As a mother I want to thank CNN for writing and publishing their much needed piece on mental health awareness -
'My son is mentally ill,' so listen up. I also want to thank Stephanie Escamilla
for sharing their story. I cried while reading it because I understood the struggle. It is such a heartfelt piece that I wish everyone would read. As a way of saying thanks I would like to share part of our story that lead to S's diagnosis of Bipolar disorder. It is a bit untangled with J's diagnosis of Asperger's Disorder as well.
While getting my undergraduate degree I remember having a guest lecture in my developmental psychology class. I was intrigued by something they had to say and went to ask them how it would be in relation to my then eight year old daughter with bipolar. Instead of I thought provoking conversation the response I received was that my daughter did not have bipolar. Whom ever diagnosed her did it wrong. Without ever meeting my daughter, or hearing her story, they felt that they had the right to tell me what was not going on with my daughter.
S's Story
I remember S being laid on the clear weighing bin right after she was born and lifting her head up to stare at the world around her. I was amazed, even more so since her brother was nine months old when he accomplished the same thing. As an infant she hated to be held during the day. Yet, the only time she would sleep at night was in my arms. She was only truly happy when she was in a baby swing - we owned two.
At about 18 months my daughter was constantly running away from me. Her favorite word ( and the only one I ever remember her saying) was "you can't tell me what to do". She would say it fast with the syllables running together so it was in fact just one word. "Youcanttellmewhattodo!" That was my daughters first word. I knew their was something different about her. I didn't know what it was. I suspected she had ADHD and we would have to deal with it when she started school.
However, I had to seek help when she was three. L was born just three days before S's third birthday. Within three months their dad was deployed to Iraq and I was all alone.
S was no longer just defiant and hyper. By this point she was making regular threats to my life. She was also waking up screaming about the spiders eating her alive. Everywhere we went she saw things, and they scared her. Not that we actually went anywhere. A quick grocery shopping trip was a nightmare. She yelled and screamed so bad that we were often just asked to leave the store. I had to have food delivered to us.
S's diagnosis
I remember our first trip to a psychologist. At a friends assistance I had made an appointment for J as well, although it was S who was my primary concern at the moment. When the psychologist had called us back into his office I lugged in L in her car seat and herded J and S onto a couch. J picked up some object from the floor and plopped it into his mouth. S started using the couch as a slide. She climbed up the back and slid down. Then she was down the arm of the couch. I hadn't even sat down yet and she had slid down the couch at least ten times. I let her. I was too tired to care. And wasn't the psychologist there to help me? We would fix this together. I had no idea to road that we were in for.
ADHD
By the end if the appointment both of my children had a prescription for Concerta and a temporary diagnosis of ADHD. Relief had come at last. Except that just made everything worse. I gave J the medicine and he became obsessive. He hyper focused on coloring. He colored for THREE DAYS STRAIGHT! He didn't sleep and I had to force feed him. He went through a stack of coloring books two feet deep. If I tried to pull him away he lost his mind. However, as concerned as I was I was so busy with S that there wasn't much I could do. When I gave S the medicine she went crazy. I mean CRAZY. I had to be with her every second of every day because she was doing things like climbing up to the walls. Yes seriously climbing up the walls. It didn't last a week before I called the psychologist back and told him to fix it or commit me.
The Start of a Long Journey
Our first psychologist wasn't all that great. At the time I was appalled by his ignorance. However, with what I know now I understand that my children's diagnosis were truly before their time. J first received his diagnosis because my good natured friend gave me a book called Aspergers Syndrome by Tony Attwood. I realized not only did my son have Aspergers, but I did as well (since then I also received a diagnosis). When I suggested this to the psychologist his response was yes that fits. I have no idea how to help you. I'll see you next week.
As for S they were first convinced that she had reactive attachment disorder (RAD). A disorder typically found in neglected children. I suppose it was their way of telling me they thought I was a crappy parent. Yet, it didn't fit. The one major piece was that my daughter was not only emotionally bonded to me, she was if anything, overly bonded to me. She connected easily to people and held the bond forever. When I read The Bipolar Child it clicked in place for me. This was what was happening to my child. The therapist reluctantly agreed.
Over and Over and Over Again
It wasn't long after I decided we needed to find someone who could help us. I found a behavioral pediatrician who actually ran psychological testing on my children and confirmed their diagnosis. He is the one who gave me important skills on how to handle the rages. He is also the one who watched with me as L bargain to regress into autism and diagnosed her with PDD-NOS when she was a year and a half old. He also went through every medication he could think of until we finally found something that lessened the hallucinations and homicidal tendencies in S.
As I began to see some improvements in S I started seeing J become less and less functioning and more hostile. To make it worse our pediatrician was so busy we could never get in to see him regularly. It was time to move on.
This decision set us on a path for several years. Every year we would get a new therapist. They would tell me S was not bipolar. I would node and say ok then what is going on. Between six to eight months they would confirm her bipolar diagnosis. By the end of the year they would tell us their was nothing more they could do to help us. Sometimes they would point us towards someone new. Other times they would just say good bye. J wasn't fairing much better. He had begun getting more and more violent. When he was eight he took a knife he had stolen and tried to kill me. He stayed in the hospital a week. A year later while ordering ice cream from Mcdonalds he started describing how he was going to carve up my body.
I remember sitting in the emergency room for hours. I was in a room with my girls and my son who had just described my demise. He described it again for the nurse. He stayed in a week again this time. By that time I was done with hospitals. They hadn't done anything to help my son. He came home with stories of blueberry pie and guitar hero and asked to go back.
During this time I had resigned myself to the fact that one of my children would probably kill me. Then I continued my effort to get them help.
Not Quite the Conclusion
Our journey will never have an ending. Most of the time we take three steps back for every one step forward. But even then we slowly progress. When my children were younger I did not dare to hope for their future. Now I know that while it will not be perfect it will be glorious. It will be glorious because they have fought and struggled to do what comes naturally to so many others - to live in this world.
. I modified the recipe by using 12 whole eggs instead of 10 whole eggs and 2 egg whites. I also used coconut oil in place of the butter.
