Partial Program/Full Disaster

A tells my mom he really liked program. He made an “anger” poster about what makes him angry- “LIFE”

All this therapy and anger management strikes me as bullshit. I would love to see A spending his day doing yoga, painting, music therapy, swimming…doing physical things to stay calm and keep active while we give the meds a chance to work. In my next life I will start a day treatment program that focuses on nature and serenity instead of  anger and frustration.

We hang his anger poster in downstairs shower– his new “quiet room.” we lined to bottom of the stall with a dog bed. A likes it in there.

There is acting out, but I don’t back down. “You will NOT misbehave. You WILL live in this family. Daddy and I love you and WILL NOT allow this type of behavior.” But too many consequences seem to push him over the edge. I wonder if love alone and a strong desire to keep him home will be enough. Consequences sound like such a good idea but I have to back off.

We do notice a few hours during the day where A seems pretty stable and has much better impulse control, but there are 24 hours in a day…

D works on Thanksgiving. His dad wants to help so he delivers a Thanksgiving meal to our house early in the morning. I never know what to do when he is so kind. He seems to get mad when I thank him.

I invite my step sister E over for the feast. She too is bipolar. She too is overwhelmed by large family gatherings. H joins the rest of the family at my sister’s for the “real meal.”

A hates all the food. Nothing is  making him happy. He wants to be alone, but with me. He hates turkey today. He hates stuffing. He wants pasta but it’s too cold. Now its too hot and has no butter. “Why the hell did you put butter on my pasta!?!?” he screams next. I know he has to eat. This is how he has always been. Grumpy and then when he eats he is an angel. I am a pro at discreetly putting food next to him and distracting him with tv or a story and before you know it he is asking for seconds.

Only not this time. He is a mess. I try to encourage him to come outside so we can get fresh air– it’s a good coping skill I tell him. He won’t open the door because he is afraid the dog will run away.

After bedtime E and I talk about things. She says I have a lot of patience. I cry. She tells me that she only feels angry when her meds are off. She is so honest and so caring. I’m so glad she can give me her point of view because I am just guessing. She is living it.

Friday morning we are off to the partial program. A wants to go. We have a nice car ride there. I enjoy the extra time we have together now in the car. He seems more “available” lately and we can connect.

As we approach the parking lot A says he doesn’t want to go in. I coax him out of the car and we make it in the door. I give Nurse J a report of behaviors– no aggressive behaviors to report, but some acting act. I wonder about focusing on the  positive.  We are supposed to walk in everyday and report all his transgressions in front of him? And everyone else too?

I go to leave and A flips out. He grabs me and won’t stay. I feel helpless. Staff tells me they aren’t allowed to touch him. I feel more helpless. I tell A he is strong and he can do this. I will be back at 2:30. I trust the staff and he will be safe. A grabs tighter. I look to Nurse J for help. She asks what the alternatives are. I say I guess hospital– but I don’t want to go there– I don’t want to threaten with the hospital. A and I both know that the third time means residential and I know he can function- more than function- at home with the right meds and supports.

Nurse J says not to make a threat unless I will follow through. I tell A it is the partial program or hospital. He clings to me. I am lost. He is having such separation anxiety and I am threatening with the ultimate separation–residential treatment. I stay strong and walk out. A is attached to me.

We get in the car and I am mad. I am sad. I am frustrated. I am worried. My baby.

You are going to go to this program. I get out. He follows. I get him int he door and I shove him in before he can grab me. I run to the car and drive away. I come back and sneak upstairs to docs office. I wait a long time but do eventually see him. I tell Dr. R about A’s anxiety and behavior.

Serequol. 25 mgs. Start tonight at 6. Don’t worry if he is very sleepy.

I am relieved. I didn’t get nonsense about family structure and discipline. I got a prescription. And I think I remember Dr. G saying she wanted to start A on Serequol. All is good.

6pm and I give A the new meds. He does get very sleepy.

Up at 5:30 Saturday morning. So needy. So agitated. Nothing is making him happy. He gets physically aggressive. I call Dr. R and leave a message. Something isn’t right and we need help.

We do have a few moments of good times. It is decided A needs his own room so we go to Home Depot and he picks out colors. Its fun. A and I are alone but H calls and wants to come. I’m torn but I agree. On the way home she and A fight. He hits her. I feel so bad.

I take a leap and suggest the whole family paint the room together. I worry D is going to get mad if the kids make a mess. I take him aside and remind him its the process not the product. I think he gets it.

I tell the kids that if they do a neat job with minimal mess they will get a prize. They each pick something I was planning on getting anyway– H wants a cover for her itouch. B wants _____ and A wants a lizard. I explain they can earn the prize by being very careful where and how they paint and keeping their clothes clean. I also explain they will have to wait until I am able to get to a store to get the prizes- it may mean waiting for a few days. All agree it is a reasonable plan and we set to work.

WOW! It is fun! The kids were great painters. Minimal mess and we all had fun together! Prizes all around–in a few days.

Back to major irritability. This is bad. I leave second message for Dr. R.

Second night of serequol. Musical beds all night. B makes his nightly pilgrimage into our bed. I eventually fall back asleep in his bed. I am awakened by a punch to my gut. “I WANT MY LIZARD NOW!” I don’t even know where I am or what is going on. Okay I get it now.

“You will not hurt me. You will learn to live in this family without hurting people.” He is crazed- cursing and violent. I tell him no lizard till Tuesday. He gets worse. But i am supposed to give him consequences for his behavior, right?

The day doesn’t get better. A is so agitated and irritable. Third message for Dr. R.

Nothing is interesting. A is bored. Bedtime can’t come fast enough.

I lay with him. He is crying,”I KNOW YOU HATE ME MOMMY!” He looks weird. His eyes are faraway. I promise him I can never hate him. I love him. Nothing you do will ever make me hate you. He is far gone. “Hmmm I KNOW someone hates me. It must be daddy. He wants to kill me.”

“Problem with new meds,” I text David in the other room.

Fourth message for Dr. R.

I cry myself to sleep. D holds me tight. “Don’t let go,” I plead. “I will never let go.” It’s what I need to hear  and I fall asleep.

A and I get up and get ready for our long drive. D takes B to school. I drop off H. I desperately want our old life back. How did this happen to us? We used to be such a cute family with a tough kid. Now we are a torn apart family with a psychopath. But my boy is in there somewhere. I know he is.

A chats away in the car. He is excited about his new program. I am surprised when we pull in that he won’t get out of the car. I take a deep breath and remain cool and calm. “I need to talk to the doctor. I can walk you in, or you can come out when you are ready and go in by yourself. But you MUST go in. If you don’t then  you don’t get your lizard.”

I check in with Nurse J and tell her about our weekend. I tell her A has locked himself in the car. She tells me he needs consequences because it has to feel better to come to program than face the consequences. I stare blankly. I don’t know what they expect from me.

I head upstairs to see Dr. R. I tell him A had a psychotic reaction to the serequol. He says it is impossible. I tell him about the paranoid reaction to the risperdol. He says he can’t go on what he hasn’t seen. Wow, really? So all of A’s atypical reactions to meds don’t count here because Dr. R hasn’t been witness to it? That’s scaring me.

I tell Dr. R I don’t feel comfortable giving A the serequol anymore. He tells me that I must continue it or A can’t be in the program. He says the psychosis is A’s sick mind and he needs the serequol to stop the psychotic thinking.

“I am a doctor with years of experience and expertise. You must believe in me if you want to help your son.”

I don’t know what to think. Maybe he is right I am just a mom. I don’t have years of experience with psychotropic medication. But I know my boy. And I will fight for him.

Dr. R. recommends offering A candy if he gets out of the car. Confirmed. Dr. R. you are an idiot.

I head back down to see if A has gotten out of the car. No dice. It is raining so I sit in the waiting room of the partial program. Nurse J tries to coach me into getting A out of the car. A therapist comes out to talk to me as well.

“He had two very good days here. You aren’t giving him enough consequences for his behavior–obviously this is environmental because he does well here and is oppositional to you.”

I cry. Tell me what to do to get him in here. “That is really up to you, but not getting his lizard is not enough of a consequence.” I explain that A could care less about anything else- other than his dog. “Maybe get rid of his dog. That will teach him who is boss.”

Is this really happening?

“You have to trust in our program.” I ask the therapist what it would look like if I trusted the program. “A would be in here right now.” My head is spinning. I don’t even understand this.

They bottom line me and tell me to take him to the ER.

I leave.

I stand outside in the rain and call my secret weapon. Dr J.

Dr. J. is a friend of my aunt and uncle in Atlanta. He is a child psychiatrist and has been helpful through out this process. He keeps reminding me that A isn’t stable yet so no amount of excellent parenting or consequences is going to help.

“Get to the airport. I will admit him and put him on the right meds. He will be okay. They are running you around in circles up there and no one will take responsibility for him.  you need to get down here.”

I go to the car and hug A. “We are going to Atalanta and getting you the right help. You will feel better. I promise you.”

I call D, I call my mom. I call Dr. G. It always feels better if Dr. G is behind these big decisions. She tells me she is not a miracle worker and can’t do this outpatient. “If you have someone who will admit him and thinks they have the meds that will help, do it.”

We do it.

A and I embark on our adventure down south.