. She is deeply unhappy everytime that I visit. She talks of how much work there is to do at home and how little there is to do here... how bored and unhappy she is... how everyone is always telling her what to do... how much she misses home.
Sending her home is a death sentence. No question about it. I don't think she could survive even with a caregiver. I'm worried that keeping her here is also a death sentence, so the question is, which is more humane? Which is the best decision?
I have no idea.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The Matriarch
The Matriarch
Today it occurred to me that I may be the matriarch of my family. Yep, the matriarch. I may need a stiff shot of whiskey to handle this. When my children were littler and struggling with attachment disorder they would work very hard to play my husband and I against each other. Now, some of this is normal but AD means pushing everything past normal. Fed up with this I told my children that I was 'the head of the family' that I fact 'I owned everything. I own the house, the toys, the food, the children. Everything!'. My son, always searching for the crack in every bit of logic answered 'you don't own daddy'. To which I replied, 'yes, I do. I own everything in the world, including daddy. I am the head of the family.'
Anyone reading this will recognize that I don't own the world and anyone who knows my husband will recogize that I don't own him. We're an obnoxiously equal couple; however, my four year old son did not understand this and howled like the end of the world had arrived at our doorstep. Fights from this point forward centered on me, the head of the family. My husband was often (but not always) given a pass on the screaming and tantrums because the main push was to dethrone the head of the family, me.
Over time this proved to be one of the smartest things I have ever said to my kids. When my son was smaller, he focused all of his rage on me. It wasn't fun but as the mom I was going to get it anyway. Taking some of it away from my husband gave my son someone to turn to when times were rough. After all both he and daddy were under the thumb of a repressive dictator. My daughter quietly examined all of these interactions and then one day announced that she too would be the head of her family. I smiled. Then I
explained to her that whatever parent stayed at home was the head of the family and that there were many responsibilities with the position. She still thinks it's pretty cool.
But I believe I might have become 'The Matriarch' today. This is not a position that I sought and frankly, I don't want it but it appears to be mine. With the addition of my MIL to our little family I have stepped up.
Over the last several months I have taken over the bill paying for two households. I am first point of contact for MIL's doctors. I am recognized at our local ER. I am also the one who has to solve the strange problems like... MIL accidently set her microwave on fire and I have to explain to her why she cannot have it back. Or... the conversation with MIL on why she must take a shower.
On the other hand, I think I get this title mostly because I don't want it. When MIL told me that she didn't want to take her medication, I told her to discuss the issue with her doctor and I would back her up 100%. This scared her (something I didn't foresee) and we haven't discussed it again. With my son I explain to him that he is in charge of his asthma issues, his medication, his sensory problems. My job is to help him and to teach him how to handle the problems. My son has grown so much because I know he is old
enough and smart enough to handle this.
I've come to realize that being The Matriarch is the easiest and hardest position in the world. My job is to trust everyone to do their jobs while watching to see that no one drops the ball. It's a lot of stress and a lot of worry and very little action on my part.
Today it occurred to me that I may be the matriarch of my family. Yep, the matriarch. I may need a stiff shot of whiskey to handle this. When my children were littler and struggling with attachment disorder they would work very hard to play my husband and I against each other. Now, some of this is normal but AD means pushing everything past normal. Fed up with this I told my children that I was 'the head of the family' that I fact 'I owned everything. I own the house, the toys, the food, the children. Everything!'. My son, always searching for the crack in every bit of logic answered 'you don't own daddy'. To which I replied, 'yes, I do. I own everything in the world, including daddy. I am the head of the family.'
Anyone reading this will recognize that I don't own the world and anyone who knows my husband will recogize that I don't own him. We're an obnoxiously equal couple; however, my four year old son did not understand this and howled like the end of the world had arrived at our doorstep. Fights from this point forward centered on me, the head of the family. My husband was often (but not always) given a pass on the screaming and tantrums because the main push was to dethrone the head of the family, me.
Over time this proved to be one of the smartest things I have ever said to my kids. When my son was smaller, he focused all of his rage on me. It wasn't fun but as the mom I was going to get it anyway. Taking some of it away from my husband gave my son someone to turn to when times were rough. After all both he and daddy were under the thumb of a repressive dictator. My daughter quietly examined all of these interactions and then one day announced that she too would be the head of her family. I smiled. Then I
explained to her that whatever parent stayed at home was the head of the family and that there were many responsibilities with the position. She still thinks it's pretty cool.
But I believe I might have become 'The Matriarch' today. This is not a position that I sought and frankly, I don't want it but it appears to be mine. With the addition of my MIL to our little family I have stepped up.
Over the last several months I have taken over the bill paying for two households. I am first point of contact for MIL's doctors. I am recognized at our local ER. I am also the one who has to solve the strange problems like... MIL accidently set her microwave on fire and I have to explain to her why she cannot have it back. Or... the conversation with MIL on why she must take a shower.
On the other hand, I think I get this title mostly because I don't want it. When MIL told me that she didn't want to take her medication, I told her to discuss the issue with her doctor and I would back her up 100%. This scared her (something I didn't foresee) and we haven't discussed it again. With my son I explain to him that he is in charge of his asthma issues, his medication, his sensory problems. My job is to help him and to teach him how to handle the problems. My son has grown so much because I know he is old
enough and smart enough to handle this.
I've come to realize that being The Matriarch is the easiest and hardest position in the world. My job is to trust everyone to do their jobs while watching to see that no one drops the ball. It's a lot of stress and a lot of worry and very little action on my part.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Birth Parent Search
The Birth Parent Search
We are currently discussing the birth parent search. This sounds like a simple question. Do I search for the birth parents of my children or not? This seems like a simple question with a simple answer. Of course. Then I have access to medical information and personal information for my children. But the real question is... do I search for the birth parents of my children?
I am finding this to be a tough question in many ways. I would be lying if I said that I don't find this threatening to me as a mom. The birthmom has done nothing wrong in the eyes of my children. She has never said 'no' to unhealthy snacks. She has never enforced bedtime. She has never yelled in anger. She is a saint. While I know she has never spent 4 nights in the hospital when my son was sick or coached my daughter in fractions, these are things easily forgotten by seven year olds. While we talk about the birthmom freely in our house, she is still a mystery and shrouded in fairy tales. If my chilren are the Repunzel equivilent, what am I?
And then there is the birth father. A complete absense in the history of my children. I believe he takes up one line in the report of the birth family. My husband has no competition. I am both envious of my husband and saddened for my children. There is absolutely no way for us to ever find the birth father.
So now what?
Against ever fiber of my mommy-being, I believe that we will have to search for the birth mother. At sometime, my chilren will deserve to know and to make the decision to meet her or not. I can see the heartache in my future, but being a good mother means putting your children first and I believe that my children will need this connection. I am still planning on putting this off for another year and I will not tell my children until they are older, but I will have the information waiting for them when they are ready.
When will they be ready?
Well, actually, I don't know. My kids are already asking a lot of questions about Guatemala. It holds an almost mythical quality to them. They know it is their birthplace and they want to see it. They want to go back. They are seven now and I believe we will take them to latin america before they are ten. I think this will be a tough, emotional trip for them and I want them to take it before they are old enough to pull back from me. I want to be able to be there for them when they have questions.
For our trip to Guatemala, I'm unsure at what age we will actually travel. I am not comfortable in the country right now. I don't believe it is terribly safe. On the other hand (I have many hands) safe or not, we will need to make the trip. Perhaps twelve or thirteen will be the right age.
Some people might wonder why I am thinking so hard about something that is so far away. I have a good reason. I don't want to go. I don't want to do this. They are my children. They are american. I don't want to acknowledge any other family or heritage. By planning now, I will be ready in six years. I will be ready to face the next step growth for my children. My goal is to always be there for them.
We are currently discussing the birth parent search. This sounds like a simple question. Do I search for the birth parents of my children or not? This seems like a simple question with a simple answer. Of course. Then I have access to medical information and personal information for my children. But the real question is... do I search for the birth parents of my children?
I am finding this to be a tough question in many ways. I would be lying if I said that I don't find this threatening to me as a mom. The birthmom has done nothing wrong in the eyes of my children. She has never said 'no' to unhealthy snacks. She has never enforced bedtime. She has never yelled in anger. She is a saint. While I know she has never spent 4 nights in the hospital when my son was sick or coached my daughter in fractions, these are things easily forgotten by seven year olds. While we talk about the birthmom freely in our house, she is still a mystery and shrouded in fairy tales. If my chilren are the Repunzel equivilent, what am I?
And then there is the birth father. A complete absense in the history of my children. I believe he takes up one line in the report of the birth family. My husband has no competition. I am both envious of my husband and saddened for my children. There is absolutely no way for us to ever find the birth father.
So now what?
Against ever fiber of my mommy-being, I believe that we will have to search for the birth mother. At sometime, my chilren will deserve to know and to make the decision to meet her or not. I can see the heartache in my future, but being a good mother means putting your children first and I believe that my children will need this connection. I am still planning on putting this off for another year and I will not tell my children until they are older, but I will have the information waiting for them when they are ready.
When will they be ready?
Well, actually, I don't know. My kids are already asking a lot of questions about Guatemala. It holds an almost mythical quality to them. They know it is their birthplace and they want to see it. They want to go back. They are seven now and I believe we will take them to latin america before they are ten. I think this will be a tough, emotional trip for them and I want them to take it before they are old enough to pull back from me. I want to be able to be there for them when they have questions.
For our trip to Guatemala, I'm unsure at what age we will actually travel. I am not comfortable in the country right now. I don't believe it is terribly safe. On the other hand (I have many hands) safe or not, we will need to make the trip. Perhaps twelve or thirteen will be the right age.
Some people might wonder why I am thinking so hard about something that is so far away. I have a good reason. I don't want to go. I don't want to do this. They are my children. They are american. I don't want to acknowledge any other family or heritage. By planning now, I will be ready in six years. I will be ready to face the next step growth for my children. My goal is to always be there for them.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Sarah
Tonight I'm thinking about my friend, Sarah. Sarah is in her first year of marriage and is in labor with her first child at a measly 23 weeks. She also has medical problems of her own. I'm worried about both of them.
All of her friends are waiting to hear any news. Waiting to see if there is anything we can do to help. Waiting sucks.
During a wait like this, it seems that all of us are reflecting on our own lives and our own choices. I remember the two years of trying to conceive. The stress every month with the pregnacy test came back negative. I remember wondering what I had done wrong. Was it the glass of wine? Was it because I was too stress out? I'll never know. My husband and I fall into the 2% of couples who have no medical reason for not getting pregnant. We just don't.
I also remember the two years of waiting for my children to arrive. We had brief passes with domestic adoption. There was the friend of a friend who changed her mind. There was the girl who was diagnosed with an immediate terminal illness. Internationally, there were closed countries everywhere we went. There was a lot of waiting. Then, there were my twins.
As I talk to my girlfriends, each of us is thinking along these same lines. We are thanking our lucky stars for the children we have regardless of how difficult the road was. We're looking back at past pregnacies and past adoptions and past difficulties. We're remembering how lucky we are to have the families that we do.
Ironically, we're also reflecting on the children we wanted and never had. It's surprising how much grief is also tied up with families. A young girlfriend of mine is trying to decide if she will be able to have a second child after a difficult delivery with her first. A second girlfriend is remembering her many miscarriages. I still wish for our third child, an adoption we could not afford.
I often think that this is the hidden life of women. The life or the part of us that men are not a part of. Don't get me wrong, my husband held my hand through every up and down, but it is different for him. This is something that binds all women together.
Tonight, my thoughts and prayers are with Sarah and her unborn baby. I am praying for the best for them both.
All of her friends are waiting to hear any news. Waiting to see if there is anything we can do to help. Waiting sucks.
During a wait like this, it seems that all of us are reflecting on our own lives and our own choices. I remember the two years of trying to conceive. The stress every month with the pregnacy test came back negative. I remember wondering what I had done wrong. Was it the glass of wine? Was it because I was too stress out? I'll never know. My husband and I fall into the 2% of couples who have no medical reason for not getting pregnant. We just don't.
I also remember the two years of waiting for my children to arrive. We had brief passes with domestic adoption. There was the friend of a friend who changed her mind. There was the girl who was diagnosed with an immediate terminal illness. Internationally, there were closed countries everywhere we went. There was a lot of waiting. Then, there were my twins.
As I talk to my girlfriends, each of us is thinking along these same lines. We are thanking our lucky stars for the children we have regardless of how difficult the road was. We're looking back at past pregnacies and past adoptions and past difficulties. We're remembering how lucky we are to have the families that we do.
Ironically, we're also reflecting on the children we wanted and never had. It's surprising how much grief is also tied up with families. A young girlfriend of mine is trying to decide if she will be able to have a second child after a difficult delivery with her first. A second girlfriend is remembering her many miscarriages. I still wish for our third child, an adoption we could not afford.
I often think that this is the hidden life of women. The life or the part of us that men are not a part of. Don't get me wrong, my husband held my hand through every up and down, but it is different for him. This is something that binds all women together.
Tonight, my thoughts and prayers are with Sarah and her unborn baby. I am praying for the best for them both.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
MIL Ill again
Tonight, I'd planned on telling you one of my funny stories. Heaven knows that my family has a ton of them. Instead, tonight I'm concerned about my MIL.
A couple of months ago we went through a round of ER visits, hospital stays and general panic. You see, when MIL goes to the ER, she usually stays in the hospital for a few days. While this sounds good, it isn't. In the hospital she gets very, very confused. So confused that the first time this happened, we thought she must have had a stroke. Luckily, not so. However, she was not rational either. She cannot distinguish between the assisted living facility and the hospital. Between the ER and the assisted living facility, yes; but not between a hospital room and the assisted living apartment.
For the first hospital stay she was scared and angry. Anger has been one of the hardest things for us to handle because it took us so long to realize that anger is just fear with a mask on. That she really isn't trying to be difficult but she doesn't understand the situation. We reassured her that no one had stolen her room and that no one had taken her things. Luckily, she believed us.
Fast forward through several more trips to the ER in a very short amount of time. The family started discussing a nursing home instead of the assisted living facility. This was tough on all of us. The idea was for MIL to get better, not worse. Luckily, the doctor happened to be at the AL facility during a new attack that would have sent MIL back to the ER yet again (and would have sealed her fate for the nursing home). After seeing her exact difficulties the doctor was able to adjust her medications to get her condition back under control.
Fantastic news, right? Sort of.
The doctor warned us that we had reached 'the kitchen sink'. Starting from that day he was giving her everything he could for her condition. If (when?) she worsened again, there is no additional medication, no more rabbits from a hat. Hmm. Ok, not such good news.
It's been somewhere between a month and six weeks since we received this diagnosis. Everytime she has a bad day, I mentally hold my breath. Each time, she has pulled through. All is good. Today, I'm not so certain. I am again holding my breath.
This time MIL has two issues. First is a wound that has gotten infected. If you look at my MIL's legs harshly the skin will break so you can imagine what happens when she actually bumps into something. The wound had been healing well for a few days but then it started to hurt and now the infection. The doctor has put her on an antibodic which will hopefully clear this up.
In addition to the wound she is having breathing problems today. Breathing problems are a double edged sword for MIL. First, she is tired and does not want to take her nebulizer. Second, she cannot breath when taking the nebulizer. Huh? See she is short of breath and the oxygen comes in through a tube under her nose. She cannot breath better unless she takes a 20 minute breathing treatment through her mouth. See the problem? She needs every breath through her nose to maintain but must have the medicine through her mouth. Today I managed to coax her into taking about half of her medicine, then I looked away to do something. When I turned back she had dumped the rest on the floor. Nebulizer over.
Since she takes the nebulizer several times a day I'm hopeful that the next one will be taken in full but just in case I notified the nurse on staff to have someone watch her take her medicine.
Tonight I am worried about her but I have been worried, much more worried before. Hopefully there will be no 2:00am phone call.
Hopefully tomorrow she will be filled full of mischief again and driving me nuts. I hope so.
A couple of months ago we went through a round of ER visits, hospital stays and general panic. You see, when MIL goes to the ER, she usually stays in the hospital for a few days. While this sounds good, it isn't. In the hospital she gets very, very confused. So confused that the first time this happened, we thought she must have had a stroke. Luckily, not so. However, she was not rational either. She cannot distinguish between the assisted living facility and the hospital. Between the ER and the assisted living facility, yes; but not between a hospital room and the assisted living apartment.
For the first hospital stay she was scared and angry. Anger has been one of the hardest things for us to handle because it took us so long to realize that anger is just fear with a mask on. That she really isn't trying to be difficult but she doesn't understand the situation. We reassured her that no one had stolen her room and that no one had taken her things. Luckily, she believed us.
Fast forward through several more trips to the ER in a very short amount of time. The family started discussing a nursing home instead of the assisted living facility. This was tough on all of us. The idea was for MIL to get better, not worse. Luckily, the doctor happened to be at the AL facility during a new attack that would have sent MIL back to the ER yet again (and would have sealed her fate for the nursing home). After seeing her exact difficulties the doctor was able to adjust her medications to get her condition back under control.
Fantastic news, right? Sort of.
The doctor warned us that we had reached 'the kitchen sink'. Starting from that day he was giving her everything he could for her condition. If (when?) she worsened again, there is no additional medication, no more rabbits from a hat. Hmm. Ok, not such good news.
It's been somewhere between a month and six weeks since we received this diagnosis. Everytime she has a bad day, I mentally hold my breath. Each time, she has pulled through. All is good. Today, I'm not so certain. I am again holding my breath.
This time MIL has two issues. First is a wound that has gotten infected. If you look at my MIL's legs harshly the skin will break so you can imagine what happens when she actually bumps into something. The wound had been healing well for a few days but then it started to hurt and now the infection. The doctor has put her on an antibodic which will hopefully clear this up.
In addition to the wound she is having breathing problems today. Breathing problems are a double edged sword for MIL. First, she is tired and does not want to take her nebulizer. Second, she cannot breath when taking the nebulizer. Huh? See she is short of breath and the oxygen comes in through a tube under her nose. She cannot breath better unless she takes a 20 minute breathing treatment through her mouth. See the problem? She needs every breath through her nose to maintain but must have the medicine through her mouth. Today I managed to coax her into taking about half of her medicine, then I looked away to do something. When I turned back she had dumped the rest on the floor. Nebulizer over.
Since she takes the nebulizer several times a day I'm hopeful that the next one will be taken in full but just in case I notified the nurse on staff to have someone watch her take her medicine.
Tonight I am worried about her but I have been worried, much more worried before. Hopefully there will be no 2:00am phone call.
Hopefully tomorrow she will be filled full of mischief again and driving me nuts. I hope so.
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