I Guess My Medicine Hasn't Kicked In Yet

“Mom!”  Aiden yells from down the hall.  “Where are you?”

"I’m brushing my hair.”

Ten seconds later he is standing in the door to the bathroom.  “Yes, what is it?” I ask.

“Um, hmm.  I don’t remember.  I guess my medicine hasn’t kicked in yet,” he laughs. “Oh, wait…no, that isn’t it.  Hmm.”

I prompted him a little on what he was doing before he wanted to ask me something in order to try to help his recall.  After about 30 seconds he said, ”Oh, I remember. Is today July 7?”

A little over a year ago this conversation would not have gone so well.

Instead of the good natured chuckle he had at himself for forgetting what he wanted, he would have gotten a dark look on his face and yelled at me for making him forget because I wasn’t in the same room he was when he had a question.  He would have stomped off, slammed his door, ripped up some paper or thrown something.  I would quietly go back to what I was doing, so used to this scenario that I knew nothing productive could be accomplished till he was able to gain control of himself, and when that occurred I would go talk to him.  Most likely, he would never remember what he wanted to ask me in the first place.

I knew there was something just not right when he was a toddler.  He didn’t respond to things the way the parenting books say he was supposed to.  He would cry and seem in distress at a loud show, yet throw a temper tantrum on steroids if he couldn’t watch it.  He was vehemently scared of anything in the dark, it’s actually only been in the last year that he doesn’t sleep with the light on. He had severe separation anxiety when it came to being away from me, yet often acted like he hated me. He hated to color or play with play dough or most other things preschoolers liked to do.  As he got older, I noticed he couldn’t usually follow directions that had more than one step, and sometimes he’d forget the one step ones.   He had extreme difficulty controlling his emotions.  He had little attention span, jumping from one activity to another.

There was one exception, baseball.  There he has total focus.  But he is also abnormally obsessed with it, to the point that he can give you the stats for just about any player in the MLB at any given time.

It wasn’t until he started failing in school in 5^th grade that I could really get anyone to listen that he wasn’t just a “boy being a boy” or that he needed more handwriting practice (because every day after school since kindergarten wasn’t enough),  or that I just needed  to  improve my parenting skills.  He was sent for evaluations and was diagnosed with ADHD Inattentive type (formerly known as ADD) and that he had sensory processing issues and fine motor delays, as well as what seems to be dyslexia.

He started on medication for ADHD.  Parenting strategies changed – I no longer disciplined for forgotten homework, I came up with strategies to help him remember based on research I did on his disorder.  I was able to get him accommodations at school through a 504 plan based on his disabilities.  He’s on a waiting list for Occupational Therapy, for which he now qualifies, and his neurologist gave him some activities to work on his fine motor skills at home.  We’ve discussed what his diagnoses mean, and how it does not make him inferior in any way, and how it makes him the same kid he always was, that we just now have more tools available to struggle through difficulties.

He’s a happier, more confident, more successful kid.  He’s less perfectionistic, and is able to see that he is not a failure if his brain makes him process things a little differently.  His handwriting improved tremendously and he’s started teaching himself cursive.  He has no problem discussing his diagnoses with other kids and has actually helped some friends feel OK with theirs.

He can hold a normal conversation without it ending in a meltdown.

People often question why parents would seek out diagnoses for their children, or, God forbid, let them be treated with medication for them.  This morning’s conversation with my son, that is why.

And for the struggles I still have to help him go through, that’s why they have wine.